Reborn in 72, I hunt to support my family and spoil my younger sister rotten.

Li Xiangyang glanced at Lang Ke's hand gripping the hunting knife tightly, knowing that this young hunter was unwilling to lose face in front of the girl he admired.

“Brother Langke, I’m sorry.” Li Xiangyang stepped forward and said sincerely, “I really shouldn’t have been rude to the Shaman, and my eyes were offensive.”

This candid admission of wrongdoing slightly lessened the hostility in Ranko's eyes.

He didn't expect that Li Xiangyang would not only not hold his rudeness against him, but would also take the initiative to admit his mistake.

"It's good that Brother Li understands," Ma Laosan quickly said upon seeing this. "We're all on the same side, let's go check out the scene first."

The group followed Ma Laosan into the deep mountains.

The black cat walked lightly beside Li Xiangyang, occasionally brushing his trouser leg with its tail, as if reminding its owner to stay alert.

Qimugele kept staring at the black cat, his eyes flashing with a strange light.

“Qimugele Shaman,” Li Xiangyang noticed her gaze and asked softly, “Did you see something?”

"This cat is special; its eyes reflect the image of a mountain god."

Li Xiangyang was taken aback by what he heard and felt a little embarrassed.

If the other party hadn't been a shaman, he would have really wanted to say, 'This cat sees the shadow of whoever it sees.'

However, he kept these words to himself and simply nodded silently.

"This way, please." Ma Laosan led the way, guiding everyone across a barren hillside.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, Ma Laosan stopped in front of a tall birch tree.

The trunk is straight and the branches are spread out. At first glance, it looks no different from other trees.

But as soon as Qimugele got close, his expression changed drastically.

She untied a string of bells from her waist and shook them gently.

The crisp sound of bells echoed through the silent forest.

Qimugele began circling the birch tree, reciting ancient prayers.

The sounds of bells and incantations intertwined, creating a mysterious and solemn atmosphere.

"The mountain god is angry. Someone has desecrated this forest."

Her pupils gleamed with an eerie light, and her voice became ethereal: "I saw someone digging a hole under a tree... I saw someone wandering in the dead of night... I saw weasels dancing in the moonlight..."

"Someone is blaspheming the gods...using evil magic to bewitch the world..."

Her voice grew weaker and weaker, and her body began to sway. Langko quickly stepped forward to support her.

Just then, the black cat suddenly rushed into the depths of the forest.

“Let it go,” Qimugele said weakly. “The mountain god has chosen it and will guide it to the truth.”

The moment the black cat darted into the woods, Li Xiangyang instinctively gripped his hunting rifle.

At this moment, whether Qimugele is truly a psychic or, like himself, makes a judgment based on conjecture, the conclusion is that it is all human manipulation.

Once the culprit is caught, the evil deeds here will naturally be resolved.

The surrounding birch forest was eerily quiet, as if even breathing had been frozen.

"Let's go. We'll follow," Li Xiangyang said to the group.

The black cat left clear paw prints on the snow, guiding the group.

The group hadn't gone far when Qimugele suddenly spoke up: "Stop. There are traces here."

Li Xiangyang looked in the direction she was pointing.

Sure enough, there was something unusual on the snow – some tiny marks that were slightly covered by snow.

The footprints looked like they had been deliberately covered up, and the snow had been shoveled away.

“Look,” Altai crouched down, gently probing the marks with his hunting knife, “this doesn’t look like animal tracks. It looks more like human intervention.”

Langko stepped forward and examined the area, his brow furrowing slightly. "Someone did something here."

The black cat had stopped and was standing quietly in the spot where the traces were most obvious.

“Li the Hunter,” Qimugele suddenly turned to Li Xiangyang, “your cat seems to have discovered something.”

Li Xiangyang stepped forward slowly, his gaze following the black cat's movements.

The tracks on the snow became clearer and clearer, as if something had dragged them, the fine scratches like a sharp blade slicing through the soft snow.

“Here,” Altai said, gently parting a thin layer of snow with his hunting knife, “it seems something has been dragged.”

Langko's hand was already on the hunting knife at his waist, his eyes scanning his surroundings warily.

Ma Laosan and Dahai stood a little further back, with fine beads of sweat already seeping from their foreheads.

The black cat suddenly let out a low whimper, a sound somewhere between a cat's meow and a wild beast's growl, which sent chills down the spines of everyone present.

