The firelight reflected on her face.

Mu Dai felt somewhat uncomfortable. She wasn’t very good at posing for photos, especially for such formal group shots. When the camera lens turned toward her, she would stiffen up, unconsciously wanting to ask: “Is it ready? Are we done taking it?”

Across from her, Shen Gun was cheerfully saying: “Let’s take another one, change poses.”

Change poses again…

Mu Dai fidgeted, not knowing where to put her hands and feet. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Cao Yanhua—he wasn’t much better off. His right hand had originally been resting on his knee, but now couldn’t find anywhere to place it. At some moment, his nerves must have crossed, and he suddenly cupped his chin.

He looked like a maiden lost in romantic reverie.

Mu Dai couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing with a “puchi” sound, then quickly apologized: “My fault, my fault, let’s do it again.”

She cleared her throat and stood up straighter.

Shen Gun didn’t move, holding that phone while rain threads slanted through the air, gleaming in the firelight.

A strange feeling swept through Mu Dai’s heart. Her smile gradually froze on her face. She actually didn’t dare turn her head, calling out: “Luo Xiaodao?”

Luo Ren’s hand was still resting on her waist, but he didn’t move or answer.

“Cao Pangpang?”

She looked with her peripheral vision. Cao Yanhua was still cupping his chin, his fingers awkwardly and exaggeratedly splayed.

Mu Dai stood for a while, hearing the wind billowing through the tent, seeing the phone that Shen Gun held gradually becoming soaked by the rain threads.

Then her calves began trembling as she slowly stepped out of the five-person photo formation.

They had all stopped moving.

Strangely, she wasn’t very panicked.

She encouraged herself.

The seven evil bamboo slips possessing them, everything resolving so smoothly—it had been somewhat incredible to begin with. Having some eerie things happen was only reasonable—it was fine, Luo Ren and the others were all okay, definitely okay.

She kept repeating these words to herself over and over until her feet went numb and her hands became somewhat frozen. She breathed on her hands near her mouth, rubbed them vigorously, and began moving people into the tent.

Going back and forth, exhausted and breathing unevenly, this was real physical labor, not like lightness skills that could take shortcuts. Each person was as heavy as a sandbag. She dragged and pulled, expending great effort to get everyone inside. Finally, when zipping up the tent door, she saw Cao Jiefang by the entrance, mouth half-open, wings half-spread, like a lifelike sculpture.

The bonfire gradually died out. Distant, mournful wolf howls came from afar. Mu Dai paid them no mind, spreading out a blanket to cover several people, then crawling in herself, sitting next to Luo Ren, clutching a stun gun in her hand.

Everything around her was cold and without warmth.

Sleep for a while, maybe sleeping would make it better.

Though she said this, she couldn’t actually fall asleep. She kept clutching the blanket while the snow outside grew heavier. Mu Dai looked up blankly, listening to the rustling sound of snowflakes falling on the tent. There was a flat section at the top of the tent where snow would accumulate and then sink down heavily. Mu Dai would reach up and pat it, through the tent fabric, scattering that patch of snow in all directions.

She stared like this in a daze, mechanically reaching up to strike, until at one moment she suddenly realized: the snow seemed to have stopped, and there was strange light flowing outside the tent.

Her heart pounded wildly. Gritting her teeth, she crawled out from under the blanket and unzipped the tent.

No more snow, no more rain. The silhouettes of Fengzi Ridge’s three massive peaks looked, at this moment, no different from a real phoenix.

No, that wasn’t right. Mu Dai suddenly shivered, unconsciously stepping back two paces, even holding her breath: she felt those weren’t mountain peaks, but a massive, real phoenix crouching there. If her breathing became slightly heavier, the phoenix would be startled and turn its head.

The strange flowing light came from the firmament above. It was the Big Dipper, forming a giant ladle, its handle like a pointer on a clock face, or like a long sword flashing with cold light, slowly rotating.

Mu Dai suddenly became furious and shouted.

“What kind of nonsense is this!”

“What have you done to my friends?”

“What exactly do you want? Stop playing ghost tricks!”

Getting worked up with cursing, she crouched down to grab stones and hurled them fiercely at the seven stars. She raised the stun gun and fired a shot into the void. The electrodes flew out with long wires, finding no target, then fell down like withering flowers.

Mu Dai stood for a long time as the wind picked up, blowing her hair into disarray.

At some unknown moment, distant yet spacious voices began coming from all around, like ancient times when tribal people devoutly sang.

“Break bamboo, bind bamboo, fly earth, chase meat…”

This ancient ballad…

Mu Dai suddenly turned around. The platform where they had camped seemed to have become an isolated island. She couldn’t see the path they had come from, nor those high and low mountain stones. In the distant darkness, swaying shadows looked like black shadow puppets, or like the most simple primitive paintings she had only seen in museums.

