As night deepened, bowls of hot soup were passed out in the courtyard. The elderly and children ate first, while the strong laborers drank around the fire until their skin was flushed. The stars shone coldly, like grains of rice scattered across the sky. Xiao Ma brought over a bowl of egg white and smeared it on Du Jianshan's bruised ribs, making him shiver. Zhang Jianjun, lying by the fire, poked at the embers with a twig, and suddenly whispered, "Brother, I want to learn how to sew a cover."

Du Jianshan hummed in agreement: "You can learn, but first learn to read marks. If you start before you understand how to do it, you'll get a lesson from me sooner or later. Tomorrow I'll have you follow the marks, look at the folds in the grass, the newness or oldness of the soil, and the direction of the dew. The dew is heavy at night, and it will soak in when you step on it. In the morning, when the sun shines, the marks will be different. The more you read, the better you'll understand."

Zhang Jianjun nodded emphatically: "I've got it."

The pot simmered for a while longer before the heat was finally turned off, leaving half a pot of broth to mask the meaty flavor, and a fire was smoldering in the stove. The night watchman buttoned up his cotton-padded coat and laid two bundles of corn stalks under his feet to keep warm. Du Jianshan leaned against the wall, gripping the hilt of his knife, his eyes half-closed, but his ears were perked up. From the other side of the wall came the murmurs of a child in his sleep, and his lips twitched slightly, a smile that wasn't quite a smile.

The wind stopped in the middle of the night, and the dog at the alley entrance suddenly whimpered twice before falling silent again. Old Zhou stoked the fire and lowered his voice, "Is anything approaching?"

"Even if they have it, I'm not afraid." Du Jianshan gently placed the knife on his lap. "Tonight is not their night. Tomorrow is our mountain."

As dawn broke, the morning star still shone in the east, and people at the village entrance had already started a fire to cook porridge. Zhang Qiming came again, leaning on his cane, his feet wet with dew, his trousers down to his knees. He saw Du Jianshan and smiled: "You have quite the dark circles under your eyes."

Du Jianshan stood up and stretched his neck: "It's worth it. Captain, prepare a dry noodle cake for me, and one for Han Ligong and the others as well. We'll go upwind, remove the covers first, and then follow the shoe prints to find the people."

“Okay.” Zhang Qiming handed over two flatbreads and stuffed half a handful of Sichuan peppercorn salt into his mouth. “There’s a bloody smell on the road. Put a little under your nose to mask it.”

Du Jianshan put the food away and said to everyone, "Have something hot to eat. Leave two people at the village entrance and ask people from other villages where they come from. No shouting or fighting. The rules must be set out first. If you encounter anyone stealing, don't do anything. I'll be there soon."

Zhang Jianjun slung his basket over his shoulder and carried his homemade gun on his back, his eyes shining with excitement: "Brother, today I'll follow your eyes."

Du Jianshan glanced at him and patted him on the shoulder: "Follow along, but don't forget where you're standing. In the mountains, your feet are your life."

Morning mist rose slowly from the field ridges, carrying a damp, chilly air into the woods. Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, a string of fresh wild boar paw prints was marked on the ground with a stick, next to which stood a half-length red cloth, warning passersby not to step on them. The pots in the yard had been washed and set aside; leather hung dripping from the eaves, and teeth gleamed on the windowsill. Women were chopping meat, children were kneading dough balls, and the elderly leaned against the wall, basking in the first rays of morning sunlight.

Du Jianshan tucked his knife into his waistband, glanced back at the lively sounds in the courtyard, pulled his hat down, and led his men into the morning mist. A breeze blew from the pine forest, carrying the sweet scent of pine resin. A bird chirped three times in the treetops before falling silent. The dry leaves crunched underfoot, and the mountain path ahead looked like a gray-white ribbon in the mist, leading deeper into the mountains. Han Ligong whispered, "The upwind section is behind that shadow. Jianshan, I marked it last night."

“I see it.” Du Jianshan pointed to the ground. “Look here first. New marks, right foot with weight on the front and back. He’s unsteady, nervous, or has a heel injury. Follow him, but don’t go with him.”

"What do you mean by 'follow him or not follow him'?" Zhang Jianjun was stunned.

“If you follow his trail, then follow him. Wherever he goes, you will fall into his heart. If he suddenly turns around, you will bump into his arms. Following him means being beside his trail, borrowing the wind, the grass, the mountains, and the mist. Your eyes are on his feet, but his feet are in your heart.”

Han Ligong nodded repeatedly, saying, "I'll keep those words in mind."

The three men moved silently through the fog, unsure of who they might encounter ahead, yet each step was firm and steady. The hot soup from the previous night still lingered in their chests, and the faint scent of wild boar blood still hung in the air. The mountain slowly awoke, like a long-ailing old man, first opening its eyes, then stretching its back, then coughing twice, revealing the secrets it had hidden during the night, bit by bit. Du Jianshan didn't turn back. He knew smoke was rising from the village chimneys, he knew there was still broth in the pots, and he knew the old folks and children were waiting for another meal before noon. He also knew that another thread in the mountains was waiting for him to pull it out.