Nie Jiuluo slept deeply, but a deep sleep didn’t mean she was free from dreams.
She had a melancholic dream where she sat alone in an enormous, dark cave complex. The caves were a fusion of several major grottoes she had visited before—Dunhuang, Longmen, and Maijishan. Looking up and around, she saw stone carvings and clay sculptures everywhere, with deities and creatures filling her vision.
But it was eerily quiet, so quiet it felt like she was the last person in the world.
At first, she wandered through the cave complex, studying the sculpting techniques. Later, she began frantically searching for people. However, no matter where she looked, inside or out, she couldn’t find anyone. The cave complex seemed endless—after finishing one cave, she would look up only to find another looming ahead.
During one of her rushes into a cave, she lost control and knocked over a statue. It crashed to the ground with a bang, its outer clay layer cracking and falling away in pieces.
Inside, there was a person.
The person was lying face down, their face hidden from view.
Nie Jiuluo’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. Trembling, she approached and crouched down, reaching out to turn the person’s shoulder, silently praying it wouldn’t be Yan Tuo.
Please, don’t let it be Yan Tuo…
…
A gentle shake stirred her, and Nie Jiuluo opened her eyes. Her consciousness was still caught in the dream, leaving her momentarily dazed.
Yan Tuo was half-kneeling beside her, looking down. “Having a nightmare?”
Nie Jiuluo couldn’t quite process everything yet. Outside the tent, it was dim but not completely dark, and she could faintly hear voices.
She asked confusedly, “Are we leaving?”
Yan Tuo glanced outside. “No, some people just woke up. It’s still early, not time to depart yet.”
Nie Jiuluo made a small sound of acknowledgment. The dream had felt too real—though awake now, she couldn’t completely shake off the feelings of despair and panic.
She raised her arms and wrapped them around Yan Tuo’s neck.
Yan Tuo chuckled, reaching behind her to embrace her, sleeping bag and all. “What nightmare did you have? Tell me, and I’ll help you interpret it away.”
It wasn’t exactly a nightmare, Nie Jiuluo thought, responding vaguely, “I just dreamed that everyone disappeared, leaving me alone, surrounded by grotto statues.”
Yan Tuo made a thoughtful sound. “Even in your dreams, you’re focused on your work.”
Nie Jiuluo laughed into his neck. “Then one statue broke, and there was a person inside, though I couldn’t see their face.”
The tone had suddenly turned horror-like, but Yan Tuo still tried to interpret it positively: “It shows how good your technique is—the statue was so lifelike it became real.”
He asked, “So you were the only one left there?”
Nie Jiuluo nodded. The vast loneliness from the dream still lingered.
Yan Tuo said, “Then let’s say that living statue was me, so you wouldn’t be lonely there by yourself.”
Nie Jiuluo felt both annoyed and amused. He had managed to dispel the dark, gloomy dream in just a few sentences.
She lifted her head. “You promise? Wherever I am, you’ll be there too?”
Yan Tuo nodded. “I promise.”
During breakfast, Yu Rong joined them, sharing the arrangements she and Xing Shen had discussed the previous night.
The team would split into two groups, each including members of the Dog Clan and people familiar with the Qingran route who could navigate using the map. Xing Shen would lead the advance team with Mayi, responsible for scouting; Yu Rong would lead the rear team with Sun Zhou, supporting the advance team and guarding the Dixiao prisoners.
The two teams would depart about an hour apart. This way, if the advance team encountered trouble, they could notify the rear team with flare guns to avoid total defeat.
Yan Tuo showed some concern. “We’re still taking those Dixiao prisoners with us?”
The Chantou Army had few soldiers, and now they were split into two teams, with each team having barely more than ten people, yet they had to escort six Dixiao prisoners.
Yu Rong explained, “Aren’t we here to exchange prisoners and put on a show? How can we do that without hostages?”
She pulled out a needle case from her pocket and shook it at Nie Jiuluo. “Xing Shen said you have a way to keep these Dixiao from causing trouble.”
Nie Jiuluo took the needle case. “Yes, I do. Leave it to me.”
Yu Rong felt greatly relieved. Six Dixiao were like six tigers—no one would feel at ease guarding them. But if there was a way to turn these tigers into harmless cats, that would be much better.
She asked for their preferences: “Do you want to join the advance team or the rear team?”
Nie Jiuluo pondered for a moment. “The rear team.”
This followed the ancient custom: “With blade and hound through Qingran, mad dogs lead the way, wild blade guards the middle tent.” She wasn’t meant to be in the advance team anyway.
This answer was within Yu Rong’s expectations. “Then get ready. We leave in an hour. Both teams will pass through the Golden Gate together, then separate afterward. Also…”
She gestured toward the front: “Xing Shen wants to talk to you privately.”
Nie Jiuluo was surprised. “Talk to me? About what?”
Yu Rong gave her a sideways glance. “How would I know? He’s not trying to talk to me.”
Nie Jiuluo descended the steps and followed Yu Rong’s directions, soon spotting Xing Shen.
