"...After leaving school, I had absolutely no idea where to find the place depicted in the Green Fur Map, and I was afraid to return to school, so I planned to find Master Qinghe to ask for clarification. Before that, I sketched the Green Fur Map based on my memory. Just as I was about to leave, I ran into Niao Niao at the station by chance. He immediately told me the place on the map was Tianjiao Mountain. I was overjoyed, of course, called the school to ask for leave, and followed Niao Niao to Xidu without hesitation..."

The three Tujia men exchanged glances after hearing Tan Ping'er's "story."

"So, you left school and came to Xidu solely based on a dream? And the four lines of verse you recited to Yingying were also spoken by Master Qinghe in your dream?... What about that character 'Tu'?" After a long silence, Ji Ye asked Tan Ping'er.

Tan Ping'er nodded, saying, "Actually, even now, I'm still hesitant to confirm if what happened in the dream was real. However... the dream felt so intensely real, as if it was happening to me. My memory of it is incredibly vivid. Moreover, when I woke up, that mirror was genuinely shattered... I don't know if it was a dream or something that truly occurred!"

She paused, then continued in a low voice, "That's why I said I was sorry to you all. I never intended for things to turn out this way."

"You... why didn't you tell us sooner?" Man Niao Niao frowned, his tone carrying a hint of accusation.

Tan Ping'er naturally sensed the displeasure in Man Niao Niao's words, and her face instantly paled. Hanging her head, she murmured, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I almost caused trouble for you all... Back then, I just wanted to know why the Green Fur Map appeared on my back. So... after I got off the bus, seeing the 'Tu' character on Yingying's forehead made me even more uncertain if it was a dream. I naturally started to believe what Master Qinghe had said. Later, learning that Yingying had seen me in a dream, coupled with everything that followed, and seeing the real Tianjiao Mountain and Anle Cave, I became about eighty or ninety percent convinced about the scenes in the mirror. Despite this, I still couldn't be one hundred percent certain that my true identity was what the mirror suggested—that I was... a test-tube baby. Later, when Yingying mentioned that to unravel the mystery of the Green Fur Map, we had to enter Anle Cave to find the answer, I followed you into the cave with a 'wait-and-see' attitude. I never expected to nearly endanger you all... I'm sorry. It wasn't intentional to hide this; I truly didn't know if you would believe me if I told you." As Tan Ping'er spoke, her eyes misted over, and two streams of clear tears instantly traced paths down her cheeks.

Seeing Tan Ping'er's profound distress, Hua'er stuck out its tongue and licked her face, its own eyes appearing watery.

Tan Ping'er's expression pained me. I shot a displeased glance at the silent Man Niao Niao and Ji Ye, quickly attempting to ease the tension. "Guessing is for gods, dreaming is for the mind, and sneezing is an itchy nose. Since it was a dream, let's not dwell on whether it was real or not. The Green Fur Map on Ping'er's back has finally vanished—that's cause for celebration! It means our entry into Anle Cave wasn't in vain. If we suffer a bit and endure some hardship, what's there to fear? Right, Niao Niao?"

Man Niao Niao gave a wry smile. "Indeed. Tujia men have always been willing to take a knife for their friends. A little danger, what's there to be scared of, ah?" His mouth slipped, almost uttering that crude word in front of Tan Ping'er, but he reacted fast enough to catch himself, substituting a word with a similar meaning.

Man Niao Niao blushed, which was rare for him, and quickly changed the subject. "Ping'er, do you remember anything after the Monkey-Headed Eagle snatched you away? Where did you come from to get here?"

Tan Ping'er seemed to exhale slightly upon being addressed by Man Niao Niao, though her gaze remained very distant. "I don't know. When that Monkey-Headed Eagle lunged at me, I screamed in fright, and then... nothing. I woke up again to find myself in this strange place, just as I heard you all laughing and chatting about your journey. The more I listened, the worse I felt, feeling I had let you down, so I interrupted your conversation... By the way, where is this place?"

Man Niao Niao immediately perked up, clicking his cigarette holder, and animatedly recounted the story of the bizarre Yin-Yang Tree to Tan Ping'er. Tan Ping'er's expression gradually recovered; hearing Man Niao Niao's account, her look shifted from sorrowful to astonished.

