The Meng family ancestral hall is located in a small village about five kilometers away from the Chang'ai Mountain scenic area. The place is called Dingzhuang, and most of the residents are strangers who fled from famine during the war years. There are not many family members like the Meng family.
Grandpa Meng took over the role of mountain guardian from the previous generation when he was thirty-five years old. He has guarded the mountain for nearly twenty years, and he has never left Chang'ai Mountain during those twenty years.
Until the year when Grandpa Meng Ziqiu was fifty-five, Chang'ai Mountain, which he had guarded for twenty years, was transformed into a national 3A scenic spot. The originally rugged mountain road was repaired, and it was from that time that his grandfather relinquished his identity as the mountain's guardian.
In addition, the world was in bad shape at that time, and many families were starving. In order to survive, Meng Ziqiu's father, who had already separated from the family, led the Meng family away from Chang'ai Mountain to make a living elsewhere. Once they left, they basically stayed away, only returning occasionally during the New Year.
When he left, Meng Ziqiu was only eight years old. How long could an eight-year-old child retain memories of the past? Meng Ziqiu didn't know about others, but he himself had no recollection of it. But strangely, Meng Ziqiu had a very deep impression of the ancestral tablets in the ancestral hall. Perhaps it was because he had grown up watching these tablets since he was a child, because even though he could no longer clearly remember the surroundings, he could still vaguely remember most of the names on them.
Years later, when Meng Ziqiu returned to Dingzhuang, he found the old house of the Meng family based on the faint traces of his memory. It was better than he had imagined.
Meng Ziqiu's grandfather had few brothers, and he was the eldest. He also had a younger sister who married into a family surnamed Song in the village. This family had lived in Dingzhuang for a long time and rarely went out. It can be said that the ancestral hall and old house have been managed by Meng Ziqiu's great-aunt over the years.
It wasn't until last year, when his great-aunt went blind, that she was taken to town by her son to be cared for, and she left Dingzhuang. Although she instructed the younger generation in the village to help manage things before she left, outsiders are outsiders after all, so naturally they didn't care much.
The key to the Meng family's old house had always been in the hands of his great-aunt. Before coming to the village, Meng Ziqiu had already gone to the town to get the key. He planned to stay in the village for a day or two.
Meng Ziqiu prepared some daily necessities in the car. Apart from borrowing a bed from Zhang Laozhai, he prepared everything else himself.
After tidying up the house, Meng Ziqiu slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed a bucket, and went straight to his family's ancestral hall. He had to walk around a dirt road over a hundred meters long; the ancestral hall was the one with a loquat tree planted in front of it. As far as Meng Ziqiu knew, his father would return every two years to offer incense and do some repairs, so although the ancestral hall looked a bit old, it wasn't dilapidated.
Pushing open the dusty door, a cloud of dust instantly filled the air. Meng Ziqiu covered his nose and waved it away before carrying the bucket inside.
The first thing you see is a well, covered in moss, which is much older than Meng Ziqiu.
Meng Ziqiu carried a bucket and washed and cleaned the ancestral hall inside and out. It was summer, and the wind was cool. In no time, the bluestone floor was dry, revealing the marks of time.
But as he looked at them, Meng Ziqiu noticed something strange: the marks on the bluestone slabs seemed to follow a certain pattern.
Thinking of this, he quickly rummaged through his backpack, took out paper and pen, and printed out the marks on it, making a total of sixteen sheets.
He cleared the altar, placed the sixteen pieces of paper on it one by one, and then tried to piece them together. Following the marks along the edges, they actually matched.
It was a painting of a triangular lake flowing among the mountains, with a very small detail in the center that was barely visible when printed with pen and paper.
Meng Ziqiu had no choice but to take out his magnifying glass again, and practically lay on the bluestone slab. It seemed like there was something in this lake.
Upon zooming in, he saw a mountain with its peak forming a small "M" shape, reflected on the lake's surface in the center.
Could this mountain be nothing special?
Meng Ziqiu did not reach a conclusion, but he felt that there was a reason why the painting was deliberately placed here, and that it must record something.
He took out his phone, took a picture of the enlarged lake, and saved it.
After putting away his phone, Meng Ziqiu changed the water in the bucket and went into the ancestral hall, where rows of memorial tablets stood in front of him.
Meng Ziqiu took out three incense sticks, lit them, bowed, and then took out a clean towel to wipe himself.
Nearly an hour had passed by the time Meng Ziqiu finished. He wiped very carefully and with reverence, which slowed him down considerably.
Seeing that the memorial tablets in front of him had all been renovated and stood there, Meng Ziqiu threw the blackened towel into the bucket of water, and only then did he have extra time to look at the murals in the ancestral hall.
Meng Ziqiu was too young to understand the content of the murals before, and he didn't like to look at these crudely painted murals. Only today has he taken the time to look at these murals.
He first looked at the first mural on the right. Unlike what he had imagined, the mural was neither a legendary story nor depicting a valiant hero. It was simply a painting of someone searching for something.