After just one night, Xing Shen looked much more tired—perhaps he had looked this exhausted yesterday too, but she hadn’t noticed then.
As she approached, they both spoke simultaneously.
Nie Jiuluo: “You needed to see me?”
Xing Shen: “Are you joining the advance team or the rear team?”
Was this what Xing Shen wanted to discuss?
Nie Jiuluo paused briefly before answering, “The rear team.”
This response was within Xing Shen’s expectations, but he still couldn’t help feeling disappointed: the Wild Blade and Mad Hound should fight side by side.
Perhaps times had truly changed, and no one cared anymore—only he still clung to those old notions.
He cleared his throat. “About borrowing the Yin Army, I want to explain something.”
“I’m not gambling with everyone’s lives. I also had Yu Rong acquire guns. Borrowing the Yin Army—I’m not certain about it, it’s just a backup plan. But if it works, if it helps, wouldn’t that be good?”
“Aluo, I was in my teens when Uncle Jiang told me this story. I don’t know how you felt hearing it, but perhaps because Chantou Army blood flows in my veins, it shocked me tremendously.”
“I think those people were pitiful. Group after group went in at the cost of their lives, fighting desperately in Blackwhite Gorge. They finally found clues and shot their arrows full of hope, but never received a response. The comrades they trusted discarded them like trash—how desperate must they have felt?”
“Since then, I’ve always wanted to know what happened to these people. We can’t pretend they don’t exist just because time has passed, can’t continue to betray them just because they’ve already been betrayed. Whether they’re dead or alive, we need to know for certain.”
“This prisoner exchange is an opportunity, and I want to try. From beginning to end, I had no ill intentions, and certainly wasn’t, as you said, using everyone to test a theory.”
“That’s all I wanted to explain to you.”
He fell silent after this and was about to leave when Nie Jiuluo’s words stopped him in his tracks.
“If I hadn’t known you personally and understood your character, I might have believed what you just said.”
Xing Shen turned back, his face slightly pale. “What do you mean by that?”
Nie Jiuluo smiled. “The three families—Blade, Dog, and Whip. The Blade family relies on bloodline, the Dog family on talent, and the Whip family on technique. When talent is lacking, it can be compensated for through extreme measures—Xing Shen, I confirmed with Uncle Jiang that your natural talent wasn’t enough to be a Mad Hound.”
“You sacrificed your eyes to enhance your other senses. Such a huge sacrifice must have had a reason, right? I originally thought that since I was the Wild Blade but you weren’t truly a Mad Hound, your competitive nature and unwillingness to accept your inferior talent, combined with youthful impulsiveness, led you to take extreme measures. Now I realize I overestimated myself—I wasn’t that important of a driving force for you.”
“What’s your real purpose? You say it’s because you felt the Chantou Army soldiers in Blackwhite Gorge were betrayed, so you must investigate? No need to raise these idealistic banners of fairness and justice. What you’re looking for is the Flesh of Nuwa, isn’t it?”
“There are Dixiao in Blackwhite Gorge. The Dixiao can achieve longevity and quickly repair physical damage. All of this must be related to the Flesh of Nuwa. So if you can find it, the damage to your eyes wouldn’t matter at all.”
“There’s nothing wrong or shameful about admitting your ambition, so why make so many excuses? And you don’t need to explain anything to me—I don’t care.”
Xing Shen stood frozen in place, watching Nie Jiuluo turn and leave. Her radiance was like a distant cold moon, growing further and further away from him.
His consciousness wavered, and before his eyes appeared the shadow of Jiang Baichuan, beckoning to him, saying, “Xing Shen, come here for a moment.”
How old was he then? Seventeen or eighteen perhaps, that carefree age when one encounters someone who makes their heart flutter.
He accompanied Nie Jiuluo during her special training, finding these life-and-death tumbling exercises far more interesting than dining out, shopping, or moonlit walks.
But problems soon emerged—he couldn’t quite keep up with Nie Jiuluo’s rhythm. Legend said the Wild Blade and Mad Hound should move as one, but he couldn’t manage it.
Among the Dog Clan, there were others with a keener sense of smell than his. Jiang Baichuan was planning to replace him.
He sought out Jiang Baichuan, arguing that insufficient talent could be compensated for with diligence and that modern technology offered drugs that could stimulate the olfactory regions of the brain for enhanced effects. He was willing to try.
Jiang Baichuan didn’t respond immediately, only saying he’d think about it. Two days later, he called Xing Shen to his room, saying he had high hopes for him among the younger generation and wanted to discuss a great secret.
Young people value praise from their elders highly. Being singled out left Xing Shen both honored and excited.
Jiang Baichuan told him about the origins of the Chantou Army, the story of the military uprising, and the regret concerning the Flesh of Nuwa.
Finally, he said, “Do you know why I spent so much money regathering the descendants of the Chantou Army? Hunting Dixiao relies on luck, and constantly digging up others’ buried treasures yields limited returns. But if we could uncover the secret of the Flesh of Nuwa, that would be different.”
His blood boiling with excitement, Xing Shen said, “Then Uncle Jiang, let’s go all out!”
