Old Ji chuckled wryly. “I don’t have a clue what those two items are, nor where they might have gone. Perhaps they are the key to unlocking a series of mysteries, and the key to the secrets hidden within the Blood Soul Stele itself…”

“Nonsense,” I muttered sourly to myself, snatching the Blood Soul Stele from Old Ji’s hand. I probed the two recessed slots with my fingertips, then brought the stone close to my eyes for a minute inspection. I wracked my brain for ages but couldn't fathom what sort of objects were meant to fit into those flattened indentations. I squinted again, tracing the sides of the stele with painstaking attention, yet discovered not a single seam, no matter how minuscule—meaning the Blood Soul Stele was utterly solid, incapable of being split into halves, and therefore unlikely to conceal anything within its bulk.

Seeing my gaze grow distant and my spirits sink, Old Ji offered comfort. “Whether the Blood Soul Stele truly belonged to Elder Linjun, or what these sockets are for, we shouldn’t fret over right now. You could rack your brain till it breaks, and you won’t get an instant answer. Pointless speculation will only exhaust you more…”

He had a point. Despite the Blood Soul Stele lying **bare before my eyes, the secrets it held were utterly impervious to conventional deduction. Not only was its sudden appearance inexplicable by the rules of nature, but the mystery behind it was separated from us by millennia of temporal distance. To fully unravel its origins—how could that be achieved in a single day?

I sighed deeply and mumbled glumly, “I know that sitting here guessing is useless, but… is this it? Is this the end of the road? According to your ideas, finding the Blood Soul Stele fulfills the task entrusted to us by our ancestors? Does Qin’er’s predicament also conclude here?”

After a long silence, Old Ji responded, “What do you think?”

I hadn’t expected him to toss the question back at me. I was momentarily speechless, staring at Old Ji, trying to decipher his intent. I’m the one asking you, not the other way around! If even you, the ‘master,’ don’t know what to do, what do I think? What the hell do I think!

“...I’m afraid it’s not as simple as you young eagles imagine!” The old Clerk, after taking a heavy sip of tea, retrieved a pouch of loose tobacco from Old Ji’s vest, rolled a ‘dynamite stick’—a cigarette—and stuck it in his mouth. After lighting it and taking a couple of puffs, he flicked the ash and spoke with profound implication.

With both pipes blazing, the smoke became so thick that Qin Bin’er hurried to change seats, moving next to me, distancing herself from the haze. I pinched my nose, frowned, and turned to the old Clerk. “What wisdom do you bring this time?”

The old Clerk, in a rare display of humility, masked a plume of thick smoke and murmured, “How could I, an old man, possess any great wisdom? I just have a feeling things aren’t that straightforward.”

“By the sound of it, your venerable self suggests our ancestors left us further tasks? That this matter isn’t closed yet?” I’ve always harbored a certain resistance toward the old fellow. He’s best at starting fires but always leaves the extinguishing to others… Hmph!

Old Ji caught the edge in my tone, shot me a sharp look, and said, “…It’s certainly not over!” A loud drum needs no heavy mallet; I understood the implication in his words—he was subtly signaling that my attitude toward the elder was less than cordial. Thinking back, hadn’t I also grumbled before entering Anle Cave about the old Clerk attributing everything back to the ancestors? Yet, in reality, we did find a token stele in that cave, so perhaps his sprawling theories weren't just empty talk.

I offered the old Clerk a cigarette with a sheepish grin, trying to placate him. “Please, don’t let an immature brat like me, still smelling of milk, upset you. If you were to suffer some ailment from the anger, Uncle Bird wouldn’t let me off the hook! I couldn’t bear the weight of his ‘Ge Lao Er’…” (Ge Lao Er: Fist)

The old Clerk’s face darkened, and he waved my hand away. “This smoke won’t satisfy me. …You youngsters don’t understand the standing Elder Linjun holds in the hearts of the old guard, nor do you grasp the religious beliefs of the Tujia people. You only know how to spout nonsense randomly, showing zero care for Tujia history…”

I felt stifled. His earlier theories bordered on feudal superstition, yet now it was being used as evidence of my indifference to Tujia history? That one swing of the rake… it left me dizzy.