He looked at the second picture, which was still showing a conversation with someone, but the person he was talking to had changed.
The following paintings are the same.
It's not hard to imagine that the man wearing the veil in the painting is a member of the Meng family, but who are the others? What are the Meng family members looking for?
Are you looking for someone? Who are you looking for?
Meng Ziqiu saw several characters on these paintings. The characters on each painting were different, and they were written as 'Yanwen', 'Dangxi', 'Yizhou', and 'Shangdai', which sounded like place names.
Meng Ziqiu took out his phone and searched for these names. The first three had no results, but the last one, 'Shangdai', brought up a few lines of information. It was indeed a place name, but it was a place name before the Da Kang Dynasty. 'Shangdai' is now called Yuncheng.
Shangdai? Yuncheng?
Meng Ziqiu was completely baffled. After thinking for a moment, he had no choice but to take out his phone and photograph each of the paintings one by one.
...
Meng Ziqiu stayed in Dingzhuang for two days in total. Apart from the paintings on the bluestone slabs and these murals, he made no other discoveries.
On the third day, he packed up and went to Sansui Town to visit his father and grandfather.
When Meng's father saw his son arrive, he remained indifferent, his emotions even less volatile than those of Meng's ailing grandfather.
"...Dabao, you're out of school?" Grandpa Meng's hand trembled slightly. Although most of his gray hair had fallen out, he was still in relatively good spirits.
Meng Ziqiu, who had graduated from university several years ago, did not refute his grandfather, but simply sighed in agreement.
"Dabao, eat...eat dumplings." Grandpa Meng cautiously pulled a dumpling out of his pocket. It was a plastic model dumpling, clearly his father's masterpiece.
Meng Ziqiu smiled, bent down, and spoke a little louder than usual. His grandfather's hearing wasn't very good, so he had to speak loudly for his grandfather to hear him. "Grandpa, Dabao has eaten. Shall I push you outside to get some sun?"
Grandpa Meng didn't speak, but just stared at him blankly.
Mr. Meng glanced at the two of them but didn't respond, as if he had tacitly agreed. He then went about his business, working on his abacus, counting last month's bills. Mr. Meng owned a stationery and bookstore in Sansui Town, right across from the middle school. Business was always good during the back-to-school season, and he had even hired two diligent helpers. But Mr. Meng still preferred to do the calculations himself on the abacus.
The students haven't finished school yet, so the streets are a bit deserted, but the sunshine outside is lovely, perfect for some light activity.
Meng Ziqiu pushed his grandfather under a big tree. It was an old tree with an exceptionally thick trunk, so thick that it would take two adults to encircle it. According to the townspeople, the tree was a hundred years old, older than many of them, and a very strong old fellow.
"Grandpa, are you feeling any better?" Meng Ziqiu rubbed the other man's calf, which had atrophied somewhat due to prolonged use of a wheelchair.
Grandpa Meng remained silent, as if he had lost all sense of the outside world after being given the dumplings, and simply stared blankly ahead.
Meng Ziqiu was used to it. After pressing the buttons carefully for a while, he casually asked, "Grandpa, what does our Qisan Branch do?"
Qi Sanzhi—that's what he called Xu Qian when they first met. Meng Ziqiu always felt there must be something behind that name.
When Grandpa Meng heard the words "Qisan Branch," his eyes suddenly flickered. He saw Meng Ziqiu's face full of anticipation, and then he heard his grandfather say—
"We, the Qisan branch, are guardians of the mountain spirits."
“Guardian…Mountain Spirit?” Meng Ziqiu murmured, the last two words coming out clearer from his mouth.
"Mountain Spirit, the Mountain Spirit has come out..."
"What?" Meng Ziqiu leaned even closer.
“Mountain Spirit,” Grandpa Meng looked into Meng Ziqiu’s eyes, and in those dim, yellowish pupils, he seemed to regain his senses for a moment, “The Mountain Spirit has come out. We must protect him and not let him get hurt again…”
Meng Ziqiu stared blankly for two seconds. The word "again" gave him an indescribable feeling. He lowered himself again, looked at his grandfather, and asked, "Who... is he?"
Grandpa Meng stopped responding to him and instead moved his wheelchair himself, as if he hadn't heard him. "It's time for a nap."
Meng Ziqiu didn't stop him, but ran up in a few steps and pushed his grandfather in the wheelchair back into the house.
...
The next day, early in the morning, Meng Ziqiu drove away from Sansui.
When he left, Meng's father gave him 20,000 yuan in cash, as well as some food and drinks, for Meng Ziqiu to take with him.
Looking at the bulging envelope, Meng Ziqiu understood that the money was for Meng Liangchen's education. Thinking of this, Meng Ziqiu turned to his father, who looked extremely calm, and realized once again that his father had aged a lot over the years; even his hair had turned white.
"Dad, I'm leaving."
Meng's father nodded silently, and without waiting for Meng Ziqiu to drive away, he turned around and went back to the shop.
Meng Ziqiu smiled and looked down, truly as 'cold' as ever.
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