Chen Xiazi had also drunk quite a bit of strong liquor with Old Man Luo. Having trekked through mountains and over ridges all day, he was already exhausted, and the alcohol was starting to take hold. Yet, he felt keenly that something was amiss in the ancestral hall; the more he considered it, the more uneasy he became, daring not to sleep easily. Just as he was about to caution the mute Kunlun Mole to stay vigilant, a glance downward caught sight of a trail of wet footprints on the floor. The downpour had only begun after the bandits entered the house, and no one had stepped outside, meaning everyone’s soles were dry.

Realizing this, he quickly looked up at the door. It was still firmly bolted from the inside, showing no sign of having been opened. But where had these damp footprints come from, unnoticed by anyone? His hearing was exceptionally sharp; he remained silent, straining to listen to the surrounding sounds. He suddenly looked up and, in the dim flicker of the oil lamp, saw an old woman in entirely white clothing hunched over the ceiling beam, peering down.

The muddy footprints inside were chaotic and indistinct, making it impossible to trace their path. They were noticeably small, resembling the bound feet of women from old times. While he was pondering this, he heard a rustling sound from the beam above. Chen Xiazi immediately looked up, and indeed, a white figure was on the beam. The oil lamp’s light was hazy, but in that fleeting glimpse, it looked exactly like an aged crone clad in white mourning cloth.

Xiazi was secretly alarmed, thinking, "There truly is something evil here!" As he raised his hand, he had already flung out his "Small Divine Edge." The others, seeing the bandit leader Chen Xiazi suddenly strike, knew something was wrong. They each grabbed their concealed firearms and daggers, let out a shout, and retreated rapidly towards the back wall, finding cover while looking up at the situation on the roof beam.

These bandits lived lives constantly on the razor's edge; in this moment of crisis, they remained composed. Almost simultaneously with Chen Xiazi’s short blade being thrown, they had each retreated to the wall. They heard a light thud, and the "Small Divine Edge," trailing a cold gleam, embedded itself a good inch into the wooden beam. Red Girl snatched up the nearby leather lantern and held it high, illuminating the spot. The short blade was stuck directly into an ancient painting.

The painting depicted a group of old crones wearing hemp funeral attire. Their faces were deeply wrinkled, their expressions weary with age, and their countenances held an indescribable, uncanny look that instantly repulsed anyone who saw it. Beside them was painted a scene of jagged, broken steles among desolate grave mounds. The painting had hung on the beam for countless years. The paper showed signs of dampness and yellowing, but there was no dust or ash settled upon it.

Chen Xiazi, having heard the sound, had struck instantly, intending to preempt any threat. He hadn't expected an eerie portrait of an old woman on the beam and let out an "Eh?" of surprise. He muttered, "What strangeness is this? Why would there be a portrait of Old Madam Bai hanging in this ancestral hall?" He then realized: Ah, this dilapidated temple, once used for preliminary burials, used to enshrine "Old Madam Bai." The main hall was used to store corpses, and her statue was hung in the back room—something he had inquired about earlier. However, the suddenness of the situation had made him forget; it turned out to be a false alarm for everyone.

No one could clearly say what deity Old Madam Bai was. They only knew that in the vicinity of Old Bear Ridge, mountain folk often worshipped her. Even people from outside the mountains had heard tales of the foolish men and women of the mountains, young and old, paying homage to her. But her incense had long since been extinguished for many years. Xiazi cursed, "This pig-dog's portrait looks more evil than righteous; keeping it is inauspicious. Mute one, go take that painting down and burn it..."

Before he could finish the instruction, they heard a cat's cry. Half of a mottled old cat's body emerged from the beam, its eyes fixed intently on the corpse of Rat Second Aunt behind the door. It turned out that no one had guarded the ancestral hall recently, and wild cats often snuck in to steal food. Lacking grain, the hungry cats tried to gnaw on the dead bodies, but the coffin lid blocked them. The cat clawed for half the night without success. When the fierce storm broke out just now, the old cat took the opportunity to slip in through the door crack. The bandits were all engrossed in listening to Old Man Luo talk about driving corpses and hadn't noticed the cat's subtle movements. It had hidden on the beam, was detected by Chen Xiazi, and the thrown knife hitting the painting on the beam immediately startled it out.

Chen Xiazi inwardly thought, "How shameful. I, who hold the position of leader among these bandits, whom many great thieves of the rivers and many flying villains of the seas must address as Batou or Yuanliang, have been frightened tonight by an old cat."

Old Man Luo and the others initially suspected ghosts or demons and were preparing for a major confrontation. But when they saw it was just a sneaky old cat, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief, cursed a few times, and let their guard down. They put away their weapons and sat back down. Maintaining their status, none of them wanted to bother with a mere cat.