Ji Ye, with his "Explosive Charge" pipe clenched between his teeth, hung his head in deep thought. Judging by his expression, he seemed ready to elevate Tan Ping'er's story to the realm of idealism again. I nudged him. "Ji Ye, sir, look... the sun is almost setting, and this place will soon be pitch black... Shouldn't we hurry up and climb out?"

"Not looking for that tablet monument anymore?" Ji Ye looked up and asked.

"Find a shovel, why bother believing things from a dream?" I grinned cheekily and leaned close to Ji Ye's ear. "I dreamt of getting married last night; should I just sit around today waiting for some girl to deliver herself to my door? Alright, you three rest here for a bit. I'll go up and see which branch is closest to the cave entrance so we can get out quickly."

Tan Ping'er was safe, and the Green Fur Map on her back had inexplicably vanished. These two facts eased my mood considerably. Although I hadn't figured out why the map disappeared, I've always prioritized results over process. Our main objective for entering Anle Cave had been achieved; why waste energy speculating about some mysterious tablet monument? Why bother analyzing the ramblings of an old monk about "verses" and the "Tu" character in Tan Ping'er's dream? Cherishing what we have now, what is truly real, is paramount. If we didn't climb out of Anle Cave while there was still some light, the trouble after sunset would be immense.

I took off my gear and handed it to Ji Ye, then, like a cheerful squirrel, I quickly scrambled up to the middle section of the Yin-Yang Tree. Going higher, the branches began to sway, unable to bear my weight. I had to stop, steady myself on a branch, and look up. The cave entrance was visible diagonally above the treetop, blocked by leaves that blotted out the sun, so I couldn't see it clearly. Directly below me was a branch angling sharply upward. I tested it with my foot, estimating it could hold me, and proceeded to shuffle forward, hand gripping a branch overhead, moving like someone crossing a tightrope, searching for the spot closest to the opening.

However, the unexpected happened at that very moment, without any prior warning.

When I was less than three feet from the main trunk of the Yin-Yang Tree, a foul, fishy stench assaulted me. As I wondered about it, a flat, triangular snake head shot toward me like a spring. Its two eyes, small as green beans, fixed on me intently, its blood-red, forked tongue flickering in and out.

I didn't have time to see where that "slick one" came from or where it was coiled. My lightened heart felt as if it were clamped between two grinding stones, and with a sudden thud, it stopped entirely. Every nerve in my body recoiled; I felt my soul completely detach from my flesh. Everything went dark. My hands loosened, and I plummeted from the tree like a cannonball...

Amidst Tan Ping'er's scream, I ricocheted back and forth between the protruding branches like a piece of dry firewood. Every muscle in my body stung fiercely from the whipping of thick and thin branches, and my ribs felt nearly shattered from the impact. Before I could even cry out for help, thwump—a wave of throbbing pain exploded on the top of my head, and with undiminished speed, my body plunged headfirst into the pitch-black, lacquer-dark pool. The viscous, foul-smelling lacquer instantly flooded my seven orifices.

The impact against the hardened lacquer crust on my head jolted my consciousness slightly back to awareness. Coupled with the indescribable strange odor of the lacquer filling my chest, I was forced into a desperate, dying struggle. I kept my mouth tightly shut, flailing my hands and feet wildly, desperately searching for fresh air. But the lacquer was as thick as honey or lard, clinging so tightly that my limbs couldn't exert any force. Soon, my limbs grew numb and useless, and the scope of my thrashing became heartbreakingly small.

Within that lacquer were many dead twigs and decaying leaves. As the lacquer churned, they obscured my eyes and mouth, making it impossible to locate the hole I had apparently pierced. My struggles were merely subconscious actions, preparatory movements for death.

At that moment, I was far less capable than a fly struggling in lard. My head buzzed from holding my breath, my whole body ached with pressure, and I instinctively tried to spit out the lacquer that had entered my mouth. The result was simply swallowing even more, which mixed with the foul substance vomited from the depths of my throat. The murky material had no choice but to find its own exit, shooting out through my nostrils... Was this situation not thousands of times more perilous than ordinary drowning?

More and more lacquer filled my belly, the amplitude of my struggling hands and feet diminished, my consciousness grew hazier, and my body sank lower and lower. Yet, the view before me seemed to grow brighter, and I vaguely saw that snake head grinning cruelly at me...

