Chapter 60 Dining

It was a fine day, clear for thousands of miles, with boundless and picturesque scenery.

On this particular day, Shaoqiu could no longer stay indoors; he had to head up into the vast mountains to work. Otherwise, how was he to solve the problem of putting food on the table? Shaoqiu had never been skilled at farmwork. The rice he managed to plant, though not a total crop failure, yielded very little—barely enough to keep himself alive, let alone anything more ambitious. It was best to put such idle thoughts aside.

Despite planting such a large expanse of fertile land, the grains hanging from the stalks were surprisingly sparse. If one were to say he hadn't worked hard enough, he had toiled day and night without rest; this could only be blamed on the lack of blessing from the gods of heaven and earth, for how else could it have come to this? Yet, since the gods of heaven and earth treated him so unkindly, Shaoqiu was determined to go against their will. If that wasn't the act of someone with the audacity of a bear and the courage of a leopard, how else could it be explained?

At that moment, Uncle Hua also appeared on the great mountain. Having spent the entire day tending to his fields and seeing that it was still early, he was in no rush to return home. Instead, right by the edge of his bountiful field, he began burning ritual paper money to pray for the blessing of the gods, hoping his harvest wouldn't end up looking as atrocious and disgraceful as Shaoqiu's. Regarding Uncle Hua's actions, Shaoqiu remained unimpressed, choosing instead to focus solely on his labor. Even when his hands became covered in blood blisters, he did not consider it a hardship, but as for burning paper money, he firmly refused to do it.

It was truly bizarre: the grain grown in Uncle Hua's large field was exceptionally fine, while Shaoqiu's crops looked utterly monstrous, with the stalks even bearing clumps of filth. How was a person supposed to live like this? Did the gods of heaven and earth mean for him to stop eating rice and start eating dung instead?

Faced with the foul-smelling, filth-bearing grain in his own field, Shaoqiu was utterly speechless. While everyone else's fields produced splendid crops, only his yielded excrement. If word of this got out, where would he ever hide his face in shame?

Shaoqiu remained silent, believing the gods of heaven and earth were playing tricks on him. Yet, scholar though he was, he felt no fear. Even as night fell, he insisted on remaining upon the great mountain. Though he had no tobacco to smoke at the moment and no friends to keep him company, what of it? He could still sit quietly upon the mountain ridge, watching the sunset sink into the west, feeling a desolation of spirit beyond all words.

However, as he lingered on the mountain ridge, the wind roared relentlessly, and for some reason, the trees on the mountain howled like a shrew cursing her neighbors. Listening to them, one could not help feeling an inexplicable sorrow. Not daring to stay any longer on the great mountain, where could impoverished and destitute Shaoqiu possibly go?

With his hoe slung over his shoulder, Shaoqiu walked back to his dilapidated house. He was extremely reluctant to return, yet he had nowhere else to go.

Having no choice, helpless Shaoqiu took advantage of the fading twilight and crept down to the small river. Strangely enough, simply by lingering by the riverbank, all the sorrow in his heart would be swept away. Under the moonlight, the beauty of the little river was peerless, and a spring breeze carried the fragrance of flowers from not far away. In an instant, all the bitterness of life dissipated, leaving only the beautiful memories of the past to dance gracefully within his heart.

Just then, a woman on the opposite bank of the river softly called out. The beauty of this woman was recognized by everyone in the desolate village, yet for reasons unknown, she was calling out to Shaoqiu who lingered by the riverbank at this hour. Shaoqiu was baffled at first, but upon hearing the call of this beautiful woman, a streak of wicked daring stirred within him. Since he had nothing left to lose anyway, whatever she wanted to do, he would accompany her.

"Come over to me; I'll give you something delicious to eat," the beauty said. With those words, she smiled at Shaoqiu, her voice so enchanting that it made his soul dance, willing to brave even a brush with death just to be with her.

Yet, upon hearing this, Shaoqiu did not dare to agree rashly. Perhaps she wasn't speaking to him at all? Wouldn't he just become the laughingstock of others if he assumed so?

"You don't need to swim across; you can take the boat over to the back door of my house. Knock on the door, and don't come around the front," the beautiful woman instructed Shaoqiu.

