The driver was right.

Even before reaching Four Stockades, they seemed to be traversing vast mountains. Yan Hongsha searched Google satellite maps on her phone to show Mu Dai—the screen filled with dark green, light green, big green, small green, dotted with a few distant place names connected by white lines as thin as threads.

There were no provincial or national highways anymore; they were traveling on county roads.

They reached Four Stockades at noon. The car stopped near the county farmers’ market. The town wasn’t large. According to online information, the entire town had fewer than twenty thousand residents, with ethnic minorities accounting for 80%. Indeed, stepping out of the car, they immediately noticed that people’s clothing differed from what they normally saw. Many women still wore their hair in buns, with either silver or wooden hairpins.

Mu Dai found it both curious and novel. Although Yunnan was also home to many ethnic minorities, this place was completely different.

Old Man Yan found a restaurant and invited the driver to join them for a meal. While waiting for the food, he sent Yan Hongsha and Mu Dai to buy supplies, specifically instructing them to purchase an iron shovel.

Since the treasure well was in the mountains, they would inevitably need to eat outdoors. Restricted by the prohibition against eating meat, they could only buy biscuits, bread, and vegetarian noodles. Mu Dai and Yan Hongsha each carried a large plastic bag.

They bought a small iron shovel about a meter long. The shop owner specially sharpened the blade and wrapped it in cardboard to prevent anyone from getting cut during transport.

The two made their way back to the restaurant through the bustling farmers’ market. Along the way, Mu Dai noticed many people smiling at them with pursed lips, which puzzled her. Looking back, she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

Yan Hongsha was carrying the iron shovel with the large plastic bag of food hanging from the handle, swaying as she walked.

Seeing Mu Dai turn to look at her, she rolled her eyes: “What?”

Mu Dai said, “What about your image? Hongsha, you don’t care about appearances.”

Yan Hongsha defended herself: “What’s wrong with it? Look at this market—there aren’t any handsome guys around anyway, so why bother with appearances?”

She added: “Do you want to hang yours too? One in front and one behind, I can carry them steadily.”

Mu Dai didn’t hesitate to hang her bag on the shovel.

Yan Hongsha frowned: “You’re not polite.”

With her hands free, Mu Dai was delighted to be unburdened and began looking at the stalls on both sides. Passing an egg vendor, the seller held up a long string of eggs and called to her: “Miss, buy a string of eggs!”

This place was surprisingly similar to Yunnan—eggs were strung together with rice straw and rope, lined up one after another. With one grab, you could get ten or more eggs dangling like little lanterns. Mu Dai bought two strings and hung them on Yan Hongsha’s “carrying pole.”

Yan Hongsha protested: “Buy me a straw hat too, and I’ll look exactly like a vegetable seller.”

Mu Dai said, “Since we can’t eat meat on this journey, we can have fried eggs.”

She tapped the shovel blade with her finger: “I’ve seen people use iron shovels as flat pans to fry eggs. It works well.”

So they also bought a small bottle of oil.

When they returned to the restaurant, the dishes were already served. Mu Dai and her companions ate completely vegetarian meals, while they had specifically ordered fish and meat for the driver. After finishing, the driver wiped his mouth and said: “I’ll take you a bit further down.”

Mu Dai was surprised, realizing that while Old Man Yan had sent them to buy supplies, he must have arranged something with the driver.

“A bit further down”—the place further down was the key.

Mu Dai and Yan Hongsha planned to sit on opposite sides of the van to record landmarks along the way, providing more guidance for Luo Ren and his group.

But after driving for a while, they encountered a problem. Yan Hongsha exclaimed, “I just saw ‘Guangxi’ written on a shop sign! Aren’t we in Guizhou?”

Old Man Yan remained silent. The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror and said, “Miss, Four Stockades is right on the border between Qian and Gui provinces.”

The car entered a dirt road, bouncing so much that it made everyone dizzy. Mu Dai had to grip the handle above the car door to steady herself. After driving for an unknown period, Old Man Yan suddenly said, “Stop.”

The car coasted forward a few meters from inertia, then stopped.

Old Man Yan got out. Mu Dai and Yan Hongsha, not understanding why, followed. The driver helped them unload their luggage and said to Old Man Yan, “Old man, when you want to return, call me. Even if I’m not around, I can ask a friend to pick you up.”

With that, he waved, turned the car around, and drove off in a cloud of dust.

Mu Dai was extremely surprised: Had they arrived?

It was extremely quiet here. Looking in all directions, all they could see were mountains. Old Man Yan found a rock by the roadside to sit on and said, “Let’s wait.”

Wait for whom? Could someone be coming to meet them?

Yan Hongsha winked at Mu Dai and went to coax information from Old Man Yan. Unable to resist her persistent questioning, he pointed to the dirt road and said, “This road leads to a village. Villagers typically go to the market early in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, returning in the evening. Today is Wednesday, so if we wait a little longer, we can catch a ride.”

Mu Dai couldn’t sit still. She ran back and forth examining the terrain, took a photo, and sent it to Luo Ren. Thinking that might not be enough, she climbed a conspicuous tree and braided many of its branches.

She gave Luo Ren detailed instructions: “The mountains all look the same at first glance. Don’t mistake that tree—it has braids on top.”

Luo Ren replied: “Got it, girlfriend.”

Only then did Mu Dai climb down with peace of mind.

As the sun was about to set, the clop-clop-clop of hooves approached from down the road. A sturdy young man in his twenties drove a mule cart, wearing a pipa-collared shirt with a headcloth wrapped around his head. Old Man Yan waved to stop him and explained about needing a ride.

