Chapter 18: The Cold Gleam of the Blade

For a moment, Shaoqiu dared not look any longer and wanted to leave. By the riverside, the sound of flowing water mingled with the distant calls of partridges, creating a rather romantic atmosphere. Yet Shaoqiu did not dare linger, for if Huagu’s husband found out, breaking his bones would be the lesser harm—damaging his reputation would be far worse.

Shaoqiu departed. As he left, Huagu remained seated nearby, continually tending to her long hair. The scent that drifted from her tresses in the breeze was enchanting. Still, Shaoqiu resolutely refused to stay; the river now emitted eerie sounds, so dreadful that even the boldest would hesitate.

Huagu followed behind, humming a tune—though not particularly pleasant, it was bearable. If this continued all the way to the deserted village, trouble was certain. Shaoqiu pretended to stumble, falling to the ground and feigning an inability to rise. He hid to one side, gently tending to his foot. Huagu, however, made no move to check on him or inquire after his well-being, seemingly unconcerned. After singing a song, she left.

Once Huagu had gone far enough, Shaoqiu slowly made his way toward the deserted village. Passing near Huagu’s husband, he received a cold, terrifying glare—eyes like they were spewing blood—which darkened Shaoqiu’s mood. Yet, unafraid since he had done nothing shameful, Shaoqiu greeted him and returned to his dull, lonely home.

Back inside, Shaoqiu lit a fire to cook, washed clothes, chopped vegetables, and stood at the door for a while, gazing at the distant scenery. Eating alone was truly perilous, but he was helpless; in this forsaken village, friends were nowhere to be found.

At that moment, Dog Master appeared again at Shaoqiu’s door, holding a knife. Though not particularly sharp, the blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight. Why was Dog Master wandering back and forth here with a knife? Such a sight offered no sense of security. Shaoqiu stood on a broken stone slab, watching him, while Dog Master fixed his gaze upon Shaoqiu. The look in his eyes could haunt one to sleeplessness—eyes that seemed to drip blood, poisonous in the pitch-black night.

The sight of the knife reminded Shaoqiu of the past—a dark, windy night when he sat beneath a tree reading by the faint moonlight. Reading there was a true pleasure for Shaoqiu, if not for what came afterward. A fallen blossom drifted down, landing on his book, releasing a fragrance so intoxicating it nearly made him swoon.

“Kid!” a voice called out, breaking Shaoqiu’s concentration. He looked up to see none other than Dog Master, bald-headed and smoking a cigarette, calling out to him.

Shaoqiu wanted to ignore him, but Dog Master laughed cruelly, mocking him, and Shaoqiu could not bear it. If only he had endured, focusing on his book without care—that would have been best. But he couldn’t. Drawing a knife he carried for protection against Dog Master, Shaoqiu struck once—Dog Master dodged. Twice more, both missed. Then someone approached: Dog Master’s father arrived, shouting angrily, and Shaoqiu’s knife fell to the ground.

“Good friends have no need to fight; why resort to blows?” Dog Master’s father said before leaving, leaving Shaoqiu embarrassed and standing alone. Dog Master, meanwhile, walked away crying.

“I’ll kill you!” Dog Master threw over his shoulder as he vanished like the wind, leaving Shaoqiu stunned beneath the tree, regretting his actions. After all, as Dog Master’s father said, good friends should be able to talk things over.

As Shaoqiu fretted, a flash of steel appeared before him. Though his head did not ache, screams pierced the night: “Murder!” After that, Shaoqiu lost consciousness. When he opened his eyes, he was still lying in the dilapidated house, now stripped of its former liveliness.

Using a mirror, Shaoqiu saw a bandage wrapped around his head. He knew then he had been stabbed. Dog Master had slashed him and then vanished, leaving Shaoqiu furious and trapped indoors. If he ever found Dog Master, what he might do was not hard to imagine.

Years passed without sight of Dog Master, until now—there he was, wielding a knife and pacing before Shaoqiu’s door. If not for Shaoqiu’s illness, Dog Master might never have appeared. How Dog Master learned of this was a mystery, a troubling one.

Dog Master’s menacing presence was terrifying, yet Shaoqiu was not afraid despite being a scholar. Suddenly, Dog Master’s knife flashed and he disappeared. In the deserted village, only the howling wind remained.

The wind grew stronger, strange and biting cold against the face. “What kind of damned wind is this?” Shaoqiu cursed bitterly, though no one could hear him in this desolate place.

Returning inside, Shaoqiu took medicine from a bottle, mixed it with hot water, and swallowed it. The medicine was bitter—bitter as his lonely fate. Dog Master loomed threateningly nearby, seeming ready to kill. Shaoqiu felt utterly helpless. Had Dog Master stormed in, it would have been his doom. Yet, by some blessing, Dog Master never entered.

A gust of cold wind blew in, triggering a violent cough from Shaoqiu. He coughed into a rag, which, upon inspection, bore fresh blood.

“Damn it, what kind of disease is this? Now this is what happens—people want to beat me up again,” he muttered, on the verge of tears.

Under the lamp, Shaoqiu read for a while as the village grew still. Voices faded, but the nearby river murmured softly. The sound was pleasing, especially to someone so alone. With nowhere to go, he read by the kerosene lamp until sleepiness overtook him, forcing him to stop lest the doctor’s warning prove true and the illness become incurable.

He shed his clothes, climbed into bed, and lay down. Meanwhile, Dog Master’s shouts echoed endlessly through the deserted village. Not far off, a small hill collapsed, frightening a sleeping child into tears.