Chapter Thirteen: Beneath the Ebony Tree

That early morning, Liu Sanjun brought back a wild pheasant he had hunted. His wife, Cai Zhongsheng, was still asleep and hadn’t woken up. To avoid her scolding, he first boiled a pot of water until it was roaring hot and used it to scald the pheasant, plucking its feathers. He gathered the beautiful plumage into a pile and placed it in a large plastic bag, then carried it to the far corner behind the house. There, he covered it with several leafy branches, intending to take it to the town’s scrap recycling station later to exchange for money.

Since wild pheasant feathers were more beautiful and valuable than those of domestic chickens, he didn’t want to throw them away or let his wife find out. If she knew, she would oppose his killing of any living creature.

After dealing with the feathers, Liu Sanjun went inside, washed the plucked pheasant meat, and put the pieces into a pot to simmer into soup.

When the whole house was filled with a fragrant aroma, Cai Zhongsheng awoke and followed the scent straight to the kitchen. She lifted the lid of the hanging pot and saw the bubbling broth, with chunks of meat dancing and swirling within the boiling water.

She asked what kind of meat it was. Liu Sanjun, tying a cloth around his waist while chopping scallions, paused briefly and replied, “Can’t you tell? It’s chicken.”

Cai Zhongsheng looked at him suspiciously but before she could speak, Liu Sanjun continued, “Yesterday, I got paid at the quarry and bought a chicken from town to make soup, to help you regain your strength. What’s wrong with that?”

She half-believed him but said, “Maybe I do need nourishment, but I don’t quite trust that this is chicken meat.”

“Wife, what are you doubting? Stir the pot with the iron ladle and take a close look—isn’t it chicken?” Liu Sanjun said while sprinkling the chopped scallions into the pot. Then he picked up a piece of meat with chopsticks and showed it to her. Cai Zhongsheng said no more.

However, when they ate the cooked meat, Cai Zhongsheng found the texture somewhat coarse and said, “This doesn’t taste like chicken. Chicken meat is more delicate. You can’t fool me.”

Liu Sanjun laughed and said, “Who’s fooling you? Don’t you know this is old hen meat? Naturally, it won’t be as tender.”

Hearing this, Cai Zhongsheng reluctantly dismissed her doubts.

After the meal, she went to the outhouse due to a sudden urge. The foul stench made her spit outside the door. When she looked up, she noticed a pile of fresh branches stacked conspicuously in the corner behind the house.

After finishing, she went over and used her foot to push aside the branches, revealing a large plastic bag. She opened it and found it filled with colorful wild pheasant feathers.

She understood what had happened. Carrying the bag of feathers, she walked through the back room into the main hall and tossed it in front of Liu Sanjun, who was leisurely smoking a cigarette in a chair, and snorted, “What’s this?”

Liu Sanjun realized he had been found out. His cheeks flushed red, and he smiled awkwardly, saying, “Whatever you say, it is.”

Cai Zhongsheng said, “You even lied to me, saying it was old hen meat. I was thinking, even old hen meat wouldn’t feel that coarse. It’s clearly a wild pheasant you hunted at night and cooked. Why insist it’s old hen meat?”

“You’ve always been against my hunting,” Liu Sanjun confessed. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you the truth. Actually, I just brought back a wild pheasant to eat. It’s nothing serious. It’s not like some spiritual creature, like a turtle, whose soul might haunt you if you eat it. Besides, wild birds and rabbits are fair game for humans. If you’re scared of this and that, what’s the point of living?”

Liu Sanjun defended himself confidently. He glanced at Cai Zhongsheng and added, “Eating this wild pheasant won’t harm you; it can nourish your body. Though the meat is coarse, its nutritional value surpasses that of domestic chicken.”

Then he lifted the bag of wild pheasant feathers again and said, “Not only the meat is valuable, but the feathers too. I can take them to the town’s scrap recycling station and surely get money for them.”