Great crowds of people were cutting bamboo. Bamboo groves fell in patches. Strong bows shot projectiles. Wild beasts were running. Knives chopped down, blood splattered into the air. Someone was forcefully pressed into water, water spraying violently, while in the distance only ripples appeared on the water surface. Someone was hanged in mid-air, neck strangled thin, body swaying like a withered branch. Someone was placed on a woodpile, struggling and disappearing into the leaping flames.

The scenes turned faster and faster, no longer simply the sketched images she had seen before. There were attacks and defenses, ten thousand horses galloping, charges and kills, massive catapults hurling great stones to smash city walls, heads flying from bodies, surrendering soldiers being killed, cities being slaughtered, countless corpses piled upon each other.

Gradually, those scenes began showing traces of modern civilization: trains on tracks, guns, explosions, aircraft broken in mid-air…

All the images were black lines and outlines, no sound, no details, only passing through the eyes, yet like the dullest knife, scraping across one’s body.

Mu Dai bit her lip, not moving at all. She didn’t want to close her eyes. On the contrary, she absorbed many of the scenes. What flowed before her eyes was like a history of slaughter, or it wouldn’t be wrong to call it human history. Anyway, since the birth of humanity, there hadn’t been a single day completely free of war and killing. Even in the relatively peaceful modern era, regional wars and conflicts of all sizes had never ceased.

The air between heaven and earth was endless and inexhaustible, enough for however many more people without fear of shortage, but there were always those who had to fight to the death, unable to share the same sky.

In a trance, those images vanished, mist rose, and through the shifting shadows, several vague, disproportionately elongated human figures appeared.

They crowded together, making exaggerated pushing and shoving motions, their voices harsh like crows, chattering and competing to speak.

“Lost, lost, they lost.”

“Are they dead?”

“Dead, dead, maybe dead.”

Mu Dai was not polite at all. She bent down to pick up stones around her and threw them all at once, shouting: “Bullshit!”

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh—the stones disappeared into the mist. In her anger, she had no aim and didn’t hit anyone, but those several figures all seemed frightened and didn’t dare move for quite a while.

After a moment, they began whispering among themselves again.

“She’s angry, she’s getting angry.”

“It’s not our fault. People are the ones who kill, not us.”

“That’s right, that’s right. They turn bad first, then we can take root.”

Not scary. Mu Dai didn’t find it scary, at least not like being afraid in dreams. Perhaps it was because her friends were all in trouble, and every trace of weakness found no support—when most helpless, one is often most fearless.

Mu Dai walked forward two steps.

Those several figures made sounds of apparent alarm, hurriedly retreating, pushing and shoving each other, awkwardly crying “ai yo, ai yo,” as if complaining about being stepped on.

Mu Dai thought for a moment, stopped moving, and beckoned to one of them, beckoning again. She found it absurdly funny in her heart: suddenly the positions were reversed, she was like an evil witch trying to seduce the innocent.

That figure hesitantly looked left and right, then tentatively walked forward one step.

Mu Dai asked: “What’s wrong with me?”

The figure’s voice carried smugness: “You lost, you all lost.”

“Why can’t my friends move anymore?”

“No, no, no, they’re the same as you.”

The same?

Mu Dai was first puzzled, then in the next instant, suddenly understood.

They weren’t motionless. They might be in the same situation as herself, entering into mirage-like illusions—in Luo Ren’s world, she and Hong Sha and the others had also suddenly become cold, stiff, and without warmth.

Five people, all in illusions. Perhaps only Shen Gun was facing that real world of fireworks.

She asked timidly and gently: “How could we have lost?”

She had figured it out—if she was tough, they would retreat and be afraid. So it was best to be gentle.

That figure’s voice indeed gained more smugness: “Your power is too small!”

Mu Dai’s voice carried crying: “Living sealing, isn’t that the same?”

Master Meihua Jiuniang had taught her: If there’s really no way, just cry.

The other figures were discussing among themselves.

“She’s scared, scared.”

“Yes, she’s about to cry.”

That figure said: “How could it be the same? Evil thoughts and resentful thoughts accumulate day by day, year by year, like what you just saw, coming from different people, different eras. The power of the new Phoenix Luan Clasps must merge with the power of previous generations to form new binding force.”

Understood. All power was cumulative. Meihua Zhao and the others counted as “death sacrifice”—their power could naturally merge with the power of previous Phoenix Luan Clasps.

But this time, the five of them were to remain alive. Their power might be able to seal this round of evil thoughts, but might not be able to handle each previous round—those swollen evil thoughts from different people, accumulated like a rolling snowball.

