Bai Sanshui's house was closer to the snowfield, with the courtyard gate facing the woods. The gate wasn't locked and opened with a push.

Bai Sanshui's son had been buried for a long time, and some materials from the funeral canopy were piled in the yard, seemingly to be used as firewood.

The doors and windows of his house were in disrepair, covered with thick plastic for insulation.

Because the dry toilet in the corner of the yard wasn't sealed, a faint stench lingered in the air.

It was evident that Bai Sanshui's living conditions were quite poor.

Uncle Wang called out a few times in the yard without getting a response, so he pushed open the door and entered the middle room.

This type of house was a three-room structure lined up in a row.

The middle room was in the center, generally used as a living room, with rooms on either side that could serve as bedrooms.

Bai Sanshui's middle room was filled with various farm tools, feed, and pesticides. The cement floor was dirty, with several gray drag marks left by woven bags. The sofa held farming tools like sickles, saws, and hoes. The fabric of the sofa was so dirty that its original color was unrecognizable, now a shiny black, with the outer fabric damaged, exposing the wooden frame underneath. The room also had a stench.

The only clean place was the altar table in the corner, with two black-and-white photos, presumably of Bai Sanshui's parents.

"Why isn't there a photo of his son? Is it because he died young?" the photographer asked softly.

Uncle Wang pointed to an inconspicuous wooden carving in front of the photos and said, "It's there, look."

We looked closer and indeed saw a small wooden carving between the dates, buns, and apples.

"In our tradition, when a child dies young, it is believed that the god has taken them. We pray for the god to release the child's soul so they can reincarnate," Uncle Wang explained.

"During this period, we must properly offer sacrifices to the god's statue for 280 days."

I nudged the photographer's camera and asked Uncle Wang, "Oh, a folk tradition, interesting. Can you tell us more about it?"

Uncle Wang looked a bit nervous at the camera: "Ah? Yes, folk tradition, ah, no, it's not a folk tradition, it's a god."

Uncle Wang corrected himself seriously: "It's a god."

"Is it a god worshipped here? What god?" I continued to ask.

Uncle Wang seemed displeased: "What do you mean, what god? A god is a god, without a name. Sometimes we call her Mam Niangniang, which means mother in Manchu."

Uncle Wang, realizing we were outsiders, continued to explain: "Do you see that mountain back there?"

"Mam Mountain. This mountain had no name before, it was very desolate."

"Then Mam Niangniang came, lived here, and nourished the people, water, and trees here."

"Haven't you noticed how fertile the land is here?"

"Yes, it's very lush."

"Right, look at the pine trees, they usually grow very slowly, but in ten years here, they grow as much as they would in fifty years elsewhere," Uncle Wang continued. "This is all thanks to Mam Niangniang's blessing."

"The first people who lived here were hunters who got lost, minority groups who lost battles on the prairie, fugitives, and farmers fleeing famine. They would have certainly died on the snowfield."

"Then they found this place and survived."

"There's a deep connection, like a mother mountain."

"Yes, like a mother, nurturing us," Uncle Wang nodded immediately.

He then pointed to the wooden carving: "This is a statue of Mam Niangniang."

I guided the photographer to get a close-up of the carving.

It was a hand-carved wooden statue about the height of a finger, depicting a baby sitting cross-legged with a broken belly.

Maybe because Bai Sanshui's family was poor, the statue's limbs were crudely carved, twisted and irregular, with many rough lines on the chubby belly.

The face, however, was more detailed, with complete features, lifelike.

Especially the mouth, which was wide open, revealing carved teeth and tongue inside.

The wood was dark and blackened, of unknown type, emitting a faint woody fragrance different from the stench in the room.

"It's a baby statue, and Mam Niangniang sounds like a female deity."

"Yes, she is," Uncle Wang, apparently not having thought about it before, rubbed his hands. "Maybe it's Mam Niangniang's child. Anyway, it's very effective."

"Don't doubt it. Many of us moved here from other places. When we go out to cut wood, do business, or pray for children, it's very effective to worship her."

To cover his unease at not being able to answer further, Uncle Wang continued to call for the house's owner: "Old Bai, Old Bai!" He opened the adjacent bedroom door: "The wife is here, reporter, his wife is here."

"Hey, stop muttering. There are reporters, sent by the farm manager, asking about your son's situation," Uncle Wang said to the inside.

We followed him in. The inner room had a stove but no ventilation, making the smell worse than outside, a mixture of stench and fishiness, like someone had defecated in the room.

A woman with disheveled hair and a vacant expression huddled in a pile of bedding, muttering disjointedly about her daughter and son.

"Wife of the Bai family?" Uncle Wang called a few more times, awkwardly telling us, "This woman went a bit mad after her son died and doesn't respond much. Let's talk to the husband, women can't keep things to themselves."

Hearing the woman's fragmented words, I sharply asked, "She mentioned a daughter, does this family have a daughter?"

This was the first time we had heard this information.

"Yes, they have an older daughter who hasn't been registered yet."

"They kept trying for a son and had several abortions."

"Later, they were told that if they had another abortion, they might not conceive again, so they had this older daughter. What's her name again? Anyway, they prayed to Mam Niangniang and conceived Bai Haoyu, the son who died."

"He was born prematurely because of a breech position and constant turmoil."

"He was always sickly, couldn't attend school regularly. His sister would bring her notebook to school and teach him what she learned."

"The siblings were very close, she would think of him whenever there was food or drink."

"When her brother died, she cried harder than their parents."

"The daughter doesn't seem to be around, has she gone to school?"

"You're joking, without a household registration, how could she go to school?"

"Since her brother died, she probably went to work."

"But I think they should get her registered."

"Education is free, and there's a free lunch. With some education, it would be easier to find a match for her later. Bai Sanshui can't figure this out."

As we spoke, the door outside opened, and a dark-skinned, thin, stooped man walked in. He looked to be in his fifties, carrying a black woven bag. Seeing us, he didn't ask why we were there but immediately started cursing: "Who let you in? Useless woman, you let people in, no damn use, get out of here!"

"You old fool, they're reporters. The manager told me to bring them to interview you. Don't go crazy!"

"I don't care who you are, get out!" he said, grabbing a farm tool to hit us.

Uncle Wang felt embarrassed and immediately shoved back, starting to scuffle with Bai Sanshui.

In just a few seconds, Bai Sanshui was pushed to the ground, his pants covered in dust, but he didn't stop cursing, his words extremely unpleasant.

Seeing things getting out of hand, we quickly pulled Uncle Wang away and left.

Feeling embarrassed, Uncle Wang invited us to eat.

But seeing that we had enough footage and no more news to uncover, we decided to come back tomorrow to shoot some empty scenes and randomly interview passersby to help make a promotional video, wrapping up this trip.

However, we found out that to get to the county town, we either needed a private car or had to take the forest farm's shuttle bus, which only ran once a day in the morning.

It was already close to evening, and in the deep winter, the sun set quickly, and the temperature dropped rapidly, so we had to stay at the forest farm for the night on this first day.