Western Hunan, Mount Wuling.

It was nearly midnight, with torrential rain pouring down. Rolling thunder brushed against the eaves, one wave pushing after another. The street-facing door of the Yunmeng Peak Inn was half-open on the first floor. Inside the dimly lit lobby, a long table stood in the center with a large chopping board on top, piled with countless fresh red chili peppers.

The inn’s owner, Liu Guanguo, wielded a shiny kitchen knife in one hand, chopping away with a continuous “dock, dock, dock.” His face mask was already splattered with chili seeds and juice. The humid air of the heavy rain mixed with the spicy aroma of the chilies, rising and dispersing, making Liu Guanguo squint, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes extending deep into his temples.

Another flash of lightning illuminated everything inside and outside the door with a glossy silver light. Liu Guanguo instinctively looked up, but the brightness disappeared instantly, and he only managed to glimpse the dim, shadowy mountain silhouette in the distance.

Mount Wuling was located in Wuling County, a newly developed scenic area. Living off the mountain, the county residents had flocked to two types of businesses: tourist shuttle services and accommodation.

The street where Yunmeng Peak Inn was located wasn’t far from the scenic area, nestled at the foot of the mountain like a strip hugging its base. Every door and window faced the mountain—even the kitchen and bathroom had mountain views. That’s why every household built small buildings to open inns. Unable to expand their homesteads horizontally, they developed vertically instead—buildings of varying heights, narrow and slender, crowded together to form a street with quite a distinctive character.

The consequence of supply exceeding demand was that business was slow for everyone.

However, on this particular night, Yunmeng Peak Inn had only three guests, not because there was a shortage of customers in the off-season. A week ago, Liu Guanguo had already stopped accepting bookings on online reservation platforms like Ctrip and Qunar. He had hired help for a thorough cleaning, spraying for cockroaches, changing light bulbs, and upgrading the internet speed, all for one purpose.

To welcome the Big Boss.

At this thought, Liu Guanguo unconsciously looked up at the ceiling, and the sound of his chopping decreased by several degrees, afraid that the noise might disturb the honored guest.

In reality, the guest was staying on the third floor, separated from the lobby by an entire floor, and with the thunderstorm raging outside, they probably couldn’t hear anything at all.

After chopping for a bit longer, the phone in his pocket rang as messages came in one after another.

Taking the opportunity for a break, Liu Guanguo put down his knife, removed his mask, and wiped his hands on his pants to clean off the spicy, burning chili juice. Using two fingers, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The screen was filled with messages from a group called “Wuling Mountain Residents.” Liu Guanguo scrolled through them unhurriedly from the beginning.

Shen Wangu: @Liu Guanguo, has the Big Boss arrived?

Qiu Dong: Should be here by now. I heard this afternoon that a black SUV drove to the entrance of Yunmeng Peak.

Liu Sheng: Is she beautiful?

Shen Bang: Must be!

Liu Sheng: @Shen Bang, you’ve seen her?

Shen Bang: I haven’t seen her, but the Big Boss is the face of the Mountain Ghost. How could she be ugly? If she were too ugly, would the Ancestral Grandmothers approve?

This comment triggered a cascade of image posts about the Ancestral Grandmothers—ink paintings, meticulous brush paintings, oil paintings, and even hand-crafted clay figurines, presumably hastily searched for online.

Liu Guanguo squinted as he looked at them one by one.

The Ancestral Grandmothers, also known as Mountain Ghosts.

The Mountain Ghost originated from “Nine Songs” in the “Songs of Chu,” where the great minister Qu Yuan used romantic prose to outline a strangely alluring and inherently seductive female spirit of the mountains. Legend had it that she was graceful in demeanor, draped in vines, riding a black leopard through the deep mountains. Wherever she went, all beasts were subdued. Hence, later artistic depictions of the Mountain Ghost almost invariably featured a beauty and a beast: the beauty was invariably delicate and charming, dressed in revealing attire—in short, nothing like a proper housewife’s attire—while the beast was either a leopard or a tiger, depicted as ferocious as possible, intending to create a stark contrast in the image to stimulate the viewer.

Liu Guanguo measured his contribution to the chat.

Liu Guanguo: Meng Qianzi has quite a grand style, like a celebrity, with an assistant and even a makeup artist.