Just as the last thread of consciousness was about to slip away, my hand accidentally brushed against something soft. Driven by instinct, I gripped that soft thing tightly, drinking gulps of lacquer while desperately trying to pull myself upward with every ounce of strength. After what felt like centuries, the top of my head touched something hard.

The lacquer crust? As this faint sensation registered in my mind, I felt strength rush back into my depleted limbs. I thrust my arms and kicked down hard with my legs, enduring agonizing pain, repeatedly slamming my head against the crust. After about a dozen strikes, my head broke through the surface. Like a chick hatching, I used my shoulder to violently force open a larger hole. With a struggle, I propped myself up on my hands, half my body draped over the thin layer of crust.

I opened my mouth and inhaled the fresh air while simultaneously swallowing the lacquer trapped inside. My lungs and heart, swollen and aching from being held captive, finally found some relief. The strange taste of the lacquer prevented me from closing my mouth, and the lacquer completely blocked my nostrils, entering and exiting with my involuntary breaths. My ears were also filled with lacquer; other than a buzzing in my head, I couldn't hear anything else...

While desperately pulling fresh air into my chest, my hand still gripped that soft object. Only when my heart rate stabilized slightly from the air did I have the leisure to wipe my eyes haphazardly with one hand and force my eyelids open. Through the haze, I saw that the soft object was a length of rope thickly coated in lacquer.

Being unable to breathe through the nose is inherently uncomfortable, and what was blocking mine wasn't ordinary mucus but thick, foul-smelling lacquer. Naturally, I desperately wanted to clear the obstruction. Despite a thousand strong reasons not to open my mouth, I clenched my jaw, puffed out my cheeks, and blew hard, expelling the lacquer blocking my nostrils. After blowing repeatedly dozens of times, my nasal passages were finally clear, and fresh air could flow freely.

I inhaled great lungfuls of air, spat out the remaining lacquer from my mouth, and then retched violently, my abdomen contracting and relaxing in an attempt to expel the lacquer from my stomach. Alas, the lacquer had gone in easily but was difficult to bring back up; after struggling for a long time, only a small puddle emerged.

Suppressing the urge to vomit that wouldn't materialize, I randomly scraped the lacquer crust with my left index finger a few times, then shoved my fingers down my throat, frantically digging to stimulate my stomach to contract upward. The intensely foul-tasting lacquer retreated up my throat and into my mouth, then sprayed onto the ground. My throat and mouth were instantly saturated with a bitter, fishy, and nauseating stench.

I coughed violently while retching, tears streaming down my face.

After vomiting until the world turned dark and I could see nothing, I couldn't force out anything more. My lips were lined with stringy, filthy saliva.

Although most of the lacquer was expelled, the pervasive smell remained, relentlessly testing my already fragile nerves. I felt an urge to turn myself inside out, first scrubbing myself with disinfectant, then polishing with a scouring pad.

While dry heaving, I rubbed my eyes a few times and realized that the lower half of my body was still submerged in the lacquer pool, while the thick lacquer coating my head dripped steadily from my hair and eyebrows down my cheeks onto the crust. I looked like a semi-transparent piece of amber, firmly encased in a massive amount of lacquer.

I squinted and managed to look up, realizing that the piece of rope was the hemp rope that Ji Ye and Man Niao Niao had cut after climbing the Yin-Yang Tree. One end of the rope was still tied near the previous exit point.

I faintly heard sounds—a dog's thin bark, human clamor—muffled and distant. Looking up, I saw Tan Ping'er, Ji Ye, and Man Niao Niao standing at the base of the Yin-Yang Tree, clinging to the roots, reaching desperately toward me. Their bodies leaned forward as they seemed to be shouting something urgently. Hua'er was still on the Yin-Yang Tree, its voice coming hoarse and indistinct from the bird's nest.

My consciousness was still foggy, caught between waking and sleeping. My senses were dull, and gaps appeared in my awareness, leaving my thoughts sluggish. I found it strange: Tan Ping'er and the others weren't far, so why couldn't I hear what they were shouting? It wasn't until Man Niao Niao pointed to his own ear that I suddenly understood—my ears were still completely packed with sticky lacquer!