Who knew that the old cat, seeing Rat Second Aunt's rat-like face, kept seeing it as more and more like a rat? It truly took the dead woman for a giant mouse. The cat, missing a leg, hobbled down from the beam on its three paws, its two eyes slyly assessing the female corpse, completely ignoring the rest of the people in the room.

Chen Xiazi and the others were already irritated and had no idea what schemes the lame cat was brewing. Assuming it had exposed itself and would try to escape through the door crack again, they lost interest in watching it. Chen Xiazi had Hua Ma Gui climb onto the mute's neck to retrieve the short blade, the "Small Divine Edge," nailed into the ceiling beam. He himself engaged Old Man Luo in polite conversation, claiming he struck the painting because it looked so peculiar, to dispel its supposed evil influence, implying it had nothing to do with this bai mao (a derogatory term for a cat).

Just then, Red Girl shouted angrily, "Thieving cat, how audacious!" Everyone quickly turned to look. The lame calico cat was squatting on Rat Second Aunt's corpse’s shoulder, biting chunks of flesh from the dead woman's cheek. Because she looked like a rat, the cat had come to gnaw on her. A piece of flesh had already been torn from the corpse’s face. Since the deceased had only recently passed, the arsenic injected into her body had not yet fully permeated her system, so her face had not stiffened from rigor mortis; otherwise, a single bite would have poisoned and killed the three-legged cat.

Chen Xiazi was furious and cursed loudly, "Thieving bai mao! Acting like this is truly courting death..." His "Small Divine Edge" was still stuck in the beam, so he grabbed the revolver tucked into Old Man Luo's waist. However, having never practiced with a firearm, he knew he likely wouldn't hit anything if he shot. So, he swung the gun towards the three-legged cat and brought it down to smash it. Old Man Luo's revolver was an expensive American make. Seeing Chen Xiazi using it as a hammer to attack a cat, he both regretted the weapon's potential damage and feared Chen Xiazi might accidentally discharge it. He quickly reached out to urge him to calm down.

Chen Xiazi held himself in high regard and could not tolerate the lame cat repeatedly making a spectacle of itself in front of him. He shook off Old Man Luo and lunged directly at the cat. But the cat was extremely cunning, perhaps even possessing some skill, showing no sign of fear. Instead, it bared its teeth at Chen Xiazi, then turned and bit off Rat Second Aunt's ear, tearing the whole thing off in one bite, clutching it in its mouth. It then flipped over, leaping off the corpse, and vanished like smoke through the crack beneath the door, disappearing into the black rain outside, swiftly making its escape.

Although the old cat was missing a limb, its movements were slippery and unpredictable. In an instant, it completed the sequence of "baring teeth, biting the ear, turning, and darting through the door crack." Chen Xiazi's strike was fast, but he was still several feet away, and he couldn't even touch a single hair on it.

Although Old Man Luo was quick-tempered and wouldn't blink when killing someone, he wasn't as arrogant as Chen Xiazi. He felt that since the cat had only taken a few pieces of flesh from the female corpse, driving it away was enough. Here were the Marshal and the Bandit Leader, both well-known figures in both legitimate and underworld circles; it wasn't worth arguing with a three-legged cat over this. Furthermore, the room was cramped, and Red Girl was blocked by the others. Though she wanted to catch the cat, she was stuck inside. Meanwhile, the mute Kunlun Mole and Hua Ma Gui were stacked in a human ladder trying to retrieve the short blade from the beam. Thus, when Chen Xiazi’s strike missed, everyone could only watch helplessly as the three-legged cat escaped far into the distance, clutching the dead woman's ear. Ordinarily, this incident might be overlooked if it happened to someone else, but it had provoked Chen Xiazi so much that "anger arose from his heart, and wickedness sprang up at his side." Since his birth, he had effortlessly become the Bandit Leader, commanding the entire Xie Ling band of robbers, excavating numerous grand tombs, and succeeding in countless major ventures without a single failure, leading him to become somewhat arrogant. Failing to smash the lame cat with a single shot was intolerable, but failing in front of Old Man Luo and his men was even more so.

In his shame, an inexplicable, sinister fire welled up, and he felt the urge to kill the cat to vent his anger. Seeing the three-legged cat fleeing, a sudden thought flashed through his mind. The Xie Ling bandits had always prided themselves on "Robbery without Forsaking the Way"—they would grind the bones of princes and nobles into dust but held the corpses of poor commoners in high regard. If they encountered a poor person who had died suddenly on the road, they would contribute money and effort to give them a proper burial. Although very few adhered to this rule, it was still a code of the underworld. Now that they had encountered such a situation, ignoring it was out of the question. It might be acceptable if Rat Second Aunt merely lost a patch of skin on her face, but losing one of her sensory organs—what sort of decorum was that? Since ancient times, in the funeral rites and customs of successive dynasties, maintaining the integrity of the deceased's appearance was a solemn matter. This bai mao was too infuriating and absolutely could not be let off lightly; at the very least, he had to retrieve Rat Second Aunt's ear.

