Chapter Twenty-Seven: Heavy Snow and the Sunken Ship

"Old Hua, is something the matter?" Shaoqiu asked.

"Something the matter? It’s a matter of heaven-shaking importance!" Old Hua roared.

"What exactly is it?" Shaoqiu asked with great patience.

"The vines from your watermelons have crawled all the way into my field! Why haven't you gone to deal with them?" Old Hua had originally wanted to frame him, perhaps by claiming Shaoqiu had pinched Little Hua’s bottom, but what good would that do for her? So he said this instead.

"I see. I’ll go move the vines back when I have some free time tomorrow. But I’m reading right now; I’ll go after I finish." Shaoqiu replied.

"All you know is how to read! What use is reading? You bookworm!" Old Hua said with utter disdain.

Having said this, Old Hua’s anger vanished, and his mood improved considerably. As he walked down the road, he hummed a tune that sounded quite pleasant once again.

When Old Hua reached his house, he sliced up a melon to eat. Naturally, this melon had been taken from Shaoqiu’s patch; since he didn't bother to guard it, it would be a waste not to eat it. Little Hua, however, knew the origin of the melon was dubious and refused to eat any, sitting silently to one side, still nursing her anger.

The weather grew colder. The north wind howled, and the earth was desolate and grim. Withered leaves drifted down one by one, while deep in the small river, a dragon let out a low, mournful roar in the dead of night.

Shaoqiu remained in his house—a place rumored to be haunted—without venturing out or lighting a fire. He simply sat by his desk, coughing incessantly. Lung disease had left him so frail that he lacked the strength to walk; he had to rest every few steps.

Outside the house, snow swirled and the north wind bit sharply. On the Gelimu Mountain to the north of this desolate village, ghosts wailed continuously.

At midnight, the snow fell even harder. The Black Bandit, bored and freezing in the desolate village, let out a hollow, aimless howl. Hearing the sound, Shaoqiu was terrified, fearing the bandit would burst into his room and slap him across the face.

Someone knocked on the door. The sound was so violent that the door seemed on the verge of splintering; he could hear the wood cracking. It was over. Once the door shattered, how could he keep out the biting north wind?

"Open up!" someone roared from outside. The sheer volume of the voice sent Shaoqiu into another fit of coughing, and his heart hammered so hard it felt as if it might leap from his throat.

Shaoqiu initially dared not respond, but the pounding grew louder. If he didn't open the door, it would surely break. And if the door broke, the north wind would rush in, and the snow would follow. He had no choice but to walk over and open it.

The Black Bandit burst in, wrapped tightly in snow. He shook himself constantly inside Shaoqiu’s room, scattering the snow all over Shaoqiu’s books. The room was already freezing, yet Shaoqiu dared not light a fire because the villagers had forbidden it, claiming the light would pierce their eyes and blind them. They had threatened to gouge out one of his eyes in retaliation if he insisted on starting a fire. Shaoqiu had no choice but to comply.

"How have you been, my good sir?" Shaoqiu asked with practiced politeness.

"Damn you! Are you trying to step on me?" the Black Bandit roared viciously.

"I would never dare!" Shaoqiu remained as polite as ever.

"I have a favor to ask," the Black Bandit said, getting straight to the point.

"Speak your mind. As long as I can help, I will certainly do my best!" Shaoqiu replied, though he immediately fell into another fit of coughing.

"It’s like this," the bandit said, tearing a large piece off Shaoqiu’s quilt to wipe the mud from his boots.

Seeing this, Shaoqiu wanted to intervene but dared not, having seen the bandit sharpening his knife earlier that day. If he provoked him and ended up on the wrong end of that blade, it would be no pleasant matter.

"My boat has sunk. You need to go into the river and hoist it up for me. Otherwise, when the weather clears, I won't be able to transport my cargo," the Black Bandit said with an air of entitlement. He tossed the dirty rag into a corner and began to smoke a cigar.