The group was already discussing enthusiastically, but his comment stirred up an even bigger commotion.

Shen Wangu: The Big Boss is quite modest. These days, which celebrity doesn’t travel with five or six assistants? I’ve heard some even bring personal trainers and nutritionists.

Shen Bang: Exactly, it’s not like the Big Boss doesn’t have money. With seventy-seven mountain mines, if it weren’t for the socialist country advocating for low-key behavior, the Big Boss could fly here in a private jet.

Qiu Dong: @Shen Bang, don’t mention mine unnecessarily. I’ve heard that online chats are monitored.

Liu Sheng: It’s fine, it’s not a sensitive word.

…

Liu Guanguo didn’t comment. Having been designated as the host for this visit, he was quite proud and inflated, speaking sparingly, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being eagerly pursued after just dropping a hint.

Meng Qianzi and her entourage had arrived in the afternoon.

At that time, there had been no sign of the weather turning, no indication that a torrential rain would fall that night. The setting sun had melted like gold into the clouds, mountaintops, rooftops, and streets, perfectly setting the atmosphere for welcoming an important figure.

Liu Guanguo had clutched his phone, waiting expectantly at the entrance of Yunmeng Peak. After mistakenly seeing several cars and having his palms sweaty several times, he finally saw a large black SUV drive up.

The car stopped, and the first to get out was Meng Qianzi’s assistant, Meng Jinsong.

Meng Jinsong was in his thirties, with darker skin, tall and thin, with slightly downturned eyes. Most of the time, he looked lethargic, but as soon as he raised his gaze, his eyes were exceptionally sharp, keen, cold, and stern.

Liu Guanguo held his breath in excitement: if even the assistant had such presence, then when the Big Boss appeared, surely heaven and earth would lose their color in comparison.

…

During this moment of distraction, messages in the group chat began scrolling rapidly again.

Shen Bang: Is the Big Boss treating us tomorrow? Can we join the table?

Shen Wangu: Dreaming too much, are you worthy? Besides, the treatment is just a formality. The essence is for various friends from Western Hunan to pay respects to the Big Boss and strengthen friendships.

Liu Sheng: The good friends will have to bleed a bit, right?

Shen Bang: Of course! Would you feel comfortable visiting empty-handed and freeloading?

Liu Sheng: This gift is hard to choose, after all, the Big Boss lacks nothing. Just don’t send gold or jade—too vulgar!

Shen Wangu: Unbearably vulgar! If anyone dares to send that, we’ll return it tenfold, humiliating them!

Liu Sheng: Damn, I want that kind of humiliation too!

Qiu Dong: 1

Shen Bang: 10086…

…

Liu Guanguo, unhurried as ever, added more information.

Liu Guanguo: Meng Qianzi brought a male makeup artist, quite handsome. The two of them standing together look particularly well-matched.

The makeup artist was named Xin Ci, twenty-six years old, five feet eleven inches tall, with elongated eye corners and a straight nose. He had long hair but still appeared quite masculine and handsome, somewhat resembling the 90s famous triad actor Ekin Cheng. His loose white casual wear looked stylish and elegant on him. Liu Guanguo had hesitated at first, thinking he might be Meng Qianzi’s male companion.

Sure enough, one piece of information stirred up waves.

Shen Wangu: Couldn’t she find someone of the same gender? Is it so difficult to hire a female makeup artist?

Shen Bang: I hope they don’t develop feelings. Applying makeup every day, face to face, rubbing and dabbing… Emotionally, I can’t accept the Big Boss marrying ordinary people, people poorer than her, or monks.

Qiu Dong: I don’t think they will. Distance creates beauty; when too close, there’s no mystery between them.

Shen Wangu: Hope the Big Boss remains rational, restrained, and clever, not swayed by inappropriate good looks.

Liu Sheng: I can’t stand this anymore. What’s wrong with being a makeup artist? No profession is inherently noble or lowly. A makeup artist is good enough for the Big Boss—a man who stands behind her, silently supporting her beauty.

…

People say women gossip, but men can be just as bad. As Liu Guanguo was enjoying the lively discussion, Qiu Dong suddenly dropped a comment.

It was this comment that temporarily cooled down the chat.

