Chapter 42: Long Saber Treading the Snow

Shaoqiu had sprained his lower back, and his mood at the moment was exceedingly poor. Coupled with the late hour, with night fast approaching, remaining in the vast mountains any longer could lead to unimaginable consequences should he encounter anything unclean. Consequently, he decided to leave.

He returned to the desolate village. Upon arrival, however, he saw that the space in front of his own doorway was already packed with people, among whom Old Man Gou was conspicuously present. What a shameless fellow he was; having slashed Shaoqiu twice with a knife, he now brazenly reappeared right at Shaoqiu's doorstep. Someone must have tipped him off, otherwise, how could Old Man Gou have known that Shaoqiu was injured? Yet, who on earth could the informant have been?

Lacking concrete evidence, Shaoqiu dared not jump to conclusions. However, just as he returned to his doorstep, Uncle Hua hurried away in a rush, clumsily taking a tumble for reasons unknown. Gritting his teeth, he cast a glance at Shaoqiu, clutched his own wound, and quietly slipped away, as if he never dared to show his face in front of Shaoqiu's house again.

Since Old Man Gou had slashed Shaoqiu twice, he was naturally terrified of retaliation, remaining constantly on guard and deeply paranoid. Until he completely finished off Shaoqiu, he likely would never find peace of mind. Ordinarily, though, seeing that Shaoqiu, despite being a mere scholar, possessed a sturdy and imposing build, Old Man Gou harbored no small amount of apprehension. Yet, with Shaoqiu now injured, Old Man Gou had popped up yet again, a circumstance that filled Shaoqiu with considerable dread.

Shaoqiu set down the bundle of grass he had been carrying on his shoulder and glanced at the group of people. They were currently playing cards right outside his door, and Old Man Gou was shouting at the top of his lungs, his arrogant and insufferable demeanor truly infuriating.

Yet, what could Shaoqiu possibly do to him? He could only steal a glance as he walked past, careful not to stare too long lest he stir up unnecessary trouble. Seeing Shaoqiu arrive, Old Man Gou didn't pay him the slightest heed, acting as though the house belonged not to Shaoqiu, but to him instead.

In his hand, Old Man Gou held a knife—a butchering knife, upon which a trace of dried blood still seemed to linger, left over from the day he had slashed Shaoqiu years ago. Strangely enough, the moment people caught sight of this blade, they showed him the utmost deference; one after another rushed up to offer him cigarettes, brush the dust from his clothes, or even shamelessly address him as grandfather.

Shaoqiu stayed inside his dilapidated house and began to sit before the stove to cook. For some inexplicable reason, however, the firewood refused to catch; even when a flame flickered to life, it would instantly die out. Throughout this, Old Man Gou strolled past from time to time, gripping his butchering knife, and one can well imagine the state of Shaoqiu's heart at the sight of that blade.

Still, with no other choice, he simply had to endure and stay put. Finally, the fire caught. Inevitably, Old Man Gou sidled up once more, using Shaoqiu's newly ignited flame to light the cigarette dangling from his lips. Seeing that butchering knife filled Shaoqiu with a mixture of terror, hatred, and utter helplessness.

Naturally, the stir-fried dish was eventually cooked. Just then, Old Man Gou wandered over again from outside, plucked two prime pieces of fat meat straight out of the pot, and took them without so much as a word of greeting to Shaoqiu. Rather than putting the meat into his own mouth, he delivered it directly into the hands of the men playing cards.

Shaoqiu had reached the absolute limit of his endurance, yet he dared not lash out. Provoking Old Man Gou would bring no good fortune—the blood staining that knife was living proof. Swallowing his grievances, he could only remain silently by his hearth, slowly washing the pot and rinsing the bowls, venting his frustration in a futile sigh.

What was even more infuriating was that, after eating the meat, Old Man Gou launched into a ceaseless recounting of stories to the gathered crowd, tales detailing how he had slashed Shaoqiu back in the day. Hearing this narrative, one can easily picture Shaoqiu's frame of mind. Yet, being nothing more than a scholar, what could he possibly do in the face of such an overbearing tyrant?

After playing cards for a while longer, the men dispersed. Left all alone before his doorway, Shaoqiu finished preparing his meal, sat down on the threshold, and gazed out into the distance at the Gelimu Mountains. For reasons unknown, the Gelimu Mountains tonight looked quite different from usual; the peaks appeared to have grown much taller, and numerous faces of beautiful women seemed to flicker across the mountain slopes, only to vanish in a flash, leaving behind almost nothing at all. Could his eyes simply be playing tricks on him?

Shaoqiu sat quietly by his doorway, completely ignored by everyone. For a man who had once been hacked with a knife, the villagers of the desolate village cared very little; even when passing right by him, they couldn't be bothered to offer a greeting. Meanwhile, the heavy snow continued to fall relentlessly. Fortunately, the Black Bandits had lifted the ban on lighting fires, otherwise, he wouldn't even have dared to burn wood.

Shaoqiu built a fire right in front of his doorway and sat alone beside it to warm himself. To a man not blessed with robust health, especially on a heavy snow day like this, how wonderful such a fire felt. Just then, he saw Aunt Hua walking over from afar, greeting him from a distance with a gentleness and sweetness of tone rarely found anywhere in the world.

No one had ever cared about him before, yet now someone was chatting with him with such warmth and even presenting him with a large orange. This deeply touched Shaoqiu, who felt as though he should drop to his knees in gratitude for Heaven's generous favor. Aunt Hua even drew close to his brazier, squatting down to warm herself for a moment. Noticing that Shaoqiu seemed reluctant to speak, she looked out at the thick snow, remarking that if she didn't head back now while the snow was already this deep, she feared she might never make it home.

"Aunt Hua, can't you warm yourself a bit longer? The fire is burning fiercely, and you're not in any rush. Besides, the crops on the mountain must all be harvested by now anyway. There's nothing waiting for you back home, so you might as well stay and enjoy the fire a while longer," Shaoqiu said.

After warming herself a bit more, Aunt Hua smiled at him. Her hearty laughter made the entire world seem suddenly so full of grace, but the snow was growing heavier by the minute, and if she didn't leave now, travel would indeed become impossible. So, Aunt Hua departed.

Left alone in the house with nothing to do for the time being, Shaoqiu stepped inside, turned on the light, and began to read a book.

After reading for a while, feeling tired, Shaoqiu stepped outside through the doorway, wanting to take a look at the scenery, as snowy days possessed a distinct and striking beauty of their own. Yet the moment he stepped out, he caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered, rugged figure flashing past and vanishing into the pitch-black night. The long saber slung across the man's back, however, remained clearly visible. Most people who carried long sabers while heading up the mountains did so to fend off wolves and tigers; what sinister motives could this man possibly harbor while carrying a long saber around people's homes?

After darting away, the saber-wielding man slipped straight into Flower Aunt's house just uphill. Flower Aunt's husband had passed away long ago, leaving her presumably alone in her house on a snowy night like this.