“If we don’t know, then please tell us! I’ve always said you are a living book of the Tujia people!” Despite my frustration, I dared not offend him further and remained diligently attentive. However, my tone lacked proper balance, carrying a somewhat sarcastic undertone.

The old Clerk ignored the subtle difference in my tone, puffing his grass cigarette, and continued solemnly, “After Elder Linjun passed into immortality, his soul transformed into the White Tiger, protecting the prosperity of the Tujia people for generations. ‘When Linjun died, his soul became the White Tiger for generations; the Ba clan then used the tiger to drink human blood, thus using humans in sacrifice.’ That’s what it means. ‘Lin’ refers to a granary. Back then, people’s greatest desire was to fill their bellies, so they revered him as ‘Linjun.’ You can imagine how arduous life was for our Tujia ancestors during the period of eating raw flesh and drinking blood, and how vital it was to have a wise tribal leader. Consider the profound role they played in ensuring the continuation of the Tujia lineage…”

I grew anxious. Seeing the old man’s words spreading like wildfire, threatening to engulf everything, I worried he might soon start claiming, ‘Without him, there would be no you, Man Yingying!’ I quickly interrupted. “Then… did he ever have any romantic entanglements with any woman?” This was the topic that genuinely concerned and interested me; the rest could wait. Hearing the old Clerk and Old Ji both referring to him reverently as ‘he, the elder,’ I certainly didn't dare casually utter the ancestor's name.

“Nonsense! How could he possibly have emotional entanglements with a woman? You young people today—your minds are only filled with romance and love…” The old Clerk’s beard and eyebrows bristled as he glared, shouting at me.

“Then… then what about that female ‘Half-Puppet’ in Anle Cave?” I retorted, unwilling to back down. Inside, I seethed, It’s fine to lecture me, but lumping everyone together like that! Qin’er is a guest from afar. How can a man of your age, with that scraggly beard, speak so carelessly? Besides, people are flesh and blood; feeling desire is perfectly normal. Even animals have the instinct for a ‘mate’! You can revere your ancestor, but this is a bit… excessive, isn’t it?

My inner fire made my expression sour, and my volume naturally increased, making my meaning quite clear.

The old Clerk paused, looked up at Man Niaoniao still sleeping soundly in the tree, opened his mouth, but said nothing. He lowered his head and sullenly returned to his cigarette. I turned away with a look of disdain, sneering inwardly. Is that all you’ve got? You falter when it comes to the crucial points—explain it to me, why don’t you?

Qin Bin’er gently tugged at my clothes, glancing at me twice, signaling me not to raise my voice. Seeing the smoke rising between me and the old Clerk, Old Ji rushed to mediate. “…Old Man Clerk and I have also been puzzled by this matter. Logically speaking, during his time, the emphasis was on reproductive worship, ensuring lineage continuity, and women held very low status. Emotional entanglement shouldn’t have been a factor. But the spirit in Anle Cave spoke with such sincerity; based on her tone, she must have loved some man to the bone…”

“The man she spoke of wasn’t ‘some man’; it was me, Man Yingying! How do you explain that?” I asked coldly. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

“Yes. That makes it even stranger. Could you be his reincarnation?”

“Rubbish!” I muttered under my breath. Reincarnated for over two thousand years just to end up as me? I wouldn't believe it if it were true!

Qin Bin’er, sharp and perceptive, sensing my distress, deliberately diverted the conversation, chatting casually with the old Clerk. “Uncle Man, did Elder Linjun have any writing on his forehead?” Hearing this question, I glanced at Old Ji, thinking, You certainly gave thorough instructions. I wonder if you also told her about my attempts to ‘breach the city walls’ with Qin’er?

My face flushed slightly. I heard the old Clerk reply, “This… the old guard never mentioned that.”

“Then… does he look similar to Yingying?”

The old Clerk glanced at me and coldly replied, “Don’t know.”

Qin Bin’er, unconcerned by his attitude, continued asking, “Did he ever keep a snake?”

“Are you asking about that giant python? This… I think I heard the old guard mention that before Linjun, the Tujia people seemed to regard snakes as totems. Whether Elder Linjun kept one personally, I can’t say for sure.”

