Though Qin Bing'er claimed to be anxious at the time, I knew her emotion ran far deeper than that. I felt genuinely touched, stirred by a distinct sweetness of happiness, yet Man Niaoniao, the coarse fellow he was, sensed nothing unusual in her words, continuing to puff on his cigarette. The ground was already littered with ash.

Seeing Man Niaoniao’s brief silence, I knew it was my turn to speak.

Before speaking, however, I set the stage with a simple request: “Niaoniao, light me another one.” Man Niaoniao fumbled around, producing a crooked cigarette end and handing it to me, respectfully lighting it for me. Afterward, he held the torch nearer to me, as if the light could urge me to recount my experience sooner. I suppressed a smile internally. Up to this point, they had no idea that my vision was filled only with black and white scenery, rendering any external light unnecessary for seeing the expressions on their faces; in fact, the glare of that snowy white torch was making me dizzy.

Amidst the swirling smoke, my words faltered. I hesitated, wondering whether to share what I had seen and heard beyond that perceived "veil." If I spoke of it, Man Niaoniao would surely believe me, but Qin Bing'er might not, as it contradicted every tale of 'ghosts' we had ever heard. Usually, living people encounter spectral 'half-puppets'; never before had anyone described their own soul seeing actual living people. Furthermore, the fact that my eyes could only see in monochrome was a trouble beyond expression or comprehension.

After much indecision, I finally asked Qin Bing’er, “From the moment you felt someone call you until you returned and found me lying on the ground, how much time elapsed?”

“…Not long, I suppose?” Qin Bing’er clearly paused, “Maybe about ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? My mind spun. Calculating based on that timeframe, I had already wiped Hua’er’s tears, could see the black and white world clearly, and was very likely running toward that stilt house. Then… why hadn't I seen Qin Bing’er turning back, yet I could clearly see her holding my physical body upon my return? Could it be… that something strange happened while I circled inside that stilt house? Or perhaps, that entire ordeal was merely an incredibly realistic dream?

“That stilt house was clearly suspended in mid-air; how did you walk onto its courtyard floor?” The thought followed my internal logic, and I blurted it out without thinking.

“Suspended in mid-air?” Qin Bing’er stared blankly, then felt my forehead. “Who said that? Ying, are you… alright?”

“…It wasn’t?” Since the topic was open, I decided to continue, “And there were several tall, suspended mulberry trees in front of the building, and a grove of suspended peach trees behind it…”

Qin Bing’er gave a gentle laugh. “Yingying, when did you ever see that stilt house hanging in the air? Were you dreaming? That stilt house was sitting solidly on the ground, utterly barren in front and behind—where did you see suspended mulberry trees and a peach grove?”

“...?” I fell silent for a long moment, then tentatively asked, “Near that stilt house, did you see anyone else?” I asked this because I recalled those beings emerging from thin air. Even if the world beyond that "veil" was vastly different from the real one, if a stilt house existed in reality, the real world should at least bear some trace of those beings—like murals or sculptures.

“You’re getting more ridiculous the more you talk. That stilt house was desolate and dead silent; there was no one else around.”

“Were the interior furnishings anything unusual?”

“No. It was just a very ordinary stilt house, similar to Elder Chen’s or Qiao Ge’s—the only difference was that this one was noticeably much larger.”

“Then… where did you and Master Ji find the straw and these sets of clothes?”

“Oh, that is a rather strange detail. Guess where we found the straw and the clothes?”

Man Niaoniao and I exchanged a look, then turned to stare intently at Qin Bing’er, “Where?”

“Niaoniao, you better brace yourself—they were inside a coffin in the main hall…”

“Ah?” Man Niaoniao indeed lost his seat, springing up from the floor as if scalded, scrambling frantically to strip off the clothes. Qin Bing’er didn't shy away, stopping Man Niaoniao in time. “Don’t rush, Uncle An has already performed rites over the clothes; you don't need to be afraid. Look how calm Yingying is!” I could only manage a wry smile. Hearing the clothes were found in a coffin, my heart had been pounding wildly, but unlike Man Niaoniao’s overt display, my supposed 'calmness' was entirely feigned.

