Chapter 38: The Grass and the Maiden

The murderer stood frozen for a moment. The deceased’s friend, consumed by resentment, picked up a stone from the roadside and aimed it at the killer. With a single strike, the murderer fell dead.

Perhaps the gods were disturbed, for the entire mountain began to tremble. Stones from the summit started cascading down in a relentless torrent, crushing countless people. The bandit, sitting atop the peak, watched this scene with a heavy heart, unsure whether to feel joy or sorrow.

Just as the bandit felt pity for the dead, a multitude surrounded him. The moon slipped out from behind the clouds, and the torrential rain ceased. The glint of countless blades cast a cold light upon the trees, frightening a pack of wolves lurking in the distance, sending them fleeing, seemingly never to return to this place again. The gods, hiding in the shadows, wept in silence, but what could be heard over the howling of the gale?

Only the roar of the countless pursuers echoed through heaven and earth. It seemed the bandit’s death was inevitable. He felt a deep sense of injustice; he had done nothing wicked, so why should he face such a trial?

"Kill him! He deserves to die! He must be killed!" someone shouted, their throat raw and bleeding, yet they ignored it, as if the blood were not their own.

"He looked at my woman, and now I must see his bones!" another roared. In his fury, he slipped on the muddy path and plunged into the bottomless abyss, screaming, "I die without regret!"

For a moment, silence descended upon the mountain. The bandit sat among the crowd, weeping softly. When the people raised their blades, the cold reflection of the steel blinded one of them in an eye.

"I don't think we need to kill him. Let’s just skin him alive," someone suggested. "We can use his hide to cover a drum, forever warning future generations never to commit such ugly deeds."

"Agreed," many echoed.

The bandit sat among them, waiting to be skinned, yet he remained unreconciled, knowing escape was impossible.

"No, skinning is too much trouble," another proposed. "Let's just eat him. I’d even eat dung if I had to!"

Having said this, the man squatted down and began to eat his own excrement, causing those watching to vomit uncontrollably.

The bandit trembled with fear. To face such unreasonable people was a first for him. Yet, he gripped a sturdy club in his hand; killing him, it seemed, would not be so easy.

Suddenly, the crowd lunged forward. The bandit’s club swung among them like a blooming flower. Those struck cried out to the heavens, and those with broken limbs scrambled across the slopes in search of medicinal herbs. The cunning ones ran to the edge of the mountain, grabbed sturdy vines, and scrambled down to safety.

Soon, only a fool remained on the mountain, standing before the bandit, roaring and still trying to kill him in the vast, dark night.

The bandit glanced at the fool, dropped his club, hoisted his pack, brushed the dust from his clothes, and walked away.

The rain began to fall again, and lightning tore through the night sky, shattering a boulder into countless pieces. The debris blocked the bandit’s path, but he leapt over it, vanishing like the wind into the pitch-black darkness.

Shaoqiu remained in his house. The weather had turned cold, and the sound of the rain outside was like weeping. He did not pay much heed to the legends of ghosts in his home, yet staying inside for so long made him feel uneasy.

He stepped out and stood on a broken stone in front of his door, gazing toward the distant Gelimu Mountain. The moon was cold, casting a chilling light upon the peaks. Who would dare to climb Gelimu at such an hour?

Shaoqiu stood there, suddenly hearing weeping. It clearly came from Gelimu Mountain, distinct even through the screen of rain. The sound drifted near and far like flickering wind, and within that wind, it seemed someone was calling his name.

If he were not a scholar, Shaoqiu would have cursed. What was the intention behind calling someone’s name in such a dark night? However, he did nothing but listen quietly, though upon closer inspection, he seemed to hear nothing at all.

The next day, Shaoqiu shouldered his hoe and climbed the mountain to his large field. His seedlings were growing promisingly; surely, they would be ready for harvest soon. Shaoqiu hoed the weeds, which had grown so rampant they nearly smothered the crops. Could he afford not to clear them?

Then, he saw Huagu. She sat nearby on a rock, searching for a louse on her body. For some reason, the louse refused to cooperate, insisting on burrowing into a private place, as if its life depended on it. Huagu, ignoring all else, set down her carrying pole, lowered her trousers slightly, and revealed a sliver of white skin. She muttered to herself while searching. Shaoqiu knew she was speaking for his benefit, but he dared not approach to look.

The sun hung on the horizon, and the evening wind began to blow. He did not know if Huagu had found her louse, but night had already fallen.

Huagu finally sighed in disappointment, shouldered her basket, and departed along the narrow sheep path, leaving Shaoqiu alone on the mountain.

Then, Dog-Ye emerged from the woods, his broadsword flashing with a cold light that made Shaoqiu unable to look directly at it.

Dog-Ye followed Huagu. Not far away, Huagu began to sing a flirtatious song, and laughter echoed through the sky—though, of course, it was not Shaoqiu’s. He continued to toil in his field; otherwise, what would he have to eat? Little Hua, having worked on the mountain all day, finished her chores and walked past him.

Seeing how many weeds still remained in Shaoqiu’s field, Little Hua stopped. If the weeds weren’t cleared, the coming rain would make it impossible to handle tomorrow. Knowing Shaoqiu could not finish alone before nightfall, Little Hua stopped at the edge of the field, entered it, and began to help him hoe.

While she helped, Little Hua refused to speak, keeping her head bowed as she worked with great diligence. Shaoqiu noticed her legs; they were so fair, their radiance intoxicating. There was no one else on the mountain, and no birds sang; only the wind whistled, and the falling leaves from the trees were enough to bring one to tears.

The weeds in the field, baked by the sun all day, were now soft. Night descended like a mosquito net, and the wind carried a rare, faint fragrance.

Little Hua stood beside him, the scent emanating from her making Shaoqiu feel as though he could barely walk. The charm of her long hair swaying and the rustling sound of her cutting the grass were deeply comforting.

Shaoqiu wondered what had come over him—was he ill?

After helping for a while, Little Hua left in silence, leaving Shaoqiu feeling deeply wistful on the mountain. The empty weeds lay on the ground, and the night hung in the sky, all in vain.

Shaoqiu hoed for a while longer, then returned to his house.