Chapter 1 Sacrifice in the River

Chapter 1: Sacrifice to the River God

At the entrance of Longevity Village, Jian Ru, having just gathered wild vegetables at the foot of the mountain, hurried back with a basket tucked into his arm.

His limp was barely noticeable when he walked slowly; he usually tensed his leg to avoid ridicule. But now, walking quickly, his uneven gait became apparent. A large scar stretched across his left cheek, almost reaching his lower eyelid. The tightness of the scarred skin pulled at the corner of his mouth, slightly distorting it. In his haste, the scar flushed redder than usual, making it especially prominent and frightening.

Normally, Jian Ru would avoid people, but with the rain intensifying, no one paid him any mind.

There had been hardly any sunny days over the past two months. That morning, a brief glimpse of clear skies had appeared, but it wasn’t enough to dry the damp ground before a few loud claps of thunder summoned heavy dark clouds, unleashing a torrential downpour.

He hadn’t wanted to go out, but with no vegetables left at home—even the pickled vegetable jar was empty—he had seized a break in the rain to venture out.

The Zhuxiu River meandered along the edge of Longevity Village, a boon to the communities on both banks. It provided water for daily life and irrigation.

But after days of relentless rain, the river had swelled to twice its normal width. The once-clear water, now thick with silt washed down from upstream, had turned into a churning, muddy torrent, surging violently downstream.

Half a month earlier, the Village Head had sent people door to door, warning everyone to stay away from the riverbank.

A few families living near the river had even been made to evacuate overnight.

But deaths occurred nonetheless.

The very next day, those houses were indeed washed away.

That same morning, Old Widow Wang was discovered missing.

After two or three days of searching, her body was found by the riverbank five or six *li* away, entangled in the branches of a large tree that had been uprooted and washed ashore. Had it not been for the tree, she might have been carried much farther.

She had, of course, long since passed away.

It was said that while moving, she had forgotten a piece of fabric intended for her grandson’s padded jacket. That night, she insisted on going back to retrieve it but was persuaded by her family to wait until morning. Unfortunately, the old woman, still worried about the fabric, went back alone at dawn—and met with disaster.

Her family’s grief was overwhelming, but in the heat of summer, the body had begun to smell. The Village Head arranged for a prompt burial.

In recent days, another group of villagers had been forced to evacuate their homes, taking shelter with relatives or neighbors.

But this was not a sustainable solution.

What was even more worrying was that the crops in the fields were flooded. Once the waters receded, it was uncertain how much would survive.

Most villagers relied on farming for their livelihood. If this harvest suffered disaster, the coming winter would be harsh, and it was hard to say how many might starve.

During the day, the Village Head’s home had been abuzz with villagers, all discussing what to do.

The village had pooled money to hire a shaman, who had just finished conducting ceremonies by the river. When the sky cleared briefly that morning, everyone thought it was a sign of the shaman’s power. But before their joy could last, the heavy rain returned.

By the time Jian Ru pushed open the courtyard gate and entered his house, he was soaked through.

The constant rain had left the room damp and musty. Yet, despite its simplicity, the owner had kept it as clean and tidy as possible, with everything neatly in place.

Jian Ru’s parents had perished three years earlier in a midnight fire.

He had been lucky to survive, but not without cost—a fire had scarred half his face, disfiguring him, and a collapsing wall had broken his leg as he escaped.

Sometimes, Jian Ru wondered if it would have been better to have died with his parents.

But since he had survived, he resolved to live well.

No matter how difficult life became, he endured, clenching his teeth and taking care of himself, managing to live decently alone.

After entering the house, Jian Ru set down the basket of wild vegetables, changed into dry clothes in the inner room, and soaked the wet ones in a basin to wash later. Just then, a knock sounded at the outer door.

Jian Ru paused, cleared his throat, and called out, “Who is it?”

Outside, a low, muffled voice replied, “Xiao Ru, it’s me.”

Jian Ru’s eyelids fluttered. He quickly straightened his clothes, ensuring nothing was out of place, before stepping out to open the door.

In truth, he had known who it was from the knock.

Jiang Maocai knocked differently from others—steady, unhurried, radiating calmness.

The door creaked open, revealing Jiang Maocai standing outside.

“Brother Maocai, what brings you here?” Jian Ru reached out to pull him inside. “It’s raining—come in quickly.”

Jiang Maocai was handsome, pale-skinned, and tall. Even in coarse clothing, he stood out. He often wore long robes, and when he walked, the wind lifted the hem, giving him an air of elegance. Most villagers farmed under the scorching sun, their skin tanned a shiny dark, making his fair complexion all the more striking.

