Chapter Thirty-Six: The Steps

It had been a long time since the bandit had seen Little Flower, but he no longer dwelled on such thoughts. He spent his days hunting in the great mountains, often sitting at the summit to watch the sunset with a sense of profound contentment. Yet, alone in those vast heights, as the wind stirred the dancing autumn leaves, he could not shake the feeling that a pair of eyes was watching him. But where could these eyes be?

One day, a woman arrived at the mountain. She had originally intended to go to Mount Gelimu, but she reconsidered, knowing that those who entered never returned, and abandoned the notion, deciding to settle for these mountains instead. She had come to gather firewood, but having heard rumors of a bandit on the mountain, she collected only a small bundle before turning back in haste.

Meanwhile, the bandit, gazing at the setting sun, caught sight of Mount Gelimu. The mere sight of it stirred a compulsion in him to climb it; it felt as if his life would be lived in vain if he did not.

And so, he truly went. As he passed through the desolate village from his cave, the people, upon hearing of his intent to climb Mount Gelimu, began setting off firecrackers. Those who had always spoken well of him emerged to cheer him on. Everyone knew that this journey was a one-way path, but would the village not be better off without a bandit? The bandit was deeply moved by the firecrackers, even shedding tears; it seemed no one in this life had ever cared for him so much.

Before departing, the bandit even kowtowed to the crowd. Seeing them covering their mouths to stifle their laughter, he felt a sudden sense of bewilderment, unaware of the deeper meaning behind their mirth. Only Little Flower approached him then, offering a small bunch of flowers. Though they were no longer blooming, they still held a faint fragrance.

Auntie Flower, however, quietly slapped Little Flower across the face, seemingly finding her behavior highly improper, and scolded her with crude insults in front of everyone.

A fool appeared then, draped in hempen cloth and wearing mourning attire. No sooner had he arrived than the villagers seized him, tearing the mourning garments from his body. Some even kicked him viciously until he lay on the ground weeping, yet even then, he continued to curse their mothers, prompting someone to immediately stuff foul dog excrement into his mouth.

The bandit, carrying his simple belongings, set off for Mount Gelimu, while the villagers set off even louder firecrackers behind him.

He reached the foot of Mount Gelimu.

At the mountain's base lay a path that led straight to the summit, yet it disappeared into the distance, its true length unknown. The steps were paved entirely with red stone, and the bandit dared not set foot upon them rashly. He sat at the foot of the mountain and glanced toward the peak, where he caught a glimpse of a silhouette that flickered and vanished in an instant.

Night fell, and the rain began to pour. There was a small pavilion at the base of the mountain, and having no other choice, he took shelter inside, waiting for the rain to cease. As the downpour continued, he sat in the pavilion, watching the deluge, his mind filled with profound confusion. Fortunately, there was a quilt in the pavilion, enough to keep him from freezing, so he prepared to sleep. Lightning tore across the night sky, followed by boundless darkness, with only the howling wind heard, passing like a ghost into the void.

When the lightning flashed again, the bandit saw a woman in white. He could not see her face, only her long, black hair as she stood with her back to him. But as the lightning faded, everything vanished, and the woman in white disappeared with it.

The bandit pulled the quilt over his head. Would he feel less afraid hidden inside? At least, that was his hope.

He dared not poke his head out, especially at the foot of the infamous Mount Gelimu. If he revealed his head and it were snatched away, he would have no head by morning—that would never do. Yes, that was it: he would absolutely not reveal his head. Even if there were evildoers about, what could they do to him?

The rain continued to fall, yet through the sound, the bandit heard footsteps. They were not loud, but they were audible. Moreover, he could say with certainty that they were the footsteps of a woman. They moved up the red stone stairs and gradually faded into the distance until they could be heard no more.

The bandit dared not open his eyes. He stayed huddled in the pavilion, wrapping the quilt tightly around his head, not letting a sliver of air inside. Even if it meant death, he would not stick his head out. The consequences were simply too unimaginable.

The rain fell all night, and the bandit remained huddled under the quilt, not daring to sleep. In such a place and time, who could possibly slumber in peace? The next day, he still dared not emerge until someone shook him vigorously. He poked his head out to find a woodcutter standing before him; the woman he had seen in the night and the red stone stairs were all gone.

"This!" The bandit, unsure of what had transpired, was so terrified he wet his pants and fled in haste, leaving his belongings behind.

He returned to the desolate village, but the people who had seen him off were nowhere to be found. Lacking food, he lay down beneath a pomelo tree and fell into a deep sleep.

Exhausted from the night of terror, when he finally awoke, the world was filled with the flicker of a thousand lamps.

The bandit had nothing to eat, so he simply leaned against the tree and looked at his surroundings: the desolate village, empty of people. Only a few broken lamps flickered, casting cold light that made one tremble.

Just then, the bandit heard someone reading aloud inside a house, and in the empty night, a beautiful woman stood before the scholar's door. She was a girl the bandit had seen in Lu Town, the only woman who did not wrap her face. To the bandit, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

The girl leaned against the door, listening quietly, a smile on her face as vibrant as a blooming flower.

The bandit watched her, and the girl caught sight of him, but she only glanced at him once before turning away. It was clear she loved the scholar inside. Listening to the voice, the scholar must have been handsome and endearing; otherwise, why would this young maiden have such affection for him?

Though the bandit watched, he remained leaning against the pomelo tree. He did not speak to the girl, nor did he dare approach or peek, let alone lay a hand on anything. Having seen her that once, he felt a deep sense of gratitude, and to entertain any further improper thoughts would surely invite the wrath of the heavens.