"My body is likely too weak for this. You had best ask someone more capable," Shaoqiu said.

"Are you going or not?" The Black Bandit pulled a dagger from his pocket, held it to Shaoqiu’s throat, and demanded an answer.

"Alright, alright! I’ll go, I’ll go!" Shaoqiu had no choice but to agree.

Shaoqiu followed the Black Bandit to the riverbank. The river was vast, shrouded in mist, and the wind roared like a beast.

The snow fell with such force that it felt like stones striking one’s body, terrifying to behold. The Black Bandit lit a fire near the site of the shipwreck. It wasn't a large fire, emitting only a faint wisp of smoke. The bandit sat by it, shivering, blowing warm air onto his hands. The breath he exhaled was so white it became indistinguishable from the swirling snow.

Shaoqiu approached the bandit and asked where the ship had sunk, coughing uncontrollably all the while. The bandit ignored the coughing but, fearing contagion, grabbed a handful of grass to cover his nose and mouth.

"Why ask? It sank right there!" the bandit said. "Get in quickly, or it will be worse when the snow gets heavier."

Shaoqiu stepped to the water’s edge and tested it with his foot; it was colder than iron, and the moment he touched the water, it felt as though he had been slashed by a knife. He thought of his mother; if only she were here. But where was she?

The Black Bandit brought a brazier over and placed it beside Shaoqiu. "Cold, isn't it? It's fine, I’ll let you warm yourself. Feeling a bit better now?" the bandit asked.

Shaoqiu didn't answer; he had no strength left to speak. Suddenly, a violent gust of wind blew. Shaoqiu couldn't help but cough violently, and the bandit used a rag to cover his own nose again.

"It’s unnecessary, I’m not cold, I can endure it. Thank you," Shaoqiu said. The bandit pulled the brazier back and continued to warm himself by the fire.

Shaoqiu heard a splashing sound behind him. He turned to see the Black Bandit urinating into the river, putting a great deal of effort into it.

"Does the water feel a bit warmer now?" the bandit asked.

Shaoqiu didn't reply. He gritted his teeth and plunged into the river, disappearing into the bone-chilling depths. He stayed under for only a second before surfacing. He hadn't found the boat, but he had struck his head on something; when he touched it, his hand came away covered in blood.

"Damn you! Hurry up! I’m freezing to death!" the Black Bandit cursed, jumping up and down on the bank.

Shaoqiu dared not submerge himself again, feeling that his body was failing. If he stayed in the water for a few more minutes, something terrible would surely happen. But when he looked back at the bank, he saw the bandit sharpening his knife, testing the edge again.

Shaoqiu felt he had no choice but to press on. He steeled himself, knowing he had to dive, or he might die right here.

Shaoqiu dived into the frigid water and felt along the riverbed. Sure enough, he caught hold of an iron chain, dragged it to the surface, and hauled it onto the bank.

"I’ve got it! I’ve got it!" Shaoqiu said happily to the bandit.

"Pull it in! Quickly!" the bandit roared.

"Very well," Shaoqiu replied.

The night was truly deep now. In the desolate village, there was no sound of human voices, nor the chirping of birds.

Shaoqiu remained by the riverbank, coughing incessantly. Snow continued to fall from the sky, and for some reason, the flakes felt warm as they landed on him—at least warmer than the river water.

"Oh, may I go now?" Shaoqiu asked the bandit. He was shivering uncontrollably; he was truly freezing. If only there were a large fire, that would be wonderful. But the fire by the riverbank had been extinguished by a gust of wind.

"Go on then," the bandit said.

Shaoqiu walked away. Looking back, he saw the bandit tying the iron chain to a tree on the bank, blowing on his hands as he worked. It was indeed a bitter, freezing night.

Shaoqiu returned to his room and lit a large fire. He sat beside it, closed the door, and sat in silence, hearing only the roar of the wind outside.