Chapter One: The Beautiful Girl

Deep within the desert, great mountains stood tall, their sheer cliffs rising abruptly, while a solitary eagle circled overhead. A winding stream meandered through the mountains, its banks carpeted with a tapestry of wildflowers, splashes of color as vivid as a painting.

By the river, a young girl knelt, washing clothes, a drifting white cloud casting her graceful shadow upon the earth. In her hair, she wore a small purple blossom, its fragrance dancing gently with the breeze, lending her an otherworldly allure, like a fairy descended from the heavens.

Beside her sat a man whose face bore a scar, yet a persistent smile played across his lips. In his hand, he held a small bouquet, eager to offer it to the girl. Yet she paid him little mind, considering his attentions nothing more than a nuisance—her heart already belonged to another.

“Here, Xiaohua, take this flower. It may not be much to look at, but its scent is delightful. Would you like it?” the man asked.

“I don’t want it. Please leave. If someone sees you here, it wouldn’t look good,” Xiaohua replied.

He was a middle-aged man, the scar on his face not his only mark—he coughed incessantly, clearly suffering from some incurable illness. He knew his days were numbered and wished only to savor the company of a woman before meeting his end. So, on this afternoon, he had come to the riverbank, searching for his prey.

“Grandpa, please go. Don’t linger here any longer, or people will talk and say you’re not respectable,” the girl insisted, her cheeks flushing as she spoke.

“What is respect to a dying man? My legs are nearly useless—you’d best not run, for I couldn’t catch you if I tried,” the old cripple replied gravely.

Xiaohua remained by the riverside. Kind-hearted, she dared not run, fearing that if she did and he tried to follow, he might fall. She had witnessed his pitiful tumbles before and could not bear to see it again.

“Grandpa, just sit here quietly. I’m not going anywhere. I have plenty of clothes to wash—why would I leave?” Xiaohua assured him.

“That’s my good girl. Come, Grandpa brought you some sweets—they’re wonderfully sweet, begged from the market yesterday,” the old cripple said, inhaling the scent as if savoring his prize.

“I don’t want any. My mother told me not to talk to strangers or eat things from others,” Xiaohua replied, her cheeks reddening again, making her even more lovely.

“Don’t look down on me. These sweets are delicious—I hardly want to eat them myself. Do you want one or not?” the old man said with a smile.

Xiaohua was barely seventeen or eighteen. Facing the old cripple’s persistence, she was helpless, yet dared not scold him outright; should word spread, how could she remain in this remote village?

“Xiaohua, just try one. If you don’t believe me, I’ll eat one first to show you,” he said, popping one into his mouth, then sat beside her, coughing as he watched her scrub the fragrant garments.

He brought a sweet to her lips, insisting she eat it, warning if she refused, Heaven would be displeased and she might even get a stomachache.

“Would Heaven really blame me?” Xiaohua asked.

“Of course—if you don’t eat, you’ll be struck by lightning for sure!” he threatened.

“Then I’d better eat it,” she said, taking the sweet he pressed to her lips.

“Now that you’ve eaten my sweet, why not lie down here and marry me?” he proposed.

“That would never do. I already have someone in my heart—I could never marry you, not for anything!” Xiaohua protested.

“It’s not up to you. You must—whether you wish it or not,” the old cripple said, drawing closer. There, by the riverbank, he stripped the girl, and as he did, rain began to pour from the heavens, blurring the world into a confusion where east and west were no longer distinct.

The village lay shrouded in the watery dusk. The moon hung in the sky, casting its light upon the riverbank, illuminating a swath of reeds and water plants.

Shao Qiu sat by the river, gazing at the water flowing eastward, sighing at his lack of achievements to this day, his heart heavy with disappointment.

He lingered there, watching the river’s aimless journey, unsure where it might lead, but finding solace in its endless motion.

The moon hung overhead, and as he looked up at it, tears slid silently down his face, falling into the dust.

Glancing once more at the moon, Shao Qiu rose and walked along the deserted path, stopping before a dilapidated house. He sat upon a stone at its entrance.

The house was little more than a shell—stones and a few planks, unable to keep out winter’s wind or summer’s rain. Yet he had grown used to it; the poverty no longer bothered him.

That night, Shao Qiu lit a kerosene lamp and sat by the window, gazing out at the storm, his heart filled with desolation.

A flash of lightning split the sky, igniting a small shrub outside, but the downpour quickly quenched the flames.

In that brief illumination, he saw his grandfather—only at such moments did the old man appear, though Shao Qiu did not know why. Perhaps it was merely a trick of weary eyes.

Among the mountains, the small river flowed from west to east, winding through the cliffs, traversing the desert, its song receding into the distance. On the desert’s banks, dead trees lay toppled in all directions, tattered clouds flapping in the wind, a scene so bleak it could bring one to tears.

Shao Qiu sat in his ruined dwelling, accompanied by his meager lamp and a book. Only in reading could he find some measure of comfort; without it, life seemed unbearable.

Outside, the rain fell relentlessly. On that stormy night, a woman stood before Shao Qiu’s door, smiling at him before turning away, disappearing into the darkness.

“Come, I’ll take off my trousers and wait for you!” she called softly at his door before vanishing, her voice nearly drowned by the rain—no more than the call of a night bird, nothing to be concerned about.

Confronted by these strange occurrences, Shao Qiu simply sat in his old house, facing the fearsome night and the temptations drifting in from who knew where, his heart tinged with a faint sorrow.

“Do you want it or not?” The woman’s call echoed through the stormy night, her voice tinged with such allure, it could steal one’s soul.