Chapter 65: The World Has Changed

Shao Qiu closed his cottage door once more, intending to resume his reading, when he caught sight of an exquisite woman. This woman was none other than Flower Aunt. He could not fathom what business brought her here at such a late hour.

In the desolate village, Flower Aunt’s beauty was irresistible. Countless men had willingly traded their lives for a glimpse of her without a second thought, and countless more would gladly have died for her on the spot. Yet for reasons unknown, she cared nothing for all those heroes and fine fellows, choosing instead to dote upon Shao Qiu. And Shao Qiu was merely a humble scholar—what on earth made him so lovable?

Just as Flower Aunt appeared before Shao Qiu’s door, Song also arrived. He was the village butcher, a man who never used a blade to slaughter cattle, preferring to kill them with his bare fists. Whenever the cattle in the desolate village saw Song approaching while they were still alive, they would flee from afar. Since they could not afford to cross him, they could only steer clear.

Yet whenever Flower Aunt appeared at Shao Qiu’s threshold, Song invariably showed up as well. He would sit right there outside the door, chattering endlessly without a stop, refusing to leave until the moon leaned westward. At such times, Flower Aunt wore a smile so radiant that even roses would put themselves to shame, let alone the ordinary women of the desolate village, very few of whom could ever hope to rival her.

Song sat outside Shao Qiu’s door, talking at length with Flower Aunt, while Shao Qiu remained cooped up inside, trying to read. Yet his heart was not in it; the sound of their laughter and chatter was enough to stir even the most iron-hearted of men.

By the time the moon had drifted to the west, most villagers had fallen fast asleep, save for those two, who simply would not stop talking. Eventually, even the roosters crowed, and Shao Qiu crawled beneath his quilt, refusing to pay any more attention to such wretched matters.

After talking a while longer, Song finally took his leave. He ran a gambling den across the small river, and whenever he had nothing better to do, he would gather crowds to gamble, turning the desolate village upside down. Song had even been known to brawl and slash people right inside his own gambling house, and since he never lost, no one in the village dared to challenge him. Even passing bandits had to lower their heads and speak to him in hushed tones; the consequences of offending Song were too obvious to spell out.

The following day, Shao Qiu crossed the small river because he needed to buy books on the other side. As he passed Song’s gambling den, he suddenly noticed figures flitting about, their drifting shadows like ghosts, sending a shiver of fear through him. Relying on the fact that he had never done wrong, however, he brushed them from his mind. Besides, he had provoked no one—why should he live in terror?

Yet when he reached the foot of a barren mountain, feeling tired, Shao Qiu sat down upon a stone. The moment he settled upon the cool rock, a wave of comfort washed over his body. Moreover, the breathtaking view of the mountains and rivers caught his eye, making him reluctant to leave. He decided to linger for a while, watching the rising winds, the shifting clouds, and the great river surging eastward. Right at that moment, someone approached, carrying a blade that flashed with a chilling light. Clearly, this person harbored a deep grudge against him; otherwise, why else would they treat him thus?

The newcomer was none other than Song. His face was as dark as ink, his eyes gleamed like a ghost's, and as he fixed his gaze upon Shao Qiu, his expression twisted into a terrifying, ferocious mask.

At the sight of this, if Shao Qiu did not run now, when would he? He lifted his legs and fled for his life, caring nothing for how steep the mountain path was, and losing all mood to admire the drifting clouds above. His sole purpose now was escape; otherwise, he would surely perish at Song’s hands.

Song let out a wild roar. Though his running gait was clumsy, every heavy step he took shattered stones into pieces, sending tremors through the dust beneath his feet, while the rage upon his brow seemed powerful enough to halt the drifting clouds. It was baffling why Song held such intense fury toward him. Upon calm reflection, Shao Qiu knew he had committed no fault, nor had he ever dared to quarrel casually with anyone in this desolate village. For such a disaster to befall him out of nowhere—was this not the most agonizing injustice?

For a fleeting moment, Shao Qiu even contemplated ending his own life. If this was what living was like, what was the point? Better to be mindless and carefree like the grass and trees upon the mountain summit. Yet the thought of Little Hua made him hesitant to take such a step. Besides, Song might not necessarily take his life—why not run a bit further and see, facing whatever came only if escape proved impossible?

Fleeing all the way, he had no idea how many times he had tripped. His feet were battered beyond recognition, blood seeped continuously from his soles, and the pain had stripped him of any passion for life. Looking back, Song’s pursuit did not slacken in the slightest because of his injuries; instead, the man roared with mounting fury, and the trees on either side of the path crashed down in droves under the force of those bellows.

Fortunately, night began to fall. As wisps of cooking smoke rose across the desolate village and the lights of a thousand households flickered, Song seemed to sense something. He stopped his relentless pursuit of Shao Qiu, sat down by the roadside, and lit a pipe. Amidst the rising smoke, he heard a woman calling his name, and so he abandoned the chase.

Only then did Shao Qiu let out a long breath of relief. To die at Song’s hand—would that not have been too grievous an injustice?

