Chapter Twelve: The Sorrows of a Bookworm

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Shaoqiu had no choice but to stay in his own room. Faced with Hua Bo’s blatant rudeness, he could only endure it; what else could he do? At this moment, Shaoqiu saw that scoundrel again—the dog master. That man was cunning, knowing that Xiao Hua’s coldness toward him stemmed entirely from Shaoqiu’s presence. Without Shaoqiu, the beautiful and delicate Xiao Hua would surely be his.

The dog master now loitered outside Shaoqiu’s room, sharpening his knife incessantly, threatening to kill him. Shaoqiu heard these threats but could do nothing. He was but a scholar—how could he possibly stand against such a fierce, wolf-like brute?

Terrified, Shaoqiu remained inside his dilapidated yet livable room, fearing the dog master’s wrath. If the man’s mood turned foul, would Shaoqiu still have a life? Yet, Shaoqiu was not without means; he had a plan, but dared not reveal it until the time was right.

The villagers gathered around to watch the dog master. Upon hearing his threat to kill Shaoqiu, they cheered loudly. To them, killing Shaoqiu would be a blessing.

“Kill him! So he won’t read books at night anymore—he’s so noisy! I still have work to do during the day, you know!” someone said tearfully to the dog master.

“That man never seeks a wife; what on earth is he thinking? Could he be after me, an old woman? Oh dear, that’s unbearable—such shame!” an elderly woman lamented, breaking into tears.

“If he dares, I’ll take his worthless life myself! Let’s see if he still dares to act like this—this is outrageous!” the elderly woman’s husband roared, shaking the very sky as if it might collapse at any moment.

Hearing the villagers’ words, the dog master abandoned his plan to kill Shaoqiu but remained resentful, still intent on causing trouble in the desolate village.

“Shaoqiu, come out!” the dog master shouted. “Or I won’t be so polite.”

Shaoqiu stayed put. Though his room was shabby, it was tolerable—warm in winter and cool in summer.

“Come out if you dare! What can you do to me?” Shaoqiu retorted, his whole body trembling with fear.

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The dog master, knife in hand, stood before Shaoqiu’s door, brandishing it menacingly as if ready to finish him off. The onlookers applauded eagerly, wishing for Shaoqiu’s death.

Hua Bo even brought a bundle of paper offerings from home, preparing to burn them for Shaoqiu upon his death.

“Shaoqiu, you’re useless in this world. Don’t waste food on yourself; just go away. Otherwise, Xiao Hua will never live peacefully and will fear you,” Hua Bo declared, then looked to the villagers, who loudly agreed.

With that, Hua Bo began burning paper money at Shaoqiu’s doorstep. Shaoqiu could do nothing but stand helplessly as stones were thrown at him.

Suddenly, Xiao Hua appeared from somewhere, dousing the burning paper with a large bucket of water. Enraged, Hua Bo struck her twice hard across the face, making her mouth bleed.

Xiao Hua dared not speak, clutching her mouth and fleeing down the narrow dirt path of the village. She seemed intent on ending her life in the nearby river, but faced with the vast, rushing waters, she found herself unable to act and instead sat by the riverbank, gazing at the flowing water, lost in thought—what she pondered, no one knew.

Hua Bo gathered the unburned paper and added more, continuing the burning before Shaoqiu’s door.

Then, a sudden gust swept through the village, plunging it into chaos and confusion, blurring all directions.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by thunder that knocked Hua Bo to the ground. After a long moment, he rose, asking Shaoqiu what time it was.

“I don’t know, but it’s probably late—everyone’s lighting lamps already. You should go back; Xiao Hua might be thinking of you,” Shaoqiu replied.

The heavy rain washed away everything before the house. For most, this would be disastrous, but to Shaoqiu, it was nothing. He did not believe in omens or superstitions—he trusted that fate favored the righteous and was unafraid of such nonsense.

Meanwhile, Lü Town was bustling as ever. On market days, people gathered there, dressed in colorful clothes, chatting happily, admiring passing beauties, and listening to pleasant songs filling the streets and alleys.

On this day, Shaoqiu again went to Lü Town’s market, selling the sweet potatoes he had grown himself to earn a little money.

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The townsfolk looked down on Shaoqiu selling sweet potatoes, accusing him of putting on airs and deliberately doing something “improper” to set himself apart.

Many conspired to make things difficult for him, agreeing to steal his sweet potatoes when he wasn’t looking, so he could no longer sell those “rotten sweet potatoes” in Lü Town. They resented that he attracted women’s attention and broke their rumors. In this desolate village, Shaoqiu was known as a bookish fool. Now, by selling sweet potatoes, he had abandoned his scholarly image, which displeased the villagers.

If Shaoqiu stopped being the village’s fool, where would people find amusement at his expense? There were no theaters here; watching the village’s sole bookworm humiliated was their only entertainment. Without that, life seemed unbearable.

“You want to study? Fine, then you’ll carry logs up the mountain. Don’t want to? The dog master will find you.”

Thus, Shaoqiu lived in this forsaken village, hauling wood in the mountains by day to earn a little money, and only at night would he open a book and read a few pages of a novel.

While he read, people often made noise outside his door, even urinated there, proudly declaring themselves not bookish fools like Shaoqiu.

What could lonely Shaoqiu do? He endured it all—what choice did he have?

One night, Shaoqiu sat reading in his room. Outside, people mocked, “He’s reading again.”

Shaoqiu didn’t care. As long as he had books, what did their words matter? He simply ignored them.

But then, someone smeared a pile of feces onto his book, slipping it through the broken window. Shaoqiu covered his nose but dared not complain—if he angered them, who knew what might happen?

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