While they talked, Mu Dai curiously observed the people sitting on the cart. There were men and women, young and old, with many baskets containing vegetables they had bought and unsold embroidered clothes. The women’s clothes all had piped edges, and one young girl wore a flower-decorated bamboo hat that looked quite pretty.

Unfortunately, except for the sturdy young driver, the others didn’t speak standard Mandarin.

After several halting exchanges, Mu Dai finally understood that they called themselves the “Maonan people.”

The cart driver was named Zhama. He was friendly and invited them aboard after just a few sentences, even getting down to help Old Man Yan up.

So, swaying and jolting, the mule cart set off again.

Zhama asked Old Man Yan: “Old man, are you going to our village or crossing Moon Mountain?”

Old Man Yan said, “We’ll probably stay in your village tonight and cross the mountain tomorrow.”

They still had to cross a mountain? Mu Dai gave Yan Hongsha a sharp look. Yan Hongsha, hugging the shovel, mouthed words to her.

She said, “I didn’t know either.”

Zhama glanced at Old Man Yan and said, “Moon Mountain is difficult to traverse. I’ve heard of people walking for days and nights without finding their way out.”

Old Man Yan grunted acknowledgment and instructed Yan Hongsha: “Hongsha, help me put on my eye mask.”

He needed to rest. Mu Dai had heard from Yan Hongsha that closing one’s eyes was the most basic way to protect them. Old Man Yan’s eyes were precious, and he kept them closed more often than not.

Today, he had used them quite extensively.

After putting on the eye mask, Old Man Yan crossed his legs as if meditating. Yan Hongsha, fearing the cart’s jolting might throw him off, kept a steadying hand on him.

Mu Dai went over to talk with Zhama.

Zhama’s village was called Seven Raise, which he said couldn’t be found on maps. It was a tiny village with only about ten households. When Mu Dai asked about Moon Mountain, Zhama scratched his head and said it was what the villagers called the mountain—the name was almost literal because the moon rose from behind that mountain every day.

As for what the mountain was called on maps or if it had any official name in mountain systems, Zhama had no idea.

Old Man Yan seemed to have fallen asleep, breathing rhythmically with occasional light snores.

Zhama looked at Old Man Yan and suppressed a smile, then cracked his whip to urge the mule forward.

Mu Dai asked: “When will we arrive?”

Zhama said, “Around midnight.”

Midnight? Mu Dai nearly fainted. Watching the mule plodding along unhurriedly, she felt impatient and said, “I could walk faster than it.”

Zhama laughed heartily: “You could certainly walk on this kind of road, but ahead we’ll have to ford water, and there’s seven or eight li of mud so deep it reaches your knees.”

Mu Dai looked down at the cart’s large wheels. Indeed, except for the center, the outer circumference was covered with dried mud. She had been feeling quite dejected, but suddenly thought that when Luo Ren and his group arrived, they would also have to ride mule carts. The image of three grown men crammed on this mule cart was quite amusing.

She asked: “What makes Moon Mountain so difficult to traverse?”

Zhama thought for a moment: “Moon Mountain is very large, extremely large, but I’ve heard there are also settlements inside, even Han Chinese settlements.”

“Not ordinary Han Chinese, though. I’ve heard they were wealthy families who fled into these deep mountains decades ago to escape war.”

This wasn’t surprising. Since the pre-Qin era, Chinese people had been seeking their dream of a Peach Blossom Spring—escaping from society to live in seclusion in deep mountains. Examples were too numerous to count.

“I’ve heard that deeper into Moon Mountain, it rains three hundred days out of three hundred and sixty days a year. The mountain is already difficult to traverse, and with constant rain, the ground never dries. Each step sinks into half a jin of mud.”

“And also…”

Zhama stopped mid-sentence and waved his hand: “No, no, I won’t say more. It would frighten you.”

With such a mysterious half-statement, Mu Dai wouldn’t let it go. She used both persuasion and threats until Zhama couldn’t resist her persistence. He said, “If you can’t sleep tonight from fear, don’t blame me.”

Mu Dai said, “I’m very brave.”

Afraid others might overhear, Zhama spoke to her in a low voice.

“I’ve heard there are wild people in Moon Mountain.”

Wild people? Weren’t they only in Shennongjia?

Zhama had no idea where Shennongjia was. His expression was very serious: “Really, a hunter from Gama Village told me. One time, they took four dogs into the mountain to hunt and encountered a wild person…”

He vividly described: “It was a female, covered with hair all over her body, except for her face and… chest had no hair. Her breasts… were this big…”

Whenever he mentioned breasts, Zhama’s voice dropped an octave. As he continued, his face reddened, feeling embarrassed to discuss such things with a young woman.

Mu Dai pressed: “Then what happened?”

Zhama said, “They set the dogs on her, of course. But this wild woman had incredible strength. She grabbed one dog and tore it apart. She killed two dogs! The hunters were stunned. Later, one who reacted quickly raised his hunting rifle and shot her in the thigh. The wild woman howled and ran away.”

For some reason, despite Zhama’s serious expression, Mu Dai wanted to laugh.

She asked: “Have you seen one yourself?”

Zhama was startled: “Of course not! If I had, I’d be in terrible trouble. You don’t know, but later, another incident happened…”

Suddenly, his face reddened, and he fell silent.

No matter how Mu Dai pressed him, he wouldn’t speak again. When she pressed too urgently, he stomped his foot, making the entire cart shake.

He said: “Oh my, you’re a young lady. I really can’t tell you about that.”