What he thought happened in an instant. These thoughts flashed through Chen Xiazi's mind, and he instructed the four men behind him, "None of you follow. I will return shortly..." Before his words had fully faded, he had already unlatched the door bolt and shot out, following the cat's trail. The cat was moving extremely fast; there was no time for him to deliberate further. If he delayed, he might never catch up. He stamped his feet on the ground, unleashing his "Swallow Tail Plucking" lightness skill (Qinggong), tracing the tracks out into the night.

The Chen family had their own ancestral lightness skills, essential techniques for thieves navigating thousands of households. They weren't as magical as people imagined. Although the skill was called "Swallow Tail Plucking," one couldn't truly catch a flying swallow and grasp its tail. Rather, it involved bathing from childhood in water boiled with medicinal herbs—a process called "Bone Changing"—which made the body nimble. Coupled with years of practice perfecting techniques like lifting, leaping, chasing, climbing, kicking, stepping, and flipping, after several years, one might not truly achieve soaring heights or walking on walls, but skills like "vaulting walls and jumping over ridges" would far surpass ordinary people.

The Xie Ling bandits were referred to by different titles within the group according to their skill levels. To become the supreme leader, one needed the ability of "High-Head Vaulting," a title for a thief indicating the capacity to scale high walls unaided. Chen Xiazi had cultivated diligently with an old Daoist in the deep mountains for over ten years, truly achieving some extraordinary benefits from "marrow cleansing and hair trimming." Added to this was his innate night vision. Chasing urgently in the dark, muddy rain, holding his breath, he managed to keep close to the cat's tracks, quickly reaching the foot of the ridge.

The weather in the deep mountains was unpredictable. By this time, the heavy rain was gradually stopping, and the dark clouds parted, revealing a sliver of the cold moon. The three-legged cat, after all, was missing a limb. Although agile in its movements, it ran much slower than a healthy cat. Thus, Chen Xiazi, using the moonlight for tracking, did not lose the trail immediately. The old cat seemed to sense the pursuer behind it and had no time to swallow the piece of ear it had bitten off; it had to concentrate solely on escape.

After running a distance at the foot of the ridge, winding through several turns, the lame cat realized it could not shake off Chen Xiazi’s pursuit. It devised a wicked plan, darting sideways into an area dense with trees. Chen Xiazi chased for a long time without catching up. Instead, due to the slippery ground, he nearly fell into the pitch-black mountain ravine several times. He gritted his teeth and cursed, "What a thieving cat! Even missing a leg, it runs this fast!" Gritting his teeth, he chased until the edge of the woods, but the cat’s tracks had vanished. If he continued circling the mountain to pursue it, he would enter dense forest where one could not see the sky even when standing upright.

The surroundings were deathly silent. It seemed the lame cat had fled into dangerous territory: deep woods and steep ridges. Chen Xiazi realized he had chased too far and feared getting lost if he entered the woods. He was forced to slow his pace, hatefully muttering in his heart, "Thieving bai mao, you are utterly treacherous. Next time I encounter you, I won't take your life; I'll cut off one of your legs first. Then let's see how far you can run."

Seeing that he couldn't catch it now, he decided to turn back. But just as he was about to pivot, he suddenly heard faint "Meow... Meow..." cat calls coming from the quiet old forest. The sorrowful cries sounded like weeping, imbued with a trembling fear of imminent death. The cries grew increasingly terrifying; hearing them in the middle of the night sent chills down his spine.

Suspicion arose in Chen Xiazi's mind. He stopped immediately to discern the sounds in the woods and found it very strange. Could the lame cat be entangled with something in the forest from a past life? But the calls sounded so uniquely ominous. They said old cats have nine lives; what kind of thing could frighten an old cat this much? His curiosity flared, and he couldn't resist finding out. He held his breath, moved silently on his toes, and slipped into the forest.

Through the patches of moonlight filtering between the tree gaps, he saw a graveyard behind an old tree. The burial ground was covered in broken steles, scattered stones, and overgrown weeds, looking very familiar—strikingly similar to the place depicted in the ancient painting at the ancestral hall. The old cat was huddled beneath a broken stele, its whole body shaking uncontrollably. And on the tombstone, an unbelievable and bizarre scene was unfolding, causing the heart of the bandit leader Chen Xiazi to race suddenly.

Under the faint moonlight, Chen Xiazi, in pursuit of the lame cat, had ventured deep into the ancient burial woods without realizing it. The mountain hollow held a stretch of old forest where ancient trees were gnarled and twisted, towering toward the heavens. By the moonlight, he could see sinister mist rising and falling deep within the woods, accompanied by the gentle gurgle of flowing water, all emanating an aura of strangeness and ill omen.