The vast grasslands stretched out, a sweeping sea of yellow-green, where the grasses grew to a uniform height, yet beneath them, sand dunes shifted unevenly, creating a terrain of varied elevations. Most areas of the plain offered little noticeable change in height; from a distance or a high vantage point, these subtle shifts were hard to discern. The expanse also held rocky outcrops or sandy hills, but due to the immense sky and breadth of the land, they merely appeared as undulating horizons meeting the heavens. Only upon drawing near could one truly grasp the scale of the slopes and drops.

The trail of the fleeing cattle disappeared precisely at the crest of an upward slope. We urgently reined in our horses, searching carefully. The grass in this patch was riddled with chaotic hoof prints, and the surrounding vegetation bore clear signs of grazing, indicating that after their initial panic, the herd had calmed down and stopped here to feed.

Yet, the strangeness was absolute: the entire massive herd had vanished into thin air right here. Even if the herd had been attacked by wolves, there would surely be remnants of hoof prints or other signs. We had followed them closely, one after the other. What force could possibly erase a herd of cattle in such a short span of time? I called out to Ding Sitian from my saddle, "Are there tornadoes out here on the steppe? Did a fierce wind just sweep the entire herd away?"

Ding Sitian replied, "I’ve heard of occasional tornadoes in the far reaches of the northern desert, in Outer Mongolia, but our grasslands here are extremely rare for them. Besides, how immense would a tornado have to be to lift hundreds of cattle? If there were one, with this clear blue sky today, we would have spotted it from miles away. Moreover, the nearby grass shows no sign of being battered by wind." She then turned to Old Sheepskin, knowing his decades of life on the steppe made his experience far richer than ours, the educated youth.

Old Sheepskin remained silent. He dismounted, studying the hoof prints in the dirt for a long moment. Finally, he slumped onto the ground, tears streaming down his face. It seemed certain that the two hundred-plus cattle had been devoured by the "Yao Long" (Demon Dragon) of the grasslands. Old Sheepskin wept and wailed, beating his chest, "Why does the Eternal Heaven punish the miserable herdsmen so?" Decades ago, his own brother had disappeared after coming to this very vicinity, and now the cattle, too, had vanished here. These animals were the collective property of the brigade. If he hadn't gotten drunk the previous night and neglected to reinforce the corral, this catastrophe wouldn't have occurred. The responsibility was crushing, and if the superiors investigated, there would be no credible explanation—who would ever believe that a whole herd was swallowed by a dragon, leaving not a single hair behind?

Ding Sitian, too, began to weep in distress. Her outward strength belied an inherently **heart, fragile like any ordinary girl, unable to withstand such a crushing blow. Seeing this, Fatty and I grew intensely worried for them. I dismounted and tried to reason with Old Sheepskin, "Look, under the circumstances, we can't report success until we find these cattle. Getting agitated now is useless. Let's spread out and search the surroundings immediately. We must find them, even if we have to turn the entire prairie upside down." Furthermore, I did not believe the legends of a demon dragon swallowing people and beasts. Even granting the extreme possibility that a dragon-like beast resided deep in the steppe, it couldn't possibly swallow so many cattle whole—did it have such an enormous stomach? And even if it did, wouldn't it have to excrete bones? Finding the bones would offer some kind of accounting. In these times, there were too many political accusations one could be pinned with; failing to account for the cattle might saddle this old man and Ding Sitian with charges that could ruin them. Some burdens, even frightening ones, cannot be avoided; in a critical moment, one must simply grit one's teeth and press on. Crying would be better spent on the search itself.

Fatty chimed in, trying to console her, "Sitian, don't cry. In my memory, you aren't the type of girl who just whimpers and complains uselessly. Remember how we once shook the five oceans and stirred the four seas with violent winds and raging waters? We, the Red Guards, swept away all demons and monsters! You once spoke of wanting to become a PLA cultural troupe soldier, full of exquisite wisdom and foresight, possessing deep theoretical understanding and an unyielding spirit of struggle. Don't follow Hu Bayi’s example, constantly shouting about the innocence of low pursuits. Never forget: death does not belong to the working class."

Fatty's words managed to draw a tearful smile from Ding Sitian. She wiped her eyes and nodded, "That's right, death does not belong to the working class." Under our persuasion, the old man and the young woman finally faced reality: the only ones who could save their fate were themselves. Complaining to heaven and earth was utterly meaningless. With no other options, having lost the cattle, they could only rely on searching for them; howling and lamenting wouldn't bring them back.

