Chapter Forty-Six: The Woman in the Snowy Night

Outside, the man hoisted a massive stone, easily weighing a hundred catties or more. What the consequences would be if he were to hurl it down, nobody could tell. Curled up within the depths of the pit, Master Gou stared up at the man above. His eyes had lost their usual arrogance, replaced entirely by a wretched, pathetic plea.

Yet the man standing at the brink, faced with a Master Gou as fierce as a wolf, hesitated to act against him. Besides, the pit was not entirely impossible to climb out of; what if he did manage to scramble up? What would happen then? No one could know.

"Please don't drop it! If you do, I'll lose my life, and you will end up in prison," Master Gou pleaded, tears welling in his eyes. "Have mercy, I beg of you, and spare my life."

The man's resolve wavered; he lost his nerve and backed away from the edge, seemingly afraid of something. But what exactly was he afraid of? He alone knew—he was afraid of Master Gou. If not for that fear, Master Gou's life would surely have been forfeit.

Master Gou clawed his way up from the pit, laboriously dragging himself to the surface, only to find that there was no one in sight. Where had that man vanished to? Unknown. The heavy snow continued to fall relentlessly. Could anyone possibly still be wandering about this desolate village at such a time? Standing amidst the desolate settlement, Master Gou felt as though he had been granted a second lease on life. To be able to draw breath in this world was truly a wonderful thing.

Yet, he had no idea who the person standing by the pit had been. Could it have been the husband of the woman in that dilapidated house? Surely not; otherwise, he would undoubtedly have been a dead man by now, whereas the man had shown no intention of taking his life.

Then who on earth was he? He had no answer. Turning back to examine the pit he had just fallen into, he discovered to his astonishment that it had vanished—the ground was completely flat. Why had he tumbled into it in the first place? He still had no clue. It seemed there were far too many things in this world beyond his understanding.

In the midst of this snowy day, Flower Aunt sat alone in her main room, enveloped in a profound and helpless solitude. Her thoughts drifted once more to her husband. He had been such a fine young man, blessed with a robust constitution and immense strength for labor, though he did have an appetite. Had he still been alive, no man in the desolate village would have dared to loiter outside her door in the dead of night to urinate, let alone utter such licentious nonsense to her. How splendid her husband’s physique had been back then.

At this thought, Flower Aunt lit another cigarette. Sitting alone in the dilapidated room to smoke was undeniably dreary, but on a snowy day like this, what else was there to do? She felt she had wronged her husband. He was such a wonderful young man, yet she had cuckolded him. Still, she could hardly blame herself entirely; if blame was to be laid, it belonged to that afternoon. She truly ought not to have gone up the mountain to pick mushrooms—yet who could resist the allure of such delicious fungus? No one, she reasoned.

Deep in the great mountains stood a ruined thatched shed, usually deserted. She often went there alone to rest and escape the scorching sun. Because nobody frequented the place, she would cast aside all inhibitions, shedding some of her clothes to relieve the heavy sweat and find a measure of comfort.

Yet on this particular day, for reasons unknown, just as she sat stripped of her garments in the pavilion to catch the breeze, a young man suddenly burst in. At the sight of her, he was startled out of his wits, acting as though he had committed a monstrous crime, his entire body rigid with awkwardness. Seeing that he had already beheld her nakedness, Flower Aunt decided she might as well let him look; her reputation was in ruins anyway. She called out to the honest lad, telling him not to run, but flee he did. Yet he did not get far, collapsing not far from the pavilion, seemingly too ashamed to face the world, yet utterly paralyzed and unable to move away.

As dusk approached, the sun slanted low across the mountains, and the farmers laboring in the fields had long since returned home. Aside from ghosts, the only two souls lingering in the great mountains seemed to be the two of them. The young man still lay prone in the tall grass, reluctant to leave yet not daring to approach.

Right then, Flower Aunt began to hum a tune from within the pavilion. At the sound of her voice, the young man let out soft groans, a part of his body rebelling against his will. Suddenly, something was tossed through the air. He caught it in his hand and looked down—to his astonishment, it was a woman's garment!

Only then did the young man summon the courage to creep stealthily toward the pavilion. Finding Flower Aunt lying there virtually naked and fast asleep, he cast all hesitation aside and lunged forward.

...

Lost in these memories, Flower Aunt lit yet another cigarette. Smoking was her only solace, the sole way to ease the heavy guilt she bore toward her husband.

Outside, the snow continued to drift down, and not a single voice could be heard in the desolate village.

Meanwhile, trapped in his room on this snowy day with nowhere to go, Shao Qiu passed the time by reading.

Just then, a soft knock sounded at his door. Though faint, it was unmistakably clear. Who could it be? Lately, rumors had circulated that bandits were prowling the desolate village, and Shao Qiu dared not open the door. He sat frozen, straining to listen, but heard nothing save for the murmuring river outside, as if the world itself were whispering secrets to him.

Perhaps it was only the wind. After all, who else could possibly be about at this ungodly hour?

He was gripped by a cold terror. In a time of bandit raids, the thought of a solitary scholar facing such a threat was a nightmare beyond imagination. He tried to reassure himself that he could not be so unlucky, yet he dared not lower his guard—after all, it was always wise to prepare for the worst.

The knocking came again. If he refused to open the door now, he would surely spend the entire night wide awake. With no other choice, he walked over and pulled open the dilapidated wooden door. A bitter gust of wind swept inward, accompanied by a figure standing in the pale reflection of the snow. Though indistinct, the silhouette was clearly visible: a person draped in a straw raincoat and wearing a bamboo conical hat, head bowed as if hiding from the world. Most terrifying of all was the gleaming dagger clutched in the hand.

Shao Qiu's courage failed him; he slammed the door shut instantly. As the heavy crash echoed through the room, a wave of panic washed over him—had the loud noise provoked the person outside? No, a bandit! This was undoubtedly a bandit, and now he stood right at his doorstep. For Shao Qiu, it was the definition of utter misfortune.

He stood paralyzed, not daring to move. If he dared to shout for help, his life would be instantly extinguished. He had no choice but to remain silent and leave his fate to the heavens.

The door was tapped once more. Yet this time, inexplicably, the sound was feather-light, as gentle as if it were not a ruthless bandit, but a delicate woman standing quietly outside his threshold!