Jian Ru felt a flicker of happiness seeing him step inside.

Usually, when Jiang Maocai visited alone, he would only stand outside the door, refusing to enter no matter how he was invited. While others in the village didn’t stand on such ceremony, Jian Ru, though slightly bothered by the formality, admired his good manners.

Noticing that Jiang Maocai had no raincoat on and was drenched, Jian Ru grew anxious. “Oh no, you’ll catch a cold. Let me get a towel to dry you off.”

He turned to fetch a towel but was stopped by Jiang Maocai’s voice.

“Xiao Ru…” Jiang Maocai’s expression was troubled.

“What’s wrong, Brother Maocai? You look pale.” Jian Ru finally noticed that Jiang Maocai’s rain-soaked hair was mussed, and his face was pale—a far cry from his usual neat and proper self.

Jiang Maocai bit his lip, his voice hoarse. “Jiaojiao is in trouble.”

Jian Ru’s heart sank. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”

The “Jiaojiao” Jiang Maocai referred to was Zhang Jiao, who lived east of the village. They had grown up together. Zhang Jiao’s mother had fallen ill during pregnancy, leaving him frail. Poor and delicate-looking, he had often been bullied as a child.

Jian Ru frequently stood up for him, but as a slight-built boy himself, there were times he couldn’t win a fight. On those occasions, Zhang Jiao would cling to him, crying in fear. Though bruised and in pain, Jian Ru refused to cry in front of his friend, gritting his teeth and vowing to get even next time.

Later, when they were fighting off bullies again, Jiang Maocai, who had recently moved to the village, stepped in to protect them. Gradually, the bullying stopped.

Jian Ru, who had rarely left the village, had never seen someone as well-groomed as Jiang Maocai. He soon developed a growing affection for him.

Before the fire, Jian Ru confessed his feelings. Jiang Maocai didn’t reject him outright but said they were too young and should wait until they were older.

Jian Ru took this as a hopeful sign and kept his feelings hidden, planning to revisit the matter in a few years.

After the fire, Zhang Jiao was distraught. Whenever possible, he and Jiang Maocai brought food to Jian Ru. Zhang Jiao always brought homemade treats—simple things like cornbread buns or wild vegetable soup. Though their families were poor, Jian Ru never forgot their kindness.

Zhang Jiao even shaped the buns into little animals like rabbits or mice to cheer him up. In pain but wanting to reciprocate, Jian Ru would play along, taking a big “chomp”—first the rabbit’s head, then its tail—while Zhang Jiao watched with wide-eyed wonder.

Behind them, Jiang Maocai would smile softly, his expression tender enough to captivate anyone.

Seeing him, Jian Ru’s childhood feelings resurfaced, though he feared his current condition left little hope.

When Jian Ru’s bandages were removed, revealing the disfiguring scars, even relatives flinched away. Zhang Jiao was startled at first, but Jiang Maocai showed no reaction, his demeanor unchanged.

Once Jian Ru could go outside, villagers pitied him but couldn’t hide their stares or whispers about his scars and limp. Children chased him, taunting him as “ugly.” Jian Ru once chased them for two *li* (about half a mile) with stones, but the experience taught him how shallow people could be—and the rarity of Jiang Maocai’s kindness.

Later, mustering courage, Jian Ru asked why he didn’t mind his appearance. Jiang Maocai replied, “Scars don’t matter. Xiao Ru has a good heart.”

He wasn't like the others at all, Jian Ru thought to himself.

It seemed that was the moment when Jian Ru, who already had feelings for Jiang Maocai, his heart was completely lost to him.

His heart, which had sunk to the bottom due to insecurity over his scars, stirred with new life.

Jiang Maocai was handsome and steady, and he had long found good work in town; his employer trusted him completely. He only came back once in a blue moon, and Jian Ru ached for him.

Later, on one of Jiang Maocai's returns, Jian Ru couldn't help but pour his heart out to him again when they were alone.

Jian Ru remembered Jiang Maocai's reaction clearly.

He had a pained, hesitant look.

Jian Ru's heart sank, thinking that Jiang Maocai still disliked him for being disfigured and crippled, but he bit his lip and waited stubbornly for a response.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Jiang Maocai said once more, "You're still young, there's no hurry. Let's wait a bit longer."

Jian Ru was eighteen. In the village, girls and young men his age were already looking for marriage partners. How could he still be considered young? Why did they have to wait?