Caught in the depths of life's despair, Shaoqiu heard these words and abandoned all hesitation. Right then and there, he untied the small boat, intending to row across the river. Once he found the beautiful woman, surely something wonderful awaited him.

Shaoqiu truly set off across the water. But just as the boat reached the middle of the river, a sudden flash flood rushed down from the upper reaches. Torrents of water poured down like a waterfall, carrying massive, crashing logs in its wake. The logs nearly smashed directly into him, and had Shaoqiu not been exceptionally quick and nimble, his boat would undoubtedly have capsized right then and there.

As for the beautiful woman's voice, where could it still be heard? Heaven and earth had dissolved into a vast expanse of rushing water, and his tiny boat was struggling desperately in the middle of the river, several times on the verge of being swallowed by the violent torrents. Had Shaoqiu not fought for his life with every ounce of his strength, those raging waters would have become his burial ground!

Crossing over was impossible, so he had no choice but to remain stranded in the middle of the little river before eventually retreating back to the shore he had left. Listening across the dark waters, what trace of a beautiful woman remained?

Shaoqiu glanced back at the opposite bank of the river, which was now pitch black, with nothing visible at all. The moonlight was scattered like broken shards, and the spring breeze still carried a faint trace of floral fragrance.

No longer feeling the pain, Shaoqiu turned and walked back toward his dwelling. By now, the lamps had just been lit, and night had already fallen over the desolate village.

Right outside the door of his house, Shaoqiu caught sight of Uncle Hua once more. To his surprise, Uncle Hua's face wore a warm, beaming smile. For reasons unknown, he no longer flew into a rage at the sight of Shaoqiu; in fact, his mood was exceptionally fine, as if Shaoqiu had unwittingly done something to his benefit.

Uncle Hua was holding two bottles of fine wine. He approached Shaoqiu's door and gave it a gentle knock. Unexpectedly, at this single knock, the frail door simply collapsed inward. Wood fragments flew everywhere, and a fit of coughing burst from Uncle Hua's throat, giving Shaoqiu a terrible start.

Shaoqiu hurriedly grabbed a decent piece of old rag inside the house to patch up the newly smashed opening, preventing the wind from whistling directly inside. If the wind chilled him while he slept at night and he fell ill on top of everything else, what meaning would there be to his existence?

Uncle Hua pushed open the broken door and stepped inside. Shaoqiu was already sitting by the table, reading a book. Books meant nothing to Uncle Hua, but since it was a book he had once gifted to Shaoqiu, a look of unmistakable pride crossed Uncle Hua's face.

"Come and have dinner," Uncle Hua said. Without dusting off the wood debris clinging to his face, he simply gave it a casual wipe with his hand and, in a stubborn tone, insisted that Shaoqiu come over to his house for a meal.

Shaoqiu originally intended to decline, but since the man was extending such a warm and earnest invitation, how could he find the heart to refuse? Wouldn't that be intentionally spurning someone's goodwill?

With no other choice, Shaoqiu followed Uncle Hua to his house. Upon entering, he was shocked to see Old Dog placing his hand directly over Aunt Hua's hand. Aunt Hua's hand appeared terribly rough and calloused, the ruthlessness of passing years clearly etched upon her skin. In contrast, Old Dog's hands were still comparatively soft and tender, and to force them upon those weather-beaten, rugged hands—what kind of scandalous behavior was this?

Uncle Hua saw it, of course, but he pretended not to notice, insisting by all means that Shaoqiu sit down and eat. Shaoqiu and Old Dog were mortal enemies; sitting face-to-face with him was utterly excruciating. He wanted to leave immediately, but feared offending Uncle Hua, which would make future encounters terribly awkward.

When Old Dog saw Shaoqiu arrive, he figured a mere scholar like him was worth less than dirt. He kept his hand resting right on top of Aunt Hua's large hand, his face flushed a deep, glowing red—whether from the alcohol or on account of the woman, it was impossible to tell.

Seeing this situation, Shaoqiu realized that staying any longer would likely spell trouble. Yet since Uncle Hua had practically ordered him to sit, he had no alternative. Silently, he took his seat, resigning himself to simply eating a full meal and getting it over with.