In truth, I harbored a separate theory I hadn't shared. Yesterday, when Old Sheepskin mentioned his brother being forced to guide people to the "Hundred-Eye Cave" decades ago, he had spoken of bandits coming from the mountains carrying an enormous chest. I found this highly suspicious, especially since the timing matched exactly what Fourth Aunt had said. Perhaps the bandits of the "Ni'er Society" had carried things unearthed from the mountains out onto the steppe. I couldn't fathom their motive for choosing the grasslands, but that chest—the "Yellow Immortal's" chest—likely held precious gold. If the cattle truly were lost forever, finding gold might allow Ding Sitian and Old Sheepskin to redeem their failure through merit.

Because I had heard so many legends about gold mines in the Xing'an Mountains, the notion of the "Hundred-Eye Cave" being the bandits' treasure vault had become firmly lodged in my mind, forming a subjective premise for all subsequent speculation. I reasoned that the missing people were likely silenced by the bandits guarding the treasure. Then, the "Ni'er Society" must have suffered an internal struggle over the gold and the "Four Olds" looted from the ancient tombs, leading to a bloody conflict that resulted in mutual destruction. That was likely the truth of it. At the time, my insight was shallow; I didn't probe deeply and felt quite satisfied with my deduction, believing it to be nine parts certain.

To the side of this grassy slope was a ravine, leading down into the rolling, desolate terrain known as the "Hundred-Eye Cave." We weren't ready to give up yet. We remounted and began circling the immediate area, searching for any remaining trace.

It was past noon, and we had only been back in the saddles a short while when the horses suddenly became extremely agitated. They whinnied and snorted, and the surrounding air seemed charged with some anomaly that was making them restless and frightened. Concerned that a buck might throw me, I tightly gripped the reins with one hand and held the stirrup iron with the other. But the horses didn't buck; they merely wheeled in tight circles. Seeing the other three horses behaving identically, I pressed Old Sheepskin, "Old man, what is wrong with these horses?"

Old Sheepskin pulled hard on his reins, managing to steady his panicked mount. He told us that steppe horses were intuitive, their instincts far sharper than human senses. They must have sensed something terrifying nearby that we couldn't perceive. His own mount was a retired military horse, a head taller than the average Mongolian pony. Despite having long teeth, this horse possessed a much calmer temperament. With it leading, the other three were momentarily kept from completely losing control.

As the horses’ agitation slightly subsided, we took the opportunity to scan the surrounding grassland, hoping to see what might be connected to the disappearance of the hundred-plus cattle. At that moment, all our nerves were taut, wound like clock springs. To guard against prairie wolves, Old Sheepskin had brought an old-fashioned hunting rifle. Since Old Sheepskin had his Kangxi Saber for close defense, he asked Fatty, "That fatty kid, can he shoot?"

Fatty curled his lip dismissively. "You guessed it. I fired a couple of shots when I was young." But upon taking the rifle from Old Sheepskin, he gave a wry smile. "I've never handled a gun like this. Is this a hunting rifle? It looks hardly better than the blunderbusses the Boxers used against the foreign devils." Some herdsmen had modern rifles, but Old Sheepskin only owned this one shotgun. Wolves were not common on the Kholchin Left Banner grasslands; occasionally, spotting one from afar warranted a shot simply to scare it off. This small-caliber firearm actually had a legendary history. Its prototype originated in Tianjin, designed for shooting wild ducks. When the Taiping Army launched its northern expedition and approached Tianjin, threatening the Qing capital, the local magistrate Xie Zicheng organized civilian militia armed with these duck guns into firing squads, known as the "Duck Squads." They actually managed to repel the Taiping forces using volley fire tactics. Consequently, in the late Qing and early Republic eras, local workshops produced a large number of such crude firearms, and even the Red Army used similar weapons during the Long March. But this weapon was more than half a century old, something that should have been retired to a museum long ago.

However, there was no time to debate the efficacy of this old fowling piece now. Having a defensive tool was certainly better than facing danger with just two fists. The four of us huddled close, spreading our gaze in a fan shape across the grassland. The horses continued to tremble and whinny. I stared intently ahead. The steppe offered a vast, clear view—the sky boundless, the wilderness immense—everything visible, yet there was no sign of unusual movement, only the sighing wind sweeping over the grass.

The deeper the silence, the more uneasy I felt. A whole herd of cattle vanishing so utterly suggested a mysterious power at play, one beyond human resistance. The horses’ extreme agitation indicated that this terrible, invisible force might be approaching us, yet we didn't know its direction. I repeatedly asked myself what to do: fight or flee? After much thought, the only viable option seemed to be to wait and observe.