After this, Liu Sanjun continued to hunt with his shotgun on the mountain behind the house. Cai Zhongsheng no longer tried to stop him and let him be.

But trouble quietly crept in.

One moonless, windy night, Liu Sanjun drank a few cups of wine at home and then took his shotgun and headed out through the back door.

He stumbled just as he stepped outside but quickly got back up.

Cai Zhongsheng rushed over and said, “You’ve had too much to drink. Don’t go hunting tonight. Stay home and rest.”

“No! No!” Liu Sanjun insisted firmly, holding his shotgun. “A little wine won’t stop me. I’m not drunk at all. Hunting with a bit of wine might even make me luckier. Besides, if I don’t bring back some wild pheasants or rabbits, what will we have to go with the wine?”

Usually, he went hunting through the front door, but this time he left by the back.

Cai Zhongsheng followed him to the door and watched until his figure disappeared into the dim night, then closed and bolted the door.

As she lit the lamp to go to sleep, a sudden clatter came from the middle room, as if something had fallen.

Already in bed, Cai Zhongsheng put on her clothes again and went to turn on the light in the middle room to search around but found nothing.

Then her gaze flickered to the base of the north wall, where she saw a two-inch-long iron nail lying sideways on the floor. The nail’s tip was smeared with wall plaster.

She looked up at the wall and noticed a small hole—this nail had fallen from there.

She was puzzled: that was exactly where her husband hung his shotgun. The nail had never fallen when the gun was hanging; why would it drop when empty and untouched?

She didn’t think much of it and bent down to pick up the nail, placing it on a table by the wall, planning to fix it securely in a different spot when her husband returned from hunting.

The next morning, Liu Sanjun did not come home. According to routine, he should have returned by then; after breakfast, he would normally go to work at the quarry.

Since he hadn’t come home, something must have held him back. Perhaps he failed to catch any game and went straight to the quarry.

Cai Zhongsheng thought this but felt a dull haze in her head that morning, her hair disheveled and untouched, as she was too uneasy to care about her appearance.

Nearby, in another tiled house, Qiu Decai awoke. He vaguely heard a gunshot earlier, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and saw the room was lit.

He guessed it must have been Liu Sanjun hunting again, hitting some wild animal, which was none of his concern.

Though he bore grudges against Liu Sanjun, Qiu Decai was always curious and couldn’t resist getting up. Wearing only his underwear, he braved the spring chill and leaned against the wall by his bed, peering out through the small window like a lookout.

After a while, he saw no sign of anyone; the wilderness was silent. Then came the chattering of birds.

Growing impatient, he dressed, washed up, and led his cow to graze on the mountain behind the house.

He heard a wild pheasant calling from the dense woods. He ventured in, hoping to catch one alive by hand, bring it home to slaughter, cut into pieces, and cook a little feast. Watching Liu Sanjun regularly bring back wild game made his mouth water with envy.

Rolling his small, bright eyes, he searched the woods, but saw no pheasant—only a few unfamiliar small birds chirping in the thicket, as if mocking his clumsy attempts and weak spirit.

Ignoring them, Qiu Decai shifted his gaze to a soapberry tree. From the treetop down the trunk, he suddenly spotted a figure lying sideways among the grass at the root, motionless.

He quietly approached and saw it was none other than Liu Sanjun, whom he knew well.

Blood oozed from Liu Sanjun’s nostrils and mouth, and a shotgun lay across the grass a few inches from his chest, the barrel pointed directly at his chest, which still bled profusely.

Liu Sanjun was dead. Qiu Decai reached out and felt no breath from his nostrils.

Seeing this scene, Qiu Decai concluded that Liu Sanjun had accidentally discharged his shotgun pointed at his own chest, causing a fatal wound.

Shaken to the core, Qiu Decai, who had never witnessed such a tragic death by hunting firearm, dared not linger. He pushed through the thorns and hurried down the mountain to the village, shouting urgently, “Someone’s dead! Someone’s dead!”