Chapter 85: The True Face of the Mountain God

The one-eyed Old Fourth was cunning, but the confidence on Fatty's face reassured me. In my opinion, Fatty has always had a knack for playing by his own rules; if anyone is likely to outwit the other, it would be Fatty, and Old Fourth might not gain the upper hand at all.

The two of them entered the incense-offering room again. At that moment, I suddenly felt that Old Fourth's arrangements and certain stylistic choices bore a resemblance to those of my elder brother, Sun Zhongmou. Take, for example, the incense room, where a bashful mountain deity is enshrined behind a red cloth; before entering the mountain, one must first ask the deity’s permission. This is much like my brother keeping a mysterious object on the second floor, and before recovering corpses, one must seek its approval. These enigmatic rituals made my brother something of a legend in his day. I couldn't help but suspect that Old Fourth was simply imitating my brother, though he lacked the true substance; while my brother never allowed anyone into the second floor, Old Fourth’s efforts seemed more like a clumsy imitation.

Having watched them enter, I couldn’t simply wait outside, so I followed them in to see what Fatty was really up to. Upon entering, I saw Fatty lighting incense, but he didn’t kneel and bow to the mountain deity on the tree-stump cushion. This immediately displeased Old Fourth, who glared at Fatty and said, “Bow to the mountain deity.”

“Fourth Uncle, you can’t just kneel to anyone. A man’s knees are reserved for heaven, earth, and his parents—not to be bent lightly. Besides, are you sure this mountain deity can even bear my homage?” Fatty replied.

I recalled Fatty’s rebellious attitude when offering incense to the City God and almost laughed. It seemed even gods had ranks; Fatty clearly felt he outranked the City God and acted arrogantly, but before the Great Emperor Guan Yu, he kneeled with sincerity. Though I didn’t know the exact hierarchy, I reckoned the City God and Mountain Deity oversaw similar domains, so Fatty’s refusal to kneel made sense.

To me, it wasn’t odd, but in Old Fourth’s one eye, it was a grave insult. His face changed instantly. “You’re not here to enter the mountain. You’re here to cause trouble! Kneel and confess to the mountain deity at once!”

With that, he reached out to snatch the incense from Fatty’s hand. At this moment, Fatty abruptly dropped his respectful demeanor, seized Old Fourth’s wrist, and snorted coldly. “If it were a true mountain deity, I’d show some respect. But to enshrine just anything and call it a mountain deity—what nerve!”

Old Fourth was no match for Fatty’s strength; try as he might, he couldn’t break free. Fatty shoved him against the wall and then moved past the incense table, reaching for the red cloth covering the altar.

Old Fourth seemed panicked, lunged forward, and wrapped his arms around Fatty’s waist. He craned his neck toward the altar and cried out, “Mountain Deity, run!”

I was stunned—what sort of ritual was this, telling the mountain deity to escape? At that instant, I became certain the altar held nothing proper. Suddenly, the altar shook, and a small yellow head poked out from beneath the red cloth, with a pair of shifty round eyes. At first glance, the creature was almost cute. It leaped out of the altar with surprising agility.

It dawned on me: it was a weasel! Old Fourth had been worshipping a weasel as the mountain deity. I realized I’d just offered incense and bowed to a weasel, and a chill ran up my spine.

The weasel bounded onto the windowsill, and it seemed almost sentient, glancing back at Old Fourth. Old Fourth called out, “Mountain Deity, run! They can’t do anything to me.”

The weasel twisted its head, bared its teeth at Fatty with a fierce expression, and then tried to escape through the window.

“A mere weasel dares to call itself the mountain deity? Where do you think you’re going!” Fatty shook off Old Fourth, grabbed his entrenching tool, and swung it at the windowsill. Though Fatty’s skills aren’t on par with my brother or Li Qing, he’s one of the toughest fighters I’ve seen, and his speed belies his bulk. The shovel came down so swiftly that the weasel had no chance to dodge, and with Fatty’s strength, he smashed it into a bloody pulp—meat and blood splattered everywhere.

I was startled; I never expected Fatty to strike so ruthlessly. After all, we both knew the weasels in Mount Funiu weren’t ordinary—they were said to possess supernatural abilities!

Old Fourth turned pale upon seeing the weasel’s remains. Pointing at Fatty, he shouted, “You killed the mountain deity! You actually killed the mountain deity! You’ll suffer for this! The mountain deity will surely take revenge!”

“How? Report me to the Celestial Court and have heavenly soldiers come for me? If they do, they’ll deal with you first—for enshrining a demon and deceiving people for incense. And your clothes—ripped off corpses, weren’t they? How many of those you led into the mountain died at your hands for profit?” Fatty sneered.

I was already shocked by the weasel’s sudden appearance and Fatty’s deadly blow, but when he claimed Old Fourth’s gear was obtained by murder, I felt an even deeper chill. I called out, “Fatty, you still wear them, knowing where they came from? Doesn’t it disgust you?”

“I knew the moment I saw them. But who am I? On me, there’s no taboo. Besides, the moment I entered, I smelled the stench—tricking people by worshipping a weasel, you really have some nerve,” Fatty said to Old Fourth.

Old Fourth slumped against the wall, staring at the weasel’s remains, then glared at Fatty with malice. “Just wait. You’ll regret this. The mountain deity won’t spare you.”

Fatty strode over, lifted Old Fourth up, and slapped him hard—so hard that blood welled at his mouth. “So there’s a bunch of weasel spirits in these hills, and you actually take them seriously. Mountain deity? Is this what your mountain deity looks like?”

No sooner had Fatty spoken than Old Fourth fixed his gaze on him and spat blood onto Fatty’s face, sneering. “You’re not here to hunt—you’re after the Golden Weasel.”

“Knowing that, why not lead the way? Or should I call the police now? You must have more than a couple murders under your belt—one execution wouldn’t be enough!” Fatty retorted.

“If you kill me, then no one can guide you into the mountain,” Old Fourth threatened, fearless in the face of Fatty’s rage.

“Yezi, call the police!” Fatty shouted over his shoulder.

I was caught off guard by the abrupt turn of events, barely able to process it. But I knew there was no turning back—since that weasel jumped out and seeing Old Fourth’s attitude toward it, I was sure we’d found the right man. I pulled out my phone, ready to call the police, though I had no intention of actually dialing—they’d never get a signal here. Fatty was just using it as a threat.

I pretended to make the call, but Old Fourth didn’t seem fazed. He even closed his eyes, as if daring us to kill him, utterly unafraid of death.

Fatty raised his hand. “Believe me, I could blind your remaining eye right now!”

Seeing Old Fourth like this, I felt a pang of pity—after all, he was just a lonely old man, and Fatty was treating him like a sack of potatoes. But there was nothing I could do; Old Fourth not only worshipped weasels as mountain deities, but he was suspected of murder. That was unforgivable.

Just as Fatty was about to strike, someone gently took the phone from my hand and said to Fatty, “Let go of Uncle Fourth.”

I immediately recognized the voice as Chen Dongfang’s. Turning around, sure enough, he was standing beside me, while Li Qing stood at the door with a smile.

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