Chapter 24: Venturing Alone into the Gelimu Mountains

The rain fell outside, its sound desolate and chilling, unbearable to the ear.

At this moment, Shaoqiu thought of Xiaohua again, though he had no idea where she might be. If anyone were to find out about his feelings for her, the consequences would be unimaginable. He decided it was best to think of nothing at all, remaining in his room while listening to the relentless, cold rain, which sounded as if it were casting a curse.

On this cold, rainy night, the voice of Hua Gu appeared outside Shaoqiu’s room, flickering for a moment before vanishing like the wind. Yet, for some reason, the mere sound of her voice lifted Shaoqiu’s spirits, and a faint smile touched his lips. Hua Gu did not linger by his door; after that single laugh, silence returned.

Shaoqiu felt at a loss. The echo of Hua Gu’s song still lingered in his ears—it was beautiful, yet he dared not listen, gripped by a nameless, instinctive fear. The sound of the small river flowing east drifted in, filling the night in this desolate village with a sense of profound bleakness. Amidst the whistling wind, countless fallen leaves drifted down, scattering like ghosts into the unknown.

Shaoqiu longed to leave his room, but he felt powerless, forced to remain. Where else could he go? The house was surely haunted, but what could he do? He could only pray for the protection of the Bodhisattva. But would that even help?

Just then, he heard the singing again. It was Hua Gu’s voice. Since her husband’s death, this song could be heard from time to time—a cynical, perhaps even self-destructive melody. Every time Shaoqiu heard it, he felt deeply uncomfortable, yet he was compelled to listen.

Hua Gu flickered outside his door and disappeared once more. In the night of the desolate village, only the wind continued to howl. Beyond the desert, a hurricane swept through, causing the villagers to scream as if the end of the world had arrived.

Amidst the gale, the Gelimu Mountain seemed to tremble and sob, though the sound was faint, a mere whisper of weeping.

The Gelimu Mountain was a massive peak overlooking the village. Shaoqiu had climbed it many times before, but now, he wouldn't dare ascend it for all the world. It was said that no one who climbed the Gelimu Mountain ever returned, though no one knew where they went.

In the face of the great wind, the mystical Gelimu Mountain began to weep softly. The sound was likely audible only to Shaoqiu. According to tradition, those who heard the mountain weep were destined for great danger, or even severe misfortune.

Yet, Shaoqiu had heard it.

He became listless, fearing that if this continued, something terrible would happen, though he was muddled about what that might be. Still, he insisted on reading at night; otherwise, he felt he could not go on.

After some time, Shaoqiu spent his days working the fields on the mountain, only reading once night fell.

One day, Shaoqiu went up to the mountain again. The weeds in the watermelon patch were overgrown, and if he did not clear them, the melons would never grow. Being on the mountain offered him a respite, allowing him to stop thinking about unpleasant things, like the weeping of Gelimu Mountain.

The pine trees on the mountain roared in the wind as if angrily cursing someone, but if one listened closely, it sounded like beautiful music that cheered the heart.

***

Old Man Hua, seeing Shaoqiu head up the mountain that day, conceived a malicious plan. He knew that the reason his daughter, Xiaohua, favored this destitute man was because of his habit of reading at night. "What if I steal his worthless books and burn them? Would she still love him then?" With this thought, he headed toward Shaoqiu’s shack, knowing Shaoqiu was busy in the fields and would not return.

Old Man Hua reached the dilapidated door and hesitated—entering another man’s home was surely a crime. But the thought of Xiaohua silenced his fears. "To hell with it," he thought.

Fortunately, the door was flimsy. A gentle push was enough to open it; had he not caught it, the door might have collapsed entirely. "How can a human live in such a wreck?" he wondered, but he had no time for such thoughts. He stuffed Shaoqiu’s books into a sack, checked that no one was watching, and slipped away.

Back in his own home, he sat down, exhausted and drenched in sweat. After a brief rest, he carried the books to the kitchen. His wife was cooking and complaining about the lack of firewood. When Old Man Hua appeared with the sack, she asked what it was, and he replied, "Cow dung."

The kitchen was dim, and night had fallen, so his wife did not realize she was burning Shaoqiu’s books. For some reason, the food cooked over the fire of these books smelled exceptionally fragrant, making Old Man Hua drool with anticipation.

Shaoqiu had worked all day, hoping to find solace in his books at night. But when he returned, he found his room empty; his books were gone.

He was furious, but what good did anger do? Gone was gone. He lay on his bed, brooding.

After a while, he stepped outside to wander, letting the mountain breeze wash over him. For some reason, the wind felt strangely soothing against his skin.

Shaoqiu felt suffocated. He wanted to drink, but he had no money; he wanted to read, but his books were stolen. He wanted to curse the world, but would that bring him peace?

Furthermore, he kept thinking of the weeping mountain. Legends said those who heard it were cursed by the gods. The thought only deepened his despair, and with no one to confide in, he felt he might as well be dead.

"Why not go to the Gelimu Mountain?" he thought. "If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well see it." He began to walk toward the mountain in the pitch-black night. From its peak, the faint, mournful weeping drifted down again.

Shaoqiu began to cry. He didn't want to die. Xiaohua’s beautiful face appeared before him—he couldn't die, or she would belong to someone else. He stopped, determined not to climb the mountain. But then he remembered how Old Man Hua treated him, the constant abuse and insults. What reason was there to live?

"I’ll go," he decided. He walked step by step to the foot of the Gelimu Mountain. There, a memorial archway stood before him, its red gate appearing to bleed under the moonlight.

Shaoqiu stood before the archway. The sight of the blood was unsettling, but he had already come this far. He stepped inside.

As he crossed the threshold, the blood dripped onto him, but when he looked down, it turned into water. It was truly bizarre.

He wandered through the vast, empty space. It seemed endless and barren. In the distance, a torch burned, and upon closer inspection, he saw it was a pile of spirit paper being consumed by flames.

Shaoqiu dared not look further and walked ahead. He reached a small river with a boat moored at the bank. No one was there, and there was no wind. He boarded the boat, thinking he might as well see what lay beyond. Since he was already inside the Gelimu Mountain, death was inevitable—he might as well see as much as he could.

He pushed off from the bank. He let out a loud shout, and then, alone in the middle of the river, he began to sing a funeral dirge. Since he was already terrified, he decided to embrace it. What did it matter?

As he sang, his fear vanished. It was as if he had become a ghost himself—why should he be afraid? Surely, it was others who should fear him.

He smiled. He stopped his song and sat in the small boat, listening to the wind howling.

All was silent around him. There was no one else.

The boat reached the shore. As he disembarked, he heard someone calling from the other side, "Wait!" The voice sounded familiar—it was Old Liu, who had been dead for years. It couldn't be true. He must be overthinking, or perhaps he had lost his mind from fear.

Shaoqiu scrambled up the bank and began to run for his life through the darkness. He felt a desperate need to outrun the ill omens, but his terror only grew. He ran until he stumbled and fell from a high slope. When he scrambled to his feet, he realized he was lying in his own bed.

It had been a dream.

Shaoqiu sat up and saw that the day was breaking. It was time to go to the mountain and hoe the fields.