“Hmm? Didn’t you just say Linjun is the ancestor of the Tujia people? How could there have been Tujia people before him? Also, how can such a massive python still exist, and one that seems so intelligent?” Qin Bin’er grew more curious, her voice soft but hurried.

“Child, the way you ask… Linjun is the ancestor recorded in Tujia history, but he didn’t just pop out of a rock like Sun Wukong, did he? Spit! Spit!—Look at my loose tongue… As for that giant python surviving until now, it’s entirely thanks to the seldom-visited environment of Anle Cave! Don’t they often report sightings of large water monsters on TV?”

“Oh!—But a python capable of spitting out a token stele is very rare.”

“Indeed. I can’t figure that out either!”

“Right, have the areas of Xia’makou Village and Tianjiao Mountain always been like this? Did you know previously that this forms a natural Feng Shui pattern?”

“Heh heh, I’m knowledgeable in six out of seven aspects of Feng Shui…”

...

Qin Bin’er and the old Clerk were chatting very congenially. I wondered secretly how Qin Bin’er seemed to be reading my mind, asking exactly the questions I wanted answered? Of course, the old Clerk’s answers were either vague ignorance or elusive half-truths, offering no help to my train of thought. After listening for ages, I was still no closer to understanding the origin of this Blood Soul Stele.

The sun had completely set, the sky growing significantly darker. Mosquitoes in the bamboo grove multiplied, their incessant buzzing making me even more agitated and depressed. Compounded by the heat radiating up from the ground after the scorching day, I was dripping with sweat, desperately wanting to roar aloud and expel the mixed feelings of frustration that had been accumulating in my chest.

That fellow, Man Niaoniao, seemed either immune to the mosquitoes’ long proboscises or simply unbothered, sleeping soundly up in the branches. Despite arguing with his elder for a long time, I hadn’t managed to wake him. Seeing his serene composure, I patted my head, deciding to stop agonizing over our experience in Anle Cave. Damn it, my brain is about to crack from thinking, and this kid sleeps without a care in the world. Does he deserve the title of ‘Scale’ [a reference to balance/fairness]? While muttering to myself, I stood up, walked to the base of the tree, climbed onto a large rock, leaned close to his ear, and hissed in a sharp voice, “Niaoniao, Niaoniao! Run! The old man with the white beard is coming…”

Man Niaoniao, hearing the words ‘old man with the white beard’ in his sleep, shot his eyes open. His mostly white, sparsely black pupils spun for a moment. Seeing the dim light, he thought he was still in Anle Cave. He cried out, “Maa-ya!” bracing himself with both hands, attempting to flee, but instead tumbled to the ground. He stared blankly for a long moment before snapping out of it, scrambling up, cursing loudly, and hopping over to me. He immediately landed a punch on me. “You son of a bitch, are you trying to scare your grand-uncle to death?”

That punch landed squarely on my shoulder, nearly sending me crashing to the ground. Luckily, I managed to dodge swiftly, avoiding the full force of his blow, which prevented my collarbone from shattering. Even so, I grimaced in pain, roaring back, “Damn it, you… you actually aimed to cripple me…” I lunged forward, intent on unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks to vent all my pent-up dissatisfaction toward the two of them.

Fortunately, Qin Bin’er saw the situation escalating and held me tight, while Old Ji firmly restrained Man Niaoniao. The fight was thus averted.

I collapsed heavily into the recliner, panting, head bowed in sulky anger. For the sake of some so-called ‘old man with the white beard,’ Man Niaoniao had struck with such deadly force. And he claims to uphold ‘the husband never leaves the wife, the scale never leaves the weight’—what kind of ‘husband’ or ‘scale’ is that?

Man Niaoniao, seeing me fume in silence, probably regretted hitting me so hard. After hesitating for a while, he sidled up to me, gently rubbing my shoulder, and said with a sheepish grin, “Don’t be angry, my lord. It was my fault. Come, let me massage it for you… But it’s also your fault, calling me out using the ‘old man with the white beard’ to scare me!”

Seeing his roguish look, I cursed him under my breath—“Scoundrel! Hitting first and then offering a peach”—but took the opening to retreat, saying sullenly, “Get away! A slap followed by a sweet treat—do you think I’m a three-year-old child? I genuinely don’t understand why the so-called ‘old man with the white beard’ makes you so terrified.”