Man Niaoniao held Master Ji in the highest regard. Hearing that Master Ji had performed rites on the clothing, he quickly pulled up the trousers that had slid down to his thighs and leaped onto me, his arms automatically wrapping around my neck. His heavy, ragged breaths roared near my ear. I caught Qin Bing’er subtly twitching the corner of her mouth, realizing the 'rites' performed by Master Ji were pure nonsense, just Qin Bing’er trying to soothe Man Niaoniao’s nerves.

“You… didn’t you say… the clothes were found in a box?” I found my breathing slightly labored, and my speech naturally stumbled.

“Yes. The box was inside the coffin, and the straw was piled around the box. That coffin was sealed so tightly, the black lacquer painted on it was thick. Uncle An worked hard for quite a while just to pry the lid open…” Qin Bing’er spoke as if recounting a mundane event, yet I felt my soles growing colder, and breathing became even more difficult.

“Niaoniao… that box… might… be very valuable…” Man Niaoniao had figured out my patterns. The conventional methods wouldn't work to free myself from his grip. I considered using the groin-kicking technique again, but that move was too vicious and might cause unpredictable consequences. I had to resort to exploiting his weakness, opting for a psychological strike first.

Hearing the box might be valuable, Man Niaoniao’s tension eased somewhat, reflected in a significant slackening of the force his hands exerted on me.

“Valuable my foot, I looked at it; it was just a very ordinary black lacquered wooden box…” Qin Bing’er hadn’t noticed my predicament nor grasped my strategic thinking; she actually delivered a devastating blow. My neck tightened again, and I inwardly groaned, mentally cursing Qin Bing’er a few dozen times as my ancestor.

“Listen, what is Uncle An singing?” Qin Bing’er suddenly said. My neck swiveled nearly ninety degrees within Man Niaoniao’s embrace, like a nut turning on a bolt, and I looked toward Master Ji. He stood a short distance away, seemingly oblivious to the world, shaking a Baobao Copper Bell in his left hand and holding a Si Knife in his right, dancing wildly, singing as he moved:

The maiden’s flower needle cannot pierce the heart of the Black Tortoise. Like the chaotic world in a pot, it hides the secret city of the White Tiger tribe, cut off from the world. The Almighty Ancestor built a gate leading to antiquity. White Tiger and Fish-Turtle are symbols of the two ancestral tribes. The dark-faced Zhang Fei and the primordial Azure Dragon totem guard the Eight Kings and the three home gods of White, Black, and Red, and also Ba Guafu Qing, who gifted later generations flowing silver. The tall, suspended building shelters the heroic spirits revered by the world. The clan matriarch, riding a fine horse, embraced the rabbit and captured the ancestor—with boundless affection and tenderness. The wise ancestor, seeking to continue the peace of his descendants, traveled upstream to this secluded paradise. He wished for simple peace and prosperity, but alas, love turned to hate, subduing the gentle army that arrived with swords. The goddess’s curse—mulberry trees planted in front, peach trees behind—a pair of resentful lovers, eventually becoming entangled, tormented souls through generations. Descendants, extended across millennia, retrieve the plague lantern prepared by the ancestors, dispelling the thick clouds obscuring the lost heart and mind…

Master Ji’s voice was rough and bold; the melody was strikingly similar to the Tujia 'Waving Hand Song,' and his movements closely resembled the Tujia Minor Waving Hand Dance.

When Master Ji’s singing stopped, Qin Bing’er was silent for a long moment. “Yingying, do you understand what he is singing?”

I mulled over the lyrics, answering hesitantly, “Both yes and no…” Before I finished, Master Ji sang out, “Bird, oh Bird, come here, I’ll add fire for you…” Man Niaoniao, whose drool was nearly dripping onto my neck, let go of my throat when Master Ji called him over, running excitedly to stand beside him. Master Ji brandished the Baobao Copper Bell and Si Knife over Man Niaoniao’s head, then sharply struck the top of Man Niaoniao’s head with the Si Knife. He turned and sprinted out past the stone archway, leaving behind his high, powerful song: “That flower blooming toward the sun will eventually wither; the end of that extending branch is the cycle of reincarnation you’ve pursued for a thousand years…”