The churning thoughts in my mind were abruptly shattered by a mournful cry of a wild goose overhead. Hearing the call, the other three of us instinctively looked up. A V-formation of geese was passing directly above us. Migrating flocks in autumn were common sights on the steppe, so we paid little mind, until we noticed a thick, dark cloud hanging directly in the path of the V-formation. The cloud was incredibly dense, resembling a miniature atomic mushroom cloud, though different in color, common enough on the steppe to be overlooked at a casual glance. This type of cloud, descending from high altitude, was known as a "Heaven's Drape" (Tian Gua), a sign to experienced herders that snow or rain was imminent.

As we watched, the V-formation sliced into the cloud. Because the V-shape was long, the few geese at the trailing edge hadn't yet entered the mass. Following a few tragic honks from within the cloud, those remaining geese scattered backward like startled spirits. Seeing this, a chill ran through us: "My God, there's something in that cloud!" Old Sheepskin cried out, clutching his head, "Eternal Heaven! The demon dragon is hiding in the clouds!"

A strong wind seemed to whip through the upper air, rapidly shredding the dense "Heaven's Drape" into wispy streamers. The blue sky and red sun became sharply visible. The cloud was empty; nothing remained. The scattered geese continued to cry mournfully in the distance. Those geese that had flown into the cloud seemed to have evaporated, leaving not even a feather behind.

We stood dumbfounded. Had we not witnessed it ourselves, no one would have believed the terrifying spectacle we had just seen. At that moment, the sunlight seemed to dim for an instant, yet to our eyes, the sky remained blue with ordinary clouds, nothing out of the ordinary. But immediately, the horses became frantic again. Because we had pulled back on the reins to restrain them, and the horses knew we hadn't given the command to run, they only spun in place, yet no amount of pulling could stop their frantic circling.

While hesitating, uncertain whether to advance or retreat, I suddenly felt a painful pressure in my eardrums. My heart sank—that thing from the sky was heading toward us. Old Sheepskin reacted instantly, cracking his whip against the hindquarters of each of our mounts. We all knew we had no choice but to flee, shouting, "Run! Quickly!"

The four horses were finally released, plunging down the grassy slope behind us in a chaotic rush. Riding downhill steeply is always dangerous, inviting a fall, but at that moment, caution was abandoned. Without urging, the horses galloped with desperate abandon, the only sound the fierce huhu of the wind rushing past our ears.

The horses instinctively fled into the lowest ground, bounding between the rolling hillocks. We trusted their superior sense of danger over our own judgment; we simply hunched low over the saddles, letting the military mare lead our escape. Amidst the chaos, I couldn't help but glance back. Behind us, autumn winds churned the sea of grass into layers of waves under a high, clear sky. There was absolutely nothing visible in the rear.

After bolting for about two or three li, the horses finally slowed. Their panic subsided, suggesting we had escaped the immediate danger. We pulled the reins, stopping to look back. None of us could articulate what we had just encountered. But the missing cattle, perhaps like those wild geese swallowed by the cloud, had been inexplicably devoured by some unseen, intangible entity.

I asked Old Sheepskin if his sighting of a dragon decades ago in the deep steppe was similar to what we had just experienced. Old Sheepskin looked utterly bewildered. He said that experience was completely different. That was at dusk; he had seen a grotesque, terrifying dragon in the sky, entirely black, like a ghastly phantom. This was broad daylight, with so many living creatures simply ceasing to exist. This incident was truly demonic.

The group debated aimlessly for a while, utterly stumped, none able to offer a plausible explanation. Ding Sitian’s parents managed a museum, so she had broad exposure to knowledge and the widest general education among us. Yet, even she had never heard of a phenomenon like this. She merely remarked that the world contained countless astonishing and terrifying natural events, and humanity, being so small, could never fully grasp the mysteries. But whether viewed through a materialist, idealist, or critical lens, our cattle were most likely lost forever.

Just as Ding Sitian sighed over the capriciousness of fate, I suddenly noticed a desolate, overgrown ravine in the nearby hollow, radiating an aura that suggested spirits or foxes frequented the place. Where in the world did we flee to? I thought, alarmed. I quickly asked Old Sheepskin to examine the terrain and identify our location. Old Sheepskin steadied himself, turned his horse, and surveyed the surroundings. His expression instantly tightened. Looking toward the hollow, he muttered, "I must have committed terrible sins in a past life. Why did we run straight into the 'Hundred-Eye Cave'?"