Chapter 58 The Woman in the Thatched Cottage

The book was brand new, a novel that promised a good read, yet Shaoqiu did not dare to accept it. Because it did not belong to him, he hesitated to take it, fearing complications down the road—at which point the loss would surely outweigh any gain.

However, since Old Hua insisted on giving it to him, it would be discourteous to refuse, and so he had no choice but to receive it. A wave of inexplicable gratitude washed over him; to be treated with such respect in this desolate village was, for Shaoqiu, an earth-shattering event. At that moment, he felt he would gladly die for the man, while simultaneously worrying about how he could ever repay such a kindness.

After Old Hua departed, Shaoqiu remained in his room, racking his brains over how to repay him in the future. For Shaoqiu, failing to return a favor was a source of profound torment. After pondering for a while, he turned his attention back to the book.

Having left that day, Old Hua returned to his own quarters. With the night already shrouded in deep darkness, he retired early to rest.

Before long, heavy snow began to fall incessantly once again. Blanketing the desolate village, it brought a chilling frost to the air. For reasons unknown, the towering Mount Gelimu quietly loomed into view. At the mere sight of the mountain, the villagers burst into uncontrollable tears, terrified of the catastrophic misfortune that was surely about to befall them.

On that very night, Old Dog made his way stealthily to a small, dilapidated thatched cottage at the eastern end of the desolate village. Standing before the door, he raised his hand to knock, but the door required no knocking; a gentle nudge caused it to swing open. Creeping inside, Old Dog found the room pitch black, devoid of any visible light. Gradually, he discerned a dim lamp still burning with a feeble glow, barely illuminating a bed in the corner upon which two people lay.

Gently closing the door behind him, Old Dog propped it shut with a sturdy wooden stick to prevent the howling wind from blowing the battered portal open. In an instant, the room became noticeably less cold—not merely comfortable, but practically warm.

The man lying on the bed continued to cough incessantly, a sound that, to Old Dog, was nothing short of a delightful melody. He relished listening to it. Glancing at the woman lying on her side deeper within the spacious bed, she appeared to be fast asleep—though whether she truly slumbered was a secret known only to the heavens.

Upon seeing Old Dog enter the room, the man naturally began to mutter complaints, though his voice was weak and devoid of any real authority. Old Dog paid him no mind; with a single glance at the large bed, he climbed right up.

Outside, the fierce wind wailed as if issuing a warning that in this world, aside from brute force, there was still the justice of the heavens above. Yet Old Dog cast all such thoughts aside, sliding close to the woman lying on the inner side of the bed. After pressing a kiss to a part of her body, he blew out the lamp and went to sleep. At that exact moment, the man let out another cough followed by a soft, muffled sob.

The woman possessed striking features; not only was she beautiful, but a smile invariably graced her face, though it was always fleeting, never lingering for long. Conversely, the man was remarkably short of stature and chronically ill, which explained why another violent fit of coughing seized him just then.

After coughing for a while, the man dragged himself up from the bed, stumbling downward while muttering foul and incoherent curses, as if itching for a fight. Once on his feet, he actually pushed the door open and stepped outside, returning a moment later with a small tree branch, with which he began beating Old Dog relentlessly across the backside. Old Dog, however, was far too occupied with turning the world upside down alongside the woman to care, completely ignoring the man's existence.

Though the blows from the branch caused no real pain, they left Old Dog feeling inexplicably irritated. Yet he did not retaliate, simply enduring the continuous thrashing. After beating him for a while, the man exhausted his strength and crawled back into bed. To shut out his frustration, he actually pulled the quilt entirely over his head, retreating into a state of blissful, detached indifference.

Inside, Old Dog carried on with his vigorous exertions without end, while the fierce wind howled outside, making the thatched cottage tremble as if about to collapse. Fortunately, the structure remained sturdy enough to withstand the gale.

It must be said that the woman in this cottage was considered one of the great beauties of the desolate village, yet through a cruel twist of fate, she had been betrothed to such a man. Matters of the heart, however, do not rely solely on worldly talent; they are governed by willingness rather than cleverness. Back when she first set her eyes on the man, he had appeared to her like a Prince Charming. Had it not been for that illusion, she would have rather died than marry him.

In time, the woman realized the man possessed severe shortcomings and ceased to view him as her prince, often harboring thoughts of ending her life. Had it not been for her two children, she might no longer have walked this earth.

Were it not for this desolation of spirit, she would never have feigned blindness to Old Dog's appearances in the cottage, nor would a smile have graced her lips at the prospect of sharing a bed with him. Yet that smile was always ephemeral, blooming and fading as swiftly as an epiphyllum night-blooming cereus.

Having finished his endeavors in the cottage, Old Dog dared not linger, fearing that if the villagers found out, they would gossip behind his back. Taking advantage of the dark of night, he slipped away.

The moment Old Dog departed, the woman climbed out of bed. Every single night she followed this routine, motivated by nothing other than a desire to secure a cure for her husband's afflictions. Leaving the cottage, she walked a short distance along the ancient path of the desolate village until she reached an old temple perched high upon the mountain. The temple had fallen into years of disrepair. In the dead of night, staying alone in such a place would terrify the average man, yet the woman felt not a shred of fear—a testament to the deep devotion and care she held for her husband.

Inside the ancient temple stood a towering statue of the Bodhisattva. The woman sank to her knees before the deity, her lips moving rapidly in silent prayer, though the exact words remained her secret. Doubtless, she was pleading with the heavens for protection, praying that her husband would not be claimed by the underworld.

Outside, the ferocious wind roared fiercely while snowflakes danced wildly between heaven and earth. The biting chill pierced the air, causing the woman to tremble continuously. Yet, for the sake of her man, she bore the bitter hardship without a single murmur of regret.

After praying to the heavens for a while within the ancient temple, her heart felt considerably lighter, and a smile returned to her face. To be able to do something for her husband seemed to her the greatest blessing in the world.

Days gradually slipped away.

On this particular day, Shaoqiu sat by the small river once more, gazing at the waters flowing endlessly eastward while lamenting how human life is as fleeting as the morning dew. Who was there to keep him company this afternoon? No one. There was only the gentle, murmuring sound of the little river rushing eastward. For reasons unknown, listening to that sound brought a profound sense of peace to Shaoqiu's heart.

Just then, a woman approached. She was a stranger to Shaoqiu, a woman whose origins were entirely unknown to him, and he could not fathom why she should suddenly appear before him at this exact moment. Yet the sight of her instantly lifted his spirits; she was far from unattractive. The weather was exceedingly warm, and the woman seated herself right beside Shaoqiu, her smile bright enough to banish every shadow from a person's soul. Why had she chosen to sit so close to him? Shaoqiu could not fathom the reason, but to a lonely soul, the company of such a beautiful woman was by no means a misfortune.