Jiang Baichuan replied, “We’re preparing, but there’s one problem. This generation of the Dog Clan varies in ability, but none qualify as a true Mad Hound. They’re far too inferior to their ancestors, unless…”
Xing Shen asked anxiously, “Unless what?”
Unless one of the Dog Clan was willing to sacrifice their vision to enhance their other senses.
Xing Shen hesitated but feared this hesitation would squander this “favor,” that Jiang Baichuan would allow someone else, leaving him forever excluded from the secret.
It wasn’t like he’d be truly blind, he reasoned. Once they succeeded, everything would return—and return manifold.
What he hadn’t expected was Nie Jiuluo’s fierce opposition to his decision. They had their first argument since getting together. Being young and stubborn, the argument led Xing Shen to become even more determined out of spite.
Later, he thought perhaps he had been confident in their feelings for each other, believing that even arguments wouldn’t matter.
Nie Jiuluo showed him through actions that it indeed didn’t matter—because from then on, there would be nothing between them at all.
Everything was ready for departure.
The group of about thirty people split into two teams, advancing into the darkness guided by torches, flashlights, and light sticks.
Yan Tuo was surprised to discover that in his team, besides the six Dixiao whom Nie Jiuluo had immobilized with needles in their seventh vertebrae, there was also Que Cha.
Most people would be somewhat worried in this situation, but Que Cha was different. She was extraordinarily excited, carrying a quiver and crossbow on her back as if about to open the door to a new world. When her eyes met Yan Tuo’s, she even gave him a nod.
She seemed like a completely different person from their first meeting.
Yan Tuo found it strange at first but then understood: that people are always changing. Wasn’t he different from back then too?
The path to the Golden Gate was long and winding, but relatively smooth. People still occasionally chatted and laughed along the way.
Nie Jiuluo remained silent, continuously watching Sun Zhou, who accompanied the team. The longer she watched, the more unsettling it felt.
Was this completely… a dog? Moving on all fours, growling in his throat, with fierce eyes, occasionally stopping to sniff around.
Yan Tuo noticed her unease and gently touched her. “What’s wrong?”
Nie Jiuluo snapped back to attention, lowering her voice: “Sun Zhou… he used to be my driver. Will he… stay like this forever?”
Although Yu Rong had explained Sun Zhou’s condition, and she had reluctantly accepted it, seeing him still made her very uncomfortable.
Yan Tuo looked at Sun Zhou, paused for a moment, and then suddenly asked, “Do you think that Flesh of Nuwa could save Sun Zhou?”
Nie Jiuluo was startled. “Why do you say that?”
Yan Tuo said, “It just seems like a miraculous thing. Chen Fu and the others transformed from Dixiao back to humans using it. The secret of longevity is also linked to it. Something so powerful might help Sun Zhou too.”
After walking for an unknown time, people ahead began to stop, with faint voices saying “We’re here” and “This is it.”
Here already?
Neither Yan Tuo nor Nie Jiuluo had seen the Golden Gate before, and curious, they pushed through the crowd to look ahead.
In the convergence of various light sources, a huge cast-golden face appeared roughly two or three meters in length and width, with somewhat fierce features, resembling the all-seeing golden armored war god in temples.
Though massive compared to normal facial sculptures, it fell far short of Nie Jiuluo’s imagination of a towering gate that would make humans seem like ants in comparison.
She couldn’t help muttering, “It’s so small?”
Someone nearby heard and responded curtly, “Small? This is just the head! The body is buried below—you just can’t see it.”
Soon, the scent of incense wafted over—presumably offering prayers for blessing.
After a while, following some operation by Xing Shen at the front, the ground trembled slightly, followed by a creaking sound. Nie Jiuluo watched as the golden war god’s upright ears seemed to come alive, retreating slightly backward to reveal a dark opening just wide enough for one person to enter sideways.
When this entrance opened, the entire passage fell silent, the atmosphere notably tenser than before. Nie Jiuluo roughly understood why: it was, after all, a “gate.” When closed, everything seemed manageable, but once opened, even just a crack, the meaning changed entirely—it meant there was no longer any barrier between danger and human flesh.
Xing Shen bent down and picked up what appeared to be a cast-golden ruler from the entrance crack, holding it high.
He said, “Eyes, ears, nose, brow, mouth—last time we entered and exited through the eyes, this time it’s the ears. The sequence is correct. The last time before leaving, the ruler was returned to its place. This time, it came out through the ear, with an additional tooth mark—also correct.”
Yan Tuo listened in confusion, and when he looked at Nie Jiuluo, she appeared equally puzzled.
Yu Rong came closer, speaking in a low voice: “This is the mechanism sequence. Each time it opens, the entrance is different. The last time was through the eyes, this time should be the ears. If it hadn’t opened through the ears this time, it would mean someone had tampered with the gate in between.”
Yan Tuo understood: “So the ruler serves as a token?”
Yu Rong nodded: “Each time it’s opened, the ruler rotates inside the golden head, adding a tooth mark to its length. If the number of tooth marks doesn’t match up, that also indicates a problem.”