But since Jiang Maocai hadn't outright refused, Jian Ru felt there was still hope. He didn't give up hope and continued to treat Jiang Maocai well.

He had talked about this with Zhang Jiao, who pursed his lips and smiled, his gaze unintentionally sweeping over the terrifying scar on Jian Ru's face. "Brother Maocai is so good, it's normal for you to like him. So many people in the village like him," he said, then chuckled again as if remembering something amusing.

After that, Zhang Jiao didn't say much more, but in the following days, he often asked Jian Ru to go into town.

Since his face was scarred and his leg injured, Jian Ru had shied away from strangers. Though he acted indifferent, he silently bottled up the hurt when people stared or pointed.

But Zhang Jiao, tired of being cooped up in the village, begged him to go to town to play and visit Brother Maocai. Jian Ru let himself be persuaded and went with him.

After just two trips, Jian Ru refused to go again.

Zhang Jiao was handsome, with a flawless face, and his personality was charming. Next to him, Jian Ru, who haggled fiercely over every penny from vendors, seemed more like an ill-tempered, ugly monster.

When Jian Ru refused to go, Zhang Jiao sensed his sadness and kept asking until Jian Ru finally told the truth.

Zhang Jiao held him gently, pouting, "Now I understand what's going on. It's all my fault. I won't force you to go out anymore."

Jian Ru naturally didn't hold it against him and even apologized, saying he shouldn't have let his insecurity over his scars put a damper on their outings.

Zhang Jiao sighed and said, "Going out or not is a small matter, but at Brother Maocai's employer's place..."

"What about there?" Jian Ru asked.

Zhang Jiao hesitated. "That household operates a business. They said... they said..."

"Said what?" Jian Ru still didn't understand.

"Ah, it's nothing much. They just said we often go to see Brother Maocai and it affects their business."

"We only go in to see him and talk when no one's around. How does that affect their business?" Jian Ru asked, puzzled.

Then, seeing Zhang Jiao's awkward glance at the scar on his face, he suddenly understood everything.

"They're afraid I'll scare away customers?" Jian Ru asked quietly.

Zhang Jiao coughed and didn't answer. The light in Jian Ru's eyes dimmed, and he asked no more.

After that, Zhang Jiao never suggested going out again. In their free time, the two stayed in the village. When Jiang Maocai returned from town, the three of them would still spend time together—they were the only ones who didn't look down on him.

Jian Ru was a deeply thankful person. He remembered every kindness shown to him.

If others were good to him, he would pay them back twice over.

Whenever he had good food or useful items, he kept a little for himself and gave most to the other two. If they had troubles, he treated them as his own.

When Zhang Jiao's mother fell ill and Zhang Jiao couldn't care for her alone, Jian Ru went early and left late, tending to her as if she were his own mother. Jiang Maocai was often away and couldn't look after his home, so whenever there was work his elderly parents couldn't manage, Jian Ru went to help.

They had been friends for so many years, and Jian Ru cherished them deeply.

Now, hearing Jiang Maocai say that Zhang Jiao was in trouble, Jian Ru was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan.

The two walked in the rain, one after the other. Jian Ru, walking ahead, no longer cared if his limp was noticeable. He hobbled and ran, almost out of breath.

Behind him, Jiang Maocai's gaze swept over his figure, then he lowered his eyes, hiding the complexity in them.

The rain fell heavier, soon drenching Jian Ru's hair into clumps and making his already unattractive half-face look even more pitiful.

Their destination was Zhang Jiao's home.

The flooding in the village was getting worse. They had tried everything, but nothing worked. The river grew more turbulent, its banks widening as if ready to surge into the village and swallow everything. The river that had sustained them had become a man-eating monster.

Jiang Maocai said that last night, the Village Head and a group of others had stayed up late, smoking harsh tobacco that stung their eyes. In the end, they decided to follow the advice of the invited mystic and make an offering to the River God in the river.

Besides offering cattle, sheep, pigs, and horses, they would also send a handsome boy or girl to be the River God's bride.

The chosen one was finally decided: Zhang Jiao, the most beautiful boy in the village. His mother cried as if her heart would break but was powerless to stop it.

Tonight, Zhang Jiao would be thrown into the deadly river.

The veins on Jian Ru's forehead bulged. Gripping a shovel tightly in his slender hand, he was determined to fight the Village Head and the others at Zhang's house. As long as he was alive, no one would take Zhang Jiao away.