So when they suddenly met, the power was vastly unequal. After the seven evil bamboo slips entered their bodies, they quickly lost ground and were thrown into this eerie situation.

“Where is this?”

Those figures laughed with cackles, exaggeratedly covering their stomachs and bending over with laughter.

“She doesn’t know where this is.”

“Tell her, tell her, they’re finished, no way to turn things around.”

That figure became more smug, circling around her. If someone gave it a fan, it might start dancing gracefully.

It said: “In that world, you lost. You’re like wood, like sculptures, never to wake up again.”

“And here, you lost, so you’re sent back to the starting point. Understand? So you and your friends are separated, because at life’s starting point, none of you know each other!”

Mu Dai couldn’t wrap her head around it, her mind somewhat muddled: “What do you mean… none of us know each other?”

That figure cackled and said: “Look here.”

Mu Dai raised her head.

She saw countless scenes, surrounding her like snowflakes.

She saw Luo Ren holding Pin Ting, talking and laughing pleasantly, Pin Ting’s long hair flowing up to brush across Luo Ren’s face.

She saw Cao Yanhua wearing an apron, holding Cao Jiefang upside down by the wings, starting to pluck feathers, the kitchen knife beside him ground to a bright shine, while helping him was actually Cao Jinhua with her hair tied back.

She saw Yan Hongsha blushing as she received a bouquet of roses from a handsome young man.

She saw Yi Wansan who had opened an auto repair shop, sleeves rolled up to his arms, hands covered in motor oil, chatting cheerfully with a female customer who had come to have her car repaired.

She also saw herself, wearing a snow-white wedding dress with a long train, the zipper in back not yet pulled up, revealing the delicate curve of her waist and back. A man she had never seen before approached and zipped it up for her.

Mu Dai felt her head was about to explode. She couldn’t help shouting: “What is all this nonsense!”

That figure said casually: “Don’t you understand?”

“Life is like the chaotic starry sky—there’s no order to begin with, nothing destined. A slight deviation in angle can completely overturn the result.”

“You’re sent back to the starting point. Your life has ten thousand possibilities. Luo Ren never met you, so he won’t fall in love with you. Your friends will never encounter you again, each living their own lives. You don’t know Cao Yanhua, and Yi Wansan doesn’t know Yan Hongsha.”

Is that so? Is it like this?

Mu Dai listened in a daze. The snowflake-like scenes were still changing, as if following time’s trajectory. She saw herself entering the delivery room, saw that man holding up the newborn baby.

That man, with handsome features, holding a baby bottle, smiling at her.

Mu Dai suddenly burst into tears, saying: “I don’t want to bear his children!”

She didn’t want this damn starting point and damn ten thousand possibilities, didn’t want this man either, no matter how good he was.

Those figures all gathered around, seemingly at a loss.

“She’s crying again.”

“What to do? Wipe her tears.”

“It’s already like this, no way out, just accept fate.”

In the commotion, a small voice said: “Actually, there might still be…”

Immediately someone rudely interrupted: “No, can’t say!”

Mu Dai suddenly looked up, staring at those identical shadows: “Who? Who just spoke?”

No one admitted it. They cowered backward.

Mu Dai stared at them intently: “There is a way, isn’t there? There’s still a way. This isn’t a dead end. There must be a path. If not front or back, then above or below, right? Tell me!”

No one spoke. They shrank back fearfully, all wanting to hide from her.

Mu Dai’s hope turned to anger. She wanted to find stones to throw at them, but couldn’t find any.

She finally understood why people in TV dramas, when extremely angry, would take off their shoes to throw at people.

She took hers off too, both of them. This time she aimed properly, putting all her strength into the throw. She hit two of them directly and heard their wails.

Mu Dai felt very satisfied, shouting like she was venting: “You bunch of liars! You’re star bamboo slips—killing people, harming people, deceiving people, speaking nonsense! I don’t believe there’s no way out. From beginning to end, only you’ve been arrogant. Are the Phoenix Luan Clasps dead? Huh? Are they dead?”

With a thunderous roar, scorching heat blazed forth. Heaven and earth became bright with fire. Mu Dai turned around, forced back two steps by the heat wave, her lips parched by the flames.

But she didn’t close her eyes.

She saw the three phoenix mountain peaks spewing blazing flames from their beaks, turning the embraced center into a sea of fire. The starlight of the Big Dipper dimmed under the radiance of the red flames. Where the flames receded, in the place that should have been the low mountain valley, there stood a massive… Viewing Four Mirage Tower.

On the side facing her, there were ancient seal script characters on the lintel.

It was the character “Mu” (Wood).