Chapter Five: The Visitor at Midnight

There was no other way. Shaoqiu had no choice but to run for his life; staying put would only mean waiting for death.

Fortunately, in the pitch-black night, the dark bandit likely could not clearly see his face and did not know who he was; otherwise, remaining in this desolate village would have been impossible.

Shaoqiu scrambled forward along the narrow path, stumbling and falling into ditches and gullies. But none of that mattered; he just had to scramble back up. He absolutely could not fall into the hands of the bandit, or he would be finished.

Below the mountain lay a small boat, seemingly unoccupied at that hour. Shaoqiu leaped onto it and drifted downstream, gradually vanishing into the vast, murky night, beyond the reach of any prying eyes.

"Damn you! Stop right there! If you run any further, I'll kill you! No one can see anything in these wild mountains anyway," the dark bandit roared. His tone was so vicious that anyone hearing it would be terrified, let alone Shaoqiu.

But Shaoqiu did not obey. He continued to row downstream. Gradually, the bandit’s voice faded, leaving only the gentle whispers of the wind lingering in his ears.

*I’m lucky to have shaken off that bandit,* Shaoqiu thought. *If I hadn't, the trouble would be immense. Living a peaceful life from here on out would have been impossible.*

Just then, as if the boat itself were against him, it struck a massive rock. Water poured into the hull, the boat capsized, and Shaoqiu fell into the river.

"Who the hell are you, ignoring my orders? You have some nerve! Don't you dare stop? If you keep moving, I won't be so polite!" The bandit stood on the bank, shouting so loudly that Shaoqiu, shivering on the sidelines, was at a loss for what to do.

Shaoqiu dared not make a sound. Was he not afraid of death? But at this point, fear was useless. He had to keep running; otherwise, dying in this godforsaken place would be a grave injustice to himself.

A blade flew through the air and struck Shaoqiu in the back. Blood began to flow, and Shaoqiu was so terrified he nearly lost his capacity to feel fear, yet he had no choice but to keep pushing forward.

After struggling in the water for a while, he finally lost all strength. He collapsed into the current, carried away by the flow, not knowing where he would end up.

Seeing Shaoqiu fall into the river and assuming he would not survive, the dark bandit brushed the dust from his hands, cursed once more, and departed, returning to his mountain temple to tend to his wretched affairs.

Shaoqiu returned to his own house. In this savage land, people were rarely seen, and most of the villagers were away; as to where they had gone, heaven only knew.

Shaoqiu leaned against the window, gazing at the moon. It looked beautiful. Under that moonlight, a young girl was singing, and her song was enchanting.

Xiaohua was singing to him, but Shaoqiu dared not listen. If Uncle Hua found out, he would surely blame him; though he might not beat him to death, he would certainly make his life miserable.

For this reason, Shaoqiu turned away, closed the window, drew the curtains, and turned on his lamp to read. This was better; the girl's singing faded, leaving only the chirping of a small insect.

Though the singing had stopped, an unsettling feeling remained, as if some terrible event were looming. Who could say what might happen?

From not far away came the sound of clear, sharp sobbing. It was a girl’s cry, but Shaoqiu, huddled in his room, could not tell who it was. He was focused entirely on his classics; as for everything else, he did not care.

The bright light, the faint breeze slipping through the dilapidated room, and his own shadow, which had accompanied him for years—it was truly good.

Someone outside was cursing, but Shaoqiu dared not respond. In this desolate village, killing a person or two was no great matter; he would not pick a fight over trivialities.

He decided to ignore it all and stick to his books. He was far too lazy to bother with anything else.

With the beautiful prose, the music flowing from the words like a babbling brook, the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance, and this room—dilapidated, yet sturdy—Shaoqiu felt it was enough.

After reading for a while, he felt tired. He set his book down and sat alone in his worn-out chair, listening to the wind sweep past and vanish into the unknown.

He looked at his hands. They were unblemished, perhaps even elegant. Gone was the savagery of wielding a hoe during the day, and gone was the desperation of the struggle. His hands looked soft and delicate now, almost refined, didn't they?

Suddenly, footsteps quietly appeared outside his door. In this crumbling shack, one rarely heard footsteps. Why now?

Shaoqiu did not understand, but perhaps someone had come to visit out of respect for his scholarly pursuits. At this thought, a flicker of joy warmed his heart.

"Damn you! I'll kill you!" A vicious voice shouted from outside, followed by the sound of a hoe striking his door with lethal force.

He could feel the door splintering. Through the dim light, Shaoqiu saw the blade of the hoe pierce through the wood. If that blow had landed on a person, it would have been catastrophic.

"Come out!" someone roared. The voice was familiar—it was Uncle Hua. But why was he here in the dead of night, and why so furious?

Shaoqiu pushed open the door and stepped out to see Uncle Hua, who spat viciously on the ground.

"Tell me! Tell me right now, what have you done to my Xiaohua? What on earth did you do to her?" Uncle Hua grabbed Shaoqiu by the collar, his voice wretched and trembling, causing Shaoqiu to shake in turn.

"I didn't do anything! It seemed like someone was crying outside earlier tonight, but I didn't know who it was. I just closed my door and read my books," Shaoqiu replied.

"You really didn't do anything to her?" Uncle Hua demanded. "Then why is she crying so loudly in her room?!"