Qimugele stared intently at the black cat: "The messenger of the mountain god has sensed something."

Li Xiangyang's heart stirred.

He knew the Black Cat; this sound was no ordinary warning, but rather conveyed some complex message.

He crouched down and gently stroked the black cat's back.

“Little princess, what have you discovered?” he asked softly.

Xuanmao turned its head, and its deep eyes seemed to hold a whole world within them.

Its gaze swept past the crowd, pointing directly to a birch forest some distance away.

“Over there,” Li Xiangyang stood up, his tone firm, “we’re going there.”

Altai and Langko exchanged a glance and tacitly began to check their weapons.

Old Ma asked, trembling, "Are we really going to go?"

Qimugele had already taken a string of bells from his waist and was gently shaking them.

The crisp sound of bells echoed through the silent forest, as if driving away some unseen gloom.

“The mountain god’s aura is unsettling,” she whispered. “We must go.”

Li Xiangyang led the charge, with Xuanmao close behind.

Lanco and Altai stood on either side, their hands never leaving their weapons.

“Something’s wrong with this wood; it’s too quiet,” Altai said in a low voice.

As an experienced hunter, he keenly sensed the unusual activity in the forest.

Even in the dead of winter, a normal forest should have traces of squirrels, rabbits, or birds, but this place seems to have been drained of its vitality by some force.

"Yes, it's too quiet." Li Xiangyang also noticed the strangeness of the place.

Just then, a very faint scent drifted over.

Li Xiangyang frowned slightly.

It was an extremely peculiar smell, a mixture of the fragrance of rotting earth and a hint of an indescribable fishy odor.

"Butyl mercaptan." Li Xiangyang instantly realized the danger and hissed, "Cover your mouths and noses! Don't breathe!"

Upon hearing Li Xiangyang's warning, Langke and Altai instinctively covered their faces with their sleeves.

The black cat nimbly darted behind Li Xiangyang and gently patted his leg with its tail, signaling him to be careful.

Li Xiangyang knew that the higher the concentration of butanethiol, the easier it was for people to experience hallucinations and confusion.

This secretion has a strong paralyzing effect on the nervous system. Most dangerously, people in this state are prone to making irrational decisions.

"Everyone," Li Xiangyang emphasized, "no shooting! Shooting will only make things more chaotic! Lie down and find cover nearby. The real danger isn't the weasel, but the person controlling it, who's hiding somewhere."

"This guy is right, whatever you do, don't shoot. As for danger, there's absolutely no risk involved; we're not taking money that involves killing people."

As soon as Li Xiangyang finished speaking, an old voice came from deep within the birch forest.

An elderly man in a coat emerged from the swaying shadows of the trees, accompanied by a girl of about fifteen or sixteen.

The girl was holding a snow-white weasel in her arms.

The weasel was not as fierce as a wild one; instead, it was like a domesticated pet, nestled obediently in the girl's arms.

With a warm smile, the old man walked slowly and deliberately to the front of the crowd.

"My surname is Han, and I am the head of the Cai Men sect. To put it bluntly, I'm just a traveling magician."

He said with a smile, his gaze lingering on the black cat on Li Xiangyang's shoulder for a few more seconds.

The master of the Rainbow Gate?

Upon hearing the old man's self-introduction, Li Xiangyang's heart stirred.

The Colorful Gate is one of the Eight Gates.

The folk saying "a wide variety of skills" refers not only to the diverse nature of things, but also to the people in the old society who made a living through their skills.

The tea-selling girl of the golden chrysanthemum, the doctor of the kapok flower, the singing girl of the tavern of the daffodil flower, the acrobat of the firethorn flower, and the porter of the earth ox flower—these are the five flowers.

As for the eight gates, the first gate is gold, which is fortune telling and face reading; the second gate is skin, which is selling medicine and providing medical advice; the third gate is color, which is performing magic tricks; the fourth gate is hanging, which is performing arts on the streets; the fifth gate is commentary, which is storytelling; the sixth gate is troupe, which is performing opera on the streets; the seventh gate is tune, which is setting up tents and making paper offerings; and the eighth gate is willow, which is singing drum songs.

Given that this Elder Han is the head of the Three Gates of Color, it's only natural that he could train a weasel to be so docile.

After all, these artists travel all over the country, and in order to make a living, they have all honed their ancestral skills to perfection.