Coincidentally, they were eating a “three-pot meal” and had also ordered barbecue, accompanied by pickled radish and glutinous rice wine. After spending about ten hours together, the three had become quite familiar. Shen Gun took a sip of wine, his face flushed, and continued regaling the two with tales of his earlier wanderings and dangerous encounters.
“When I saw it, that poison insect was this thick and this long.”
He gestured to indicate the size.
Shen Wangu frowned: “How does this poison insect look like corn? I’ve heard old folks say that in our Xiangxi, some old women raise poison insects, but theirs are only this small.”
He indicated a length shorter than a span, then shortened it even more.
Shen Bang listened with fascination and complained about Shen Wangu’s interruption: “Didn’t they say the insects are fed with human flesh? Better nutrition, right? Besides, Brother Gun encountered Dian Black Miao poison, which is different from our Xiang Miao poison. They’re completely separate traditions—maybe their region produces larger varieties.”
Shen Gun continued: “I chopped down with one knife, but to my surprise, it split into two pieces, and both could still move! What if they escaped? With a mighty roar, I sat on one half, crushing it to death, while my hands didn’t waste time—slash, slash, slash, chop, chop, chop—taking care of the other half too.”
Shen Bang’s entire face scrunched up: “Was your backside okay?”
“How could it be okay? Bone fracture! Couldn’t lie down, had to sleep on my stomach for several months.”
Shen Wangu sucked in a breath, quickly pouring wine for Shen Gun: “Amazing, amazing! Brother Gun, you’re so brave. Let’s drink to…”
He initially wanted to say “drink to your backside” but felt it wasn’t elegant enough: “Bottoms up! Drink!”
Shen Gun was pleased, emptying his cup in one gulp. He couldn’t handle alcohol well—even this sweet rice wine made his head swim after just two cups, his eyes becoming hazy.
With drunken eyes, he tilted his head to look at the dark mountain peaks above. The great Wulingyuan mountains were massive, and even at some distance from the scenic area, they seemed to be pressing down overhead in the night: “I read in a tourism brochure that these mountains have a history of two to three hundred million years.”
Shen Wangu had just put food in his mouth, his cheeks bulging, making his speech muffled: “That’s right. Even a small pebble you accidentally kick was around before your ancestor’s ancestor.”
Shen Gun was quite emotional: “Then why are humans, supposedly the lords of creation, living such short lives?”
We love to build houses but don’t outlive them; we love to accumulate wealth but don’t outlive gold and silver; we love to acquire fields and land…
Heh, forget it, we don’t outlive those either.
Shen Bang expertly stripped all the lamb meat from a skewer into his mouth: “Brother Gun, it’s not about the height of the mountain, but whether immortals dwell there. Life isn’t about length, but quality—humans focus on living with quality. What’s the point of being a stone? Even after two or three hundred million years, it’s still just a stone, can’t even speak.”
Shen Wangu interjected: “Some people live long lives, too! That guy, what’s his name, Peng Zu, didn’t he live to eight hundred and eight?”
Shen Bang scoffed: “You believe such nonsense.”
Shen Gun said, “Little Bang Bang, that’s narrow-minded of you. Peng Zu, he was probably… the last… hmm… the last…”
The alcohol was taking effect, making his tongue heavy. Shen Bang strained to listen for a long time but couldn’t make out what “the last” referred to.
The last what? The last emperor? But wasn’t that Puyi?
Early the next morning, Meng Qianzi was busy examining the wound on her left eye in the mirror.
With medical gel and the mountain ghosts’ ointment, her recovery had been remarkably fast, but a woman’s standards for appearance know no satisfaction. Meng Qianzi felt her eyelid was still swollen, making her look hideous.
Thinking about how Jiang Lian was to blame, anger caught in Meng Qianzi’s throat, making the room feel stifling. She abruptly pulled open the curtains and pushed the window outward.
Last night’s continuous drizzle had cleansed the air, leaving it fresh with hints of soil, grass, and forest in the morning mist. Unfortunately, this beautiful dawn was spoiled by one rotten apple.
Meng Qianzi saw Jiang Lian standing in the courtyard, hands in pockets, looking carefree. No one paid attention to him, but he was entertaining himself—pacing a few steps, then crouching down to poke at insects in the flower bed with grass tips. His head turned left and right, revealing a whorl at the crown that suggested he would start balding from that spot when middle-aged.
After a while, Jiang Lian seemed to sense something, looking around puzzled. By the time he looked up, Meng Qianzi had already returned to the arhat couch.
She fanned herself for a while, gradually slowing down, then tossed the fan aside and walked to the door, yanking it open with a thud.
Meng Jinsong happened to be at her door and jumped in fright.
Good, now she didn’t need to call for him.
Meng Qianzi gestured toward the window: “How did that Jiang fellow end up at Cloud Dream Peak?”