It was fortunate that Song cared deeply about his reputation, confining his killings to remote mountains and barren hills rather than taking lives in broad daylight. Otherwise, Shao Qiu would surely have been done for. The woman’s call had effectively saved Shao Qiu’s life. Hearing her summon him, Song was overcome with wild joy; abandoning the hunt, he trailed after the woman, while Shao Qiu crept out of the area and returned to his cottage.

The moment she saw Shao Qiu arrive, Flower Aunt’s smile blossomed with peerless beauty. She looked as though she wanted to walk right over and plant a kiss upon his cheek, but catching sight of his shy demeanor, she thought better of it. Instead, she sat down on a clean stone right outside his doorway and hummed a ditty. The melody was lovely, but listening to it filled Shao Qiu with a tangle of complex emotions.

While Flower Aunt sang to him, voices rose in angry roars from various corners of the desolate village. Even old folk spat curses, and though their tirades were directed at stray pigs and dogs, anyone with eyes could tell they were cursing Shao Qiu. Yet hearing these bellows, Flower Aunt did not leave; on the contrary, she lingered at his doorstep and sang with even greater fervor. This gave Shao Qiu a splitting headache, but not daring to do anything to her, he simply let her carry on singing to her heart's content.

Just then, someone across the river began shouting curses, hurling vile abuses and calling him out by name. To heap such scandalous insults upon another person openly was enough to provoke public outrage, even in a desolate village. Still, Shao Qiu had his own method of coping: he plugged his ears. Once he could no longer hear them, it was as if none of it concerned him.

Yet that had its drawbacks; it was terribly uncomfortable for his ears, and if kept up for long, it was bound to bring on illness. Abandoning the cotton balls, Shao Qiu decided to let them curse all they liked. Words could not kill a man, so what was there to fear?

Before long, Song joined in, shouting curses from across the river and even dropping his trousers to punctuate his abuse. The villagers actually began clapping in rhythm to show their support for his tirade.

Faced with this spectacle, Shao Qiu inwardly prayed that Flower Aunt would refrain from lingering at his doorway. Yet he dared not speak to her, fearing that Song across the river might hear and grow jealous once more. And when Song grew jealous and charged over, blades were bound to follow; if he landed a single blow, Shao Qiu would stand no chance of survival.

Resigning himself to his fate, he decided to ignore it all and let them curse as much as they pleased. With the villagers keeping rhythm to Song’s shouting, the clamor swelled with such earth-shattering momentum that it made the beating of gongs and drums seem tame by comparison.

Shao Qiu had lost all appetite for reading and sat quietly within his room, hoping the villagers still possessed enough basic conscience not to burst through his door—after all, this was his own home.

If only Flower Aunt would leave now. But she showed no intention of departing, displaying not the slightest sign of moving. Wait, she seemed about to stir—look, she had risen to her feet. Yet for reasons unknown, she began to dance right there on Shao Qiu’s doorstep.

Suddenly, cries of slaughter echoed from all directions across the desolate village, mingled with incessant dog barks, as though a band of marauders had slipped into the settlement—how else could such a terrifying atmosphere arise? On top of that, a fierce gale began to howl, shattering everything in its path, yet Flower Aunt remained completely unharmed as she stood before Shao Qiu’s door.

At the same time, the small river suddenly flooded, its waters surging toward the heavens and capsizing the boats navigating its current. Cries of despair rose from both the upper and lower reaches of the great river, and the sound of vessels crashing against the rocky banks sent up blinding sparks that cast a fiery red glow over the desolate village, so bright that people dared not open their eyes.

The Gelimu Mountains abruptly rose into the sky, swelling larger and larger until the villagers felt as though Mount Tai were pressing down upon their heads, leaving them too terrified even to draw a breath.

Yet Flower Aunt continued her dance before Shao Qiu’s door. Though her posture was remarkably graceful, it filled Shao Qiu with sheer panic and unease.

Sand blew and stones tumbled through the air. Black mists pouring from the mountain forests shrouded the desolate village until one could not see a hand before their face, while the moon slipped stealthily out from the clouds, acting quite mad as it emerged in broad daylight.

Amidst this chaotic blending of heaven and earth, Shao Qiu heard the rough, booming roar of the Blade-Wielding Traveler, accompanied by the clatter of the firewood chopper and scabbard banging against his backside...

Flower Aunt went on dancing unperturbed outside Shao Qiu’s door, paying no heed to the surrounding madness as if none of it concerned her. With her eyes closed, she danced on endlessly.

Then the Blade-Wielding Traveler lunged forward, rushing up to Shao Qiu’s doorway. His eyes bloodshot, he paced back and forth while the blade within his scabbard twitched as though it might leap out at any second to decapitate Shao Qiu.

Yet the Traveler had not entirely taken leave of his senses; he knew Shao Qiu was inside his own home and not somewhere else. Though filled with rage, he found no vent for it. With a sudden bound, he slashed a single blow toward the Gelimu Mountains. The resulting burst of sparks was bright enough to illuminate the darkest mountain cave in the desolate village. Under that single strike, the Gelimu Mountains seemed to weep before vanishing entirely from sight.

Only then did Flower Aunt open her eyes. Seeing that the world had utterly changed and that it was no longer proper to stay, she felt a twinge of remorse for having disrupted Shao Qiu’s reading. With a soft cough, she stepped away from his doorway.