"Brother Maocai, hurry!" The rain grew heavier, and water splashed into his eyes, making it hard to see. His clothes were soaked through, and his thin body shivered in the cold, but he paid no mind.

The thought of Zhang Jiao bound and terrified made Jian Ru frantic with worry. He turned to urge the man behind him. Jiang Maocai responded, but his steps didn't quicken; instead, they slowed slightly.

Jian Ru didn't notice that the man behind him kept looking around—at the nearby houses, the windows along the street, the depths of the alley.

When he finally saw Zhang's house in the distance, Jian Ru's spirits lifted. He tightened his grip on the shovel and prepared to charge forward.

But as he took a step, a sharp, sudden pain exploded at the back of his head. His vision went black, and he swayed, nearly collapsing.

Was it the village children throwing stones at him again for revenge?

Dizzily, Jian Ru tried to turn and call for Jiang Maocai's help. But just then, another blow struck the back of his head, harder and more decisive than the first.

Only then did Jian Ru realize it wasn't a stone—it was a wooden club. And the person hitting him seemed to be...

But it was too late. His vision went completely black, and he knew nothing more.

...

When he woke again, his mouth was gagged, his hands and feet bound, and a red bridal veil covered his face. He was being carried on a wooden frame.

Jian Ru wasn't foolish—he put two and two together immediately. He struggled desperately, and a corner of the red veil slipped loose, nearly falling off.

Then, someone tugged the veil back into place, covering him completely without a single gap.

Jian Ru grunted, trying to attract the attention of those around him.

A warm hand firmly grasped his hand, and Jian Ru went completely still.

A familiar male voice said in his ear, "Xiao Ru, don't blame us. Zhang Jiao is timid and easily frightened. Your face is ruined, your leg is crippled, and there's not much meaning left in your life. It's better to do us this favor."

The blood in Jian Ru's veins ran cold, his heart aching as if twisted by a knife.

The man whose voice had once brought him joy continued to cut him with a dull blade.

"You're about to die, so I want you to die with your eyes open. Don’t haunt us as a ghost. All these years, since I came to understand things, the one I’ve liked is Zhang Jiao. You two always played together, and to make Zhang Jiao happy, I was just nice to you for his sake."

"I never had any feelings for you, especially after the accident that left your face looking like a monster. How could I possibly like you?"

At these words, Jian Ru on the wooden frame began struggling desperately again.

Jiang Maocai gripped his hand tightly, as if trying to crush his bones.

"I’m often away from home. Zhang Jiao is timid and always bullied. With you by his side, you could look after him when I wasn’t around. Don't hold it against us. With a temper and face like yours, who else would have been your friend all these years if not for us?"

The red veil covering his face gradually grew damp.

He stopped struggling.

Jiang Maocai released his hand and said to him, "If you must blame anyone, blame the Village Head and the others for watching too closely. Without a living person to replace Zhang Jiao as the sacrifice, we wouldn’t have had the chance to secretly leave the village and live a good life elsewhere. Go in peace. We will surely burn spirit money for you during the festivals."

Jian Ru had always fought to live, enduring so much.

But at this moment, he finally had nothing left to live for. Tears streaming down, he closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

The wooden frame came to a stop. He smelled the earthy scent and heard the rushing river water eroding the bank.

In his mind, scenes from his past flashed before him.

The figures of his parents disappearing into the flames.

The lush green wheat fields in the village, Zhang Jiao’s simple and pitiful smile, the fluttering hem of Jiang Maocai’s clothes in the wind, and the rabbit-shaped and mouse-shaped steamed buns the two had brought him while he lay in bed recovering from his injuries.

Only now did he finally understand.

The tender gaze in Jiang Maocai’s eyes had always been reserved for Zhang Jiao alone.

Those rabbits and mice that had comforted him during his illness must have been something the two of them made together. Perhaps, while shaping them, Jiang Maocai had gently wiped the flour from Zhang Jiao’s face, or perhaps Zhang Jiao had blushed and asked Brother Maocai to help shape the rabbit tails he couldn’t quite manage.

Recalling it now, the looks they exchanged, their little gestures—it turned out that they had been together even during the most painful days of his illness.

Jian Ru didn’t think he was foolish, and he still felt that way now.

But he thought, his luck really hadn’t been very good.

This life was over. As for the next… Since fate has been so unfair to him in this life, surely it owed him a little luck in the next one. Just a little would be enough.

With a splash, he fell into the chilling river water. As his mouth and nose were submerged, Jian Ru lost consciousness.