I grabbed a dry twig and tentatively inserted it into my ear canal, stirring with force. Large clumps of lacquer were dislodged, and my hearing slowly returned. The first relatively clear phrase I heard was Man Niao Niao's angry curse: "Damn it, you never listen to old advice, and now you're paying for it! I kept telling you to exercise, exercise, but you wouldn't listen, treating my words like wind. Now you're in a fine mess... You wait right there, I'm coming to save you!"

I froze, caught between laughter and tears. When exactly did this fellow tell me to exercise? Isn't that completely nonsensical?

Since Man Niao Niao had offered me an olive branch, my usual nature would compel me to retaliate in kind. However, given my current predicament, I lacked the strength for a verbal sparring match. Hearing him say he was coming to save me, I shook my head anxiously, signaling him to calm down, lest his rescue attempt backfire and he lose himself too. Better to figure out an escape route myself!

Firmly grasping the hemp rope, my confidence increased. But another wave of dread washed over me—this lacquer, ordinary people couldn't touch it. Many people couldn't even stand near a fire fueled by lacquer wood. Why? Because it causes lacquer sores—those painful, itchy, toad-wart-like bumps! And I was currently coated inside and out with lacquer. If lacquer sores erupted all over me, how utterly miserable would that be?

As long as the green hills remain, one need not worry about firewood. The most crucial task now was figuring out how to get out of the lacquer pool. I could worry about the lacquer sores later.

With this thought, I grasped the hemp rope and desperately tried to climb, attempting to pull the lower half of my body out of the pool and onto the crust to reassess the situation.

However, the moment I managed to set my right leg onto the lacquer crust, it suddenly cracked, and I plunged violently back into the lacquer pool without warning. Fortunately, in that critical moment, I instinctively sealed my mouth and nose, preventing the lacquer from flooding my stomach again. I certainly didn't dare let go, clinging to the rope and pulling with all my might, managing to thrust my head back out of the pool.

As soon as my hands braced against the crust, it cracked again. After this happened repeatedly, I had to sadly accept the reality: the crust simply could not support my weight, and all my efforts were futile. On the other hand, the lacquer pool had been churned into a large hole, with dead twigs and leaves rolling within, resembling a pot of Tujia tea boiling over—only this "tea" reeked instead of smelling fragrant.

I suddenly sensed something odd—why was this pot of "tea" now truly churning as if boiling?

Anxiety tightened my chest; I felt the lacquer in the pool accelerating its rotation, like a mixer, dragging my body along with it.

By now, the sky had darkened completely. Except for the occasional sweep of a flashlight beam across my vision, I could see nothing else around me. I heard intermittent kacha sounds—the noise of the lacquer crust breaking.

I held tight to the hemp rope, unable to let go. My body parts were beyond my control, involuntarily spinning with the moving lacquer. The rope sawed back and forth against the crust, and the hole seemed to grow larger. In a flash, the world spun, my senses blurred once more, and my consciousness faded again...

The lacquer spun faster and faster, gradually generating an immense downward pull, stretching my body straight. I felt like I was in the center of a giant whirlpool, drifting aimlessly. The friction from the rope chafed my hands to a stinging pain, and eventually, I couldn't hold on any longer. My hands began to slip down the rope slowly...

—Just escaped the gates of hell, only to meet the Bridge of Helplessness! I was truly about to lose my life this time!

I could no longer hear any other sounds. Relying on a shred of remaining will, I managed to cling to the life-saving hemp rope, letting the spinning lacquer turn my body like a top.

Finally, my hands reached the end of the rope's reach, and I shot back into the lacquer pool like a projectile.

This time was vastly different from the first fall. When I fell in the first time, the lacquer pool was still, and I could flail my limbs; this time, I was like a leaf caught in the vortex created by the lacquer, spinning rapidly downward, round after round... Occasionally, sharp or blunt twigs would jab my body, but I could no longer feel the pain. Occasionally, fragments of the hard, broken crust would drift near me, competing for advantageous positions, smashing around chaotically as we descended.

Fortunately, this time I had made a self-deceiving preparation—the moment the lacquer flooded my mouth and nose, I took a deep breath, intending to endure for every minute, for every second I could...

However, this preparation was naturally wishful thinking. The rapidly flowing lacquer showed no mercy, relentlessly trying to find a place to settle in my abdomen; the occasional surging twigs and leaves were equally uncompassionate, brushing against my body with decisive force. In a daze, I instinctively grabbed a piece of crust near me and followed it as it spun downward.