Qiu Dong: @Liu Guanguo, Brother Liu, do you know why the Big Boss came to Western Hunan? Our place has been marginalized for what, two or three hundred years?

This was true.

For Liu Guanguo, the term “Mountain Ghost” had both broad and narrow definitions.

In the broad sense, everyone in this group could be called a Mountain Ghost, also known as “Mountain Resident” or “Pangolin,” implying those who traverse mountains and forests. For generations, they had lived off the mountains, possessing somewhat secretive skills, operating low-key, quietly making money, not revealing their ways to outsiders.

In the narrow sense, it referred only to a small group of people truly “chosen” by the mountain, extraordinarily gifted, sharing the same pulse and breath as the mountain, able to enter deep within the mountain where ordinary people couldn’t reach, to collect unknown mountain minerals. This small group was further ranked and classified, with limited numbers, generally likening the human body to the mountain body, from low to high: two at the Mountain Shoulder, two at the Mountain Ear, two at the Mountain Eyebrow, one at the Mountain Bun…

The Mountain Bun wasn’t the highest. In ancient times, above the bun was the crown, worn by kings and those in authority. Therefore, above the Mountain Bun, there was one who sat on the Mountain Ghost King’s throne, naturally the most outstanding among that small group.

But the forebearer who first compiled the Mountain Ghost hierarchy overlooked one thing: Mountain Shoulder, Mountain Ear, and so on were all two characters, crisp and easy to pronounce, but for the highest-ranking position…

Calling her “the one who sits on the Mountain Ghost King’s throne” was too long and awkward; abbreviating it to “Mountain Ghost King’s Throne” made it sound like a chair had come to life, truly confounding people. With no one providing a standard answer, everyone had the freedom to improvise. For instance, Liu Guanguo and his peers simply called her the “Big Boss.”

The current Big Boss was, of course, the much-discussed Meng Qianzi.

There’s no definitive account of when the Mountain Ghost tradition began, but internally, they customarily revered the Mountain Ghost from Qu Yuan’s “Nine Songs” in the “Songs of Chu” as their Ancestral Grandmother. Perhaps due to the loving care of the Ancestral Grandmother, throughout the generations, female Mountain Ghosts had prospered more than males, with women holding all the high-ranking positions.

In ancient times, with information scarcity and underdeveloped economies, people didn’t know the vastness of the earth, only that beyond one mountain lay another. To understand the mountain conditions, the Big Bosses would arduously pioneer through the wilderness. Later, as people became more enlightened, national boundaries were established, and a book called “The Mountain Canon” listed all the mountains of China. As the saying goes, “Earlier generations plant trees, later generations enjoy the shade”—successors inevitably became lax, and remote deep mountains like those in Western Hunan naturally faded from view. Additionally, during the Ming Dynasty, the traveler Xu Xiake discriminated and classified mountains, promoting sayings like “After seeing the Five Great Mountains, one looks no further; after seeing Huangshan, one doesn’t look at the Five Great Mountains.” This perfectly aligned with the Big Bosses’ mindset, and they established their permanent residence at the foot of Huangshan, naming it “Mountain Osmanthus Studio,” a subtle reference to the two characters for “Mountain Ghost.”

What Qiu Dong said was restrained; in fact, Western Hunan had been marginalized for far more than two or three hundred years.

So the question arose: why would Meng Qianzi, without any warning, suddenly come in person?

Liu Guanguo couldn’t answer, so he simply flipped his phone over and resumed chopping. That’s the good thing about WeChat group chats—they come and go, flitting about, no need to explain.

He had just chopped a few more times when it suddenly darkened in front of him as someone rushed through the main door.

The person wore a full-body black raincoat with a hood and black rain boots, completely drenched and glistening from head to toe.

With the Big Boss upstairs, Liu Guanguo was extremely vigilant. His eyes widened, and he instinctively raised his knife, but the person was busy removing their raincoat at the door, wringing and shaking it.

He recognized him—it was his drinking buddy Wang Qingliang, a security guard at the Mount Wuling scenic area.

Liu Guanguo found it strange: “Didn’t you get off work early? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

The mention unleashed Wang Qingliang’s pent-up anger. His voice suddenly rang out, sounding like a broken gong: “It’s all because of those tourists, stupid idiots!”