Chapter Fifty-Five: A Misunderstanding

One day, Shaoqiu once again approached the edge of the vast field and began planting rice. In the midst of his own field, a woman busied herself tirelessly. From a distance, it was unclear who she was, but as he drew nearer, it became evident—it was none other than Huagu. Seeing the sky still bright and the sun shining warmly upon the earth, she wondered why Huagu would choose to stay inside rather than come up the mountain.

Shaoqiu started using a rake to gather soil from the edge and pile it onto the field’s ridges, a measure to prevent the earth from becoming too dry under the sun. This was a large and fine field, and it took considerable strength and patience for one person to rake the mud and place it along the ridges so meticulously.

Meanwhile, Huagu stood by the field’s edge, pacing back and forth without apparent purpose. After a time, she ceased walking and sat upon a clean stone, gazing toward a distant grove. That grove was pristine and of high quality, a perfect refuge from the blistering sun, offering cool shade and a spring of fresh water. For some reason, Huagu fixated on that distant grove, softly humming a tune—quiet yet clear.

Shaoqiu paid little mind to Huagu’s song. After all, what was there to say between a lone man and woman? If anyone saw them, would it be pleasing or not? Shaoqiu focused on his work, which progressed smoothly, and before long, the fine field was nearly prepared.

Tired, Shaoqiu sat down by the edge of his field. Glancing again, he noticed Huagu had entered the grove and was no longer visible, though her song still floated through the air. It was undoubtedly a love song, but Shaoqiu, never much versed in music, listened only briefly before rising to continue his labor.

At that moment, Gouye arrived on the mountain. Shaoqiu did not know the reason for his coming, but seeing him filled Shaoqiu with unease. Gouye was covered in thick, long, and tangled fur—an intimidating sight that made Shaoqiu reluctant to be near him.

“Hey!” Gouye called out upon seeing Shaoqiu.

“Hmm,” Shaoqiu replied cautiously, knowing it was best not to provoke him. Otherwise, he feared Gouye might kill him right there on the mountain.

“I damn well swear, where’d you learn to work so well?” Gouye barked as he approached.

“Not good, not good,” Shaoqiu stammered, sweat streaming down his face from both exertion and fear. Gouye held a large knife—whether for chopping wood or for violence was unclear.

Gouye was known throughout the desolate village as a rakish figure. His presence on the mountain was unusual; he usually stayed indoors playing cards or visiting a woman in a thatched hut.

His sudden appearance made Shaoqiu especially alert. The two harbored a deep and bitter enmity, and now was no time to let down his guard.

At this moment, the woman’s song from the grove rose again, drifting to both Shaoqiu and Gouye. Shaoqiu had no mind to consider anything else; his sole concern was tending the field well, for without a good harvest, how would he survive the coming year?

Gouye lingered by Shaoqiu’s field for a while, smoking a cigarette. As the sun neared the horizon, he decided staying longer was unwise. He headed into the grove, perhaps drawn by the song or for other reasons. Once Gouye entered, the woman’s singing abruptly ceased.

Shaoqiu remained by his field, watching the sky—a clear expanse with the setting sun hanging low in the west, clouds like drifting peach blossoms, an enchanting sight.

After a time, Huagu emerged from the grove and approached Shaoqiu. She said nothing, merely sitting on a nearby stone, humming once more. Even mingled with the breeze, her voice was unlike any ordinary song—heavenly, stirring a profound sense of beauty.

She sat there on the clean stone beside Shaoqiu’s field, where a petal-like cloud drifted gently above. Strangely, the cloud was not particularly lovely, yet Huagu’s face, framed by the quiet stone, was exquisitely beautiful. Shaoqiu ceased his work, unable to stop gazing at her smiling face.

At that moment, Gouye emerged from the grove as well. Upon seeing Huagu seated beside Shaoqiu’s field, he spat contemptuously and veered onto a narrow path, soon vanishing into the mountains.

Huagu remained on the stone for a while. Seeing Shaoqiu did not wish to speak, she too remained silent, lifting her gaze to the tranquil sky before quietly descending the mountain.

For a time, Shaoqiu was alone atop the mountain. The wind blew steadily, scattering countless blossoms whose fragrance filled the air before fading away.

Sitting there, Shaoqiu gazed down into the valley where Huagu walked ahead and Gouye followed behind. Witnessing this scene stirred complex feelings within him. Huagu’s beauty was renowned throughout the desolate village, yet she was bound to Gouye—an unfortunate contrast akin to a flower sullied by dung.

Alone on the mountaintop, the sky was a blank canvas, the western horizon a blood-red sunset.

Shaoqiu felt a sudden discomfort in his abdomen—an urgent need to relieve himself. He stepped into a small grove, standing in the deepening dusk, staring out into the vast distance. His mood was heavy; Xiao Hua’s whereabouts were unknown, yet he thought of her each day, uncertain of what fate held for them.

The mountaintop was now deserted, nightfall approaching swiftly. Just then, a shadow drew near—it was Huabo. He came to Shaoqiu’s field and, for reasons unclear, did not leave. Instead, he crouched and watched silently, lighting a cigarette to smoke alone.

After some time, Huabo began hoeing the field for Shaoqiu. Seeing this, Shaoqiu felt an inexplicable gratitude. Despite past grievances—even physical blows—he realized Huabo’s actions were ultimately for his own good. To harbor resentment now would be heartless indeed.

Huabo bent over the field, working until dusk deepened. Then, shouldering his hoe, he returned home.

Left alone in the small grove, Shaoqiu wept silently. Amidst the hardships of life, he found solace in the kindness of others. After some tears, he quietly stepped out and looked upon the field Huabo had tended—it was far more beautiful than what he himself had managed.

Thus the day ended on the mountain, with hope lingering in the midst of solitude.