“Heh heh, I don’t fear knives or swords, only the old man with the white beard, because… he’s a Half-Puppet!” Seeing that I was still angry, Man Niaoniao placed his hands on my shoulders, thrusting his face close to mine, apologizing with a forced smile.

The moment I saw Man Niaoniao’s large mouth so close, my soul scattered. I quickly covered my mouth, mumbling indistinctly, “Get your mouth away from me… That’s more terrifying than the old man with the white beard!”

Man Niaoniao’s eyes sharpened, and he looked confused. “How has my mouth offended you? You borrow it when you need it, but despise it when you don’t?”

“When did I ever borrow your… cave?”

“Has the flower eaten your memory? Before we left Anle Cave, why did you ask me to shout those nonsensical things? What are those messy things—‘Jade,’ ‘Shadow,’ ‘Xi’…”

“Messy things? Without those things, you probably would have become the female Half-Puppet’s ‘medicinal residue’! Listen carefully, that was a poem, called: ‘Jade shadow steps lightly, parting robes is hard to find, blood flows to capture, soul flies to conquer the city.’—Do you catch the rhythm in that?”

“No, please explain it to me.”

“This poem—wait!” I suddenly exclaimed, then turned to the old Clerk. “Do you know a person or place named Qin Cheng?”

The old Clerk hadn't expected my sudden question and answered sincerely. After a pause, he said, “Qin Cheng? Are you asking if there’s a place or person named ‘Qin Cheng’? Ancient or modern?”

“…Ancient, perhaps!” I hesitated for a long time, guessing.

“I know him, of course. Qin Cheng was the most famous Tusi King in Tujia history!”

I was overjoyed, ignoring the few suspicious glances, and turned back to Qin Bin’er. “Didn’t you say Master Qinghe told you to return to the place where you belong?”

Qin Bin’er looked utterly confused. “Yes, why?”

I sprang up from the recliner, circling the group and laughing loudly. “We have a clue! We have a clue…” Old Ji and the others fixed their gazes on me, watching me like spectators at a monkey show.

After a long moment, I managed to control my excitement, retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from the house, and carefully wrote down the poem hidden within the phantom fire painting. I then circled the first and last character of each line separately and handed it to Old Ji. “Look—”

Old Ji took the paper with suspicion and read softly, “Jade… Part… Blood… Soul, Lightly… Find… Capture… City?”

“Exactly. ‘To solve the Blood Soul, one should seek Qin Cheng.’ This is entirely an acrostic and telestich poem. These eight characters are the clue to unraveling the mystery of the Blood Soul Stele, though these eight characters use homophones,” I said excitedly.

“I understand. You mean that to unlock the secret of the Blood Soul Stele, we must find this person, Qin Cheng?” Old Ji suddenly grasped the meaning.

“Yes. I just asked Grandpa Clerk; there really was a historical figure named ‘Qin Cheng,’ and he was a Tusi King, the most renowned one! I believe this interpretation can’t be wrong. Furthermore, haven’t we been unable to ascertain exactly where Bin’er is from? Master Qinghe cryptically said she should return to where she belongs. If we combine these two facts, it not only suggests that Bin’er is deeply connected to the Blood Soul Stele, but also that she is very likely a descendant of the Tusi King Qin Cheng…”

“Not a bad guess, that has some merit,” the old Clerk said, finally showing interest.

“Yes, it has merit…” Old Ji murmured distractedly, then shifted his focus. “But have you considered this: First, if this poem was written over two thousand years ago, how could it predict the existence of a descendant named Qin Cheng? Second, Tusi King Qin Cheng passed away more than four hundred years ago. Where are we supposed to find him?”

“This…” In my excitement, I hadn’t considered this point. Based on the poem’s tone, if the man the spirit spoke of was indeed our ancestor Linjun, I was certain this poem was a love letter Linjun wrote to that woman. In that case, did Elder Linjun truly possess foresight, knowing that in later generations there would be a Tusi King named ‘Qin Cheng,’ prompting him to create such a complicated acrostic and telestich?

Following this logic, had the ‘ancestral task’ mentioned by the old Clerk been set in motion over two millennia ago?