Chapter 65

Chapter 65

The group descended the mountain and headed directly for the village shed where the bodies were kept.

The weather was scorching, and the corpses wouldn’t last long—especially those pulled from the cesspit. The foul, chaotic stench was overwhelming. Though villagers could identify their own family members by their clothing, they hadn’t taken the bodies home. Instead, they left them in the shed, to be carried up the mountain together later and then transferred to their respective family graves.

It wasn’t that they were heartless—the stench was simply unbearable. People still had to live in their homes, and the living always took precedence over the dead. Moreover, holding a proper vigil was impossible, and no one dared let the children see. Some mischievous village children had sneaked into the shed to play—and that very night were tormented by nightmares, crying uncontrollably, waking the next morning with fevers.

The shed now truly resembled a living hell. Not only the children, but even women prone to fright couldn’t bear to look inside.

Besides the villagers’ bodies retrieved from the latrine and pigsty, there were also the corpses of the refugees—stripped entirely naked. Grieving villagers who had lost family members, unable to vent their sorrow and rage, took it out on these bodies. To the eye, not a single one of these two dozen corpses remained intact: limbs severed, left exposed to the sun, at the mercy of flies and mosquitoes—a truly horrifying sight.

When Old Man Zhao and the others arrived, they saw Lài Gǒushèng and Zhao Xiaowu playing on the threshing ground. Zhao Xiaobao squatted on the ground, blocking ants’ paths with a stick, with Chūnyá and Chun Miao beside her. So absorbed were the three girls in their play that they didn’t hear him call.

It seemed his wife and daughters-in-law had also come down the mountain.

For such a major event, every household had to send someone—to make an appearance, light incense, and publicly declare their stance.

The area around the shed was packed. Those who had lost close relatives wore plain white mourning clothes, white cloth tied around their heads, and hemp rope around their waists; distant relatives wore mourning bands on their arms. Women’s and elderly ladies’ wailing shook the heavens, while men bustled about searching for carrying poles, ropes, and familiar faces. The solemn scene mingled with noise and weeping—enough to make one’s head throb.

Seeing Old Man Zhao, the younger men in the village automatically stepped aside, greeting him one after another.

“Uncle Da Gen.”

“Grandpa Dagen, you’re here.”

“Uncle Zhao, we were just waiting for you.”

Several village elders who had been arguing hurriedly fell silent and came forward to greet him.

Their wrinkled, orange-peel-like faces bore deep, unresolvable worry. The village had lost too many people this time—more than during the earthquake at the beginning of the year. Suddenly, the village felt much quieter, and no one could say how many years it would take to recover.

“Da Gen, why so late? The whole village was waiting for you,” said Zhao Shanao, his face heavy with sorrow. Though only Zhao Youcai’s branch of their clan had perished this time—making their loss the smallest—they were all from the same village; such calculations hardly applied.

“Da Gen, what exactly happened that night? How come only Widow Li was saved? Why couldn’t you save a few more? They were all from the same village—many you watched grow up. How could you not lend a hand?” Li Laiyin pushed forward, his words laced with blame—implying clearly that Old Man Zhao and the others *could* have saved people but chose not to. “I asked Da He, and he said when you arrived, the refugees had already slaughtered everyone in the pigsty; the kitchen and pigsty were already ablaze—you didn’t have time to save them… But how is Widow Li completely unscathed? That doesn’t make sense!”

As he spoke, he grabbed Old Man Zhao’s arm, his muddy eyes fixed intently upon him. “Da Gen, did I see wrong? I thought the kitchen caught fire first, then the pigsty?”

Old Man Zhao’s expression didn’t change as he looked back. “Which caught fire first, which later—does the result change? Old Brother Li, it’s true we’re all from the same village. But we also descended the mountain with our lives on the line, prepared never to return. We risked everything—for the crops ripening in the fields, for the ancestral homes passed down through generations, for the dwindling food stores in our cellars, for refusing to let our wives and children starve…”

Not to risk our lives saving fellow villagers who ignored warnings, got captured, and failed to escape.

He didn’t finish—but everyone present understood his meaning.

Li Laiyin’s face paled; his dry lips trembled. He opened his mouth several times but couldn’t utter a word. He wanted to say they were all from the same village—how could they just watch them die? Since they’d gone down the mountain anyway, shouldn’t they have tried to save them…?

“And Widow Li…” Zhou Fugui, standing beside him, hesitated. His nephew’s entire family had perished. These past few days, he too couldn’t help wondering: Why hadn’t it been his nephew who survived? Why Widow Li? They’d both been captured—so how had she alone managed to live?

“She was lucky,” Zhao Dagen replied flatly.

Zhou Fugui opened his mouth, wanting to say more—but was interrupted by Wang Tiegen. “Old Li, Old Zhou—let me say a few words on this. So many people died in the village. I believe none of us wished to see it happen. But this matter comes down to seventy percent fate, thirty percent luck. The village warned everyone early on not to raise pigs this year—to wait a year. Yet you all refused to listen, refused to believe it. The village also told us to hide grain in the mountains. Still, you refused—deeming it troublesome, exhausting. Now that nearly everyone in the village is gathered here, let’s all search our consciences. Weren’t most of those captured people precisely those who couldn’t bear to abandon their livestock and fled too late? Wasn’t it their own greed—disregarding advice—that led to this disaster?”

“Furthermore, when Da Gen and the others descended the mountain to kill the refugees, merely surviving themselves was already miraculous. How could they spare extra attention? When you fight in the village and your wife argues beside you, you complain about the noise and tell her to shut up. When those refugees realized the tide had turned against them, they killed, set fires, and tried to flee. Da Gen and the others were busy stopping them—they simply didn’t have time to save people. That’s understandable. A person has only one head and two hands—how much can they possibly do? Even if resentment festers in your hearts, direct it at the refugees, at the Officials, at Heaven itself. Venting complaints and blame onto Da Gen and the others—what kind of behavior is that? Huh? Without them risking their lives, we’d still be huddled in the mountains—terrified and starving!”

“You don’t have to be grateful—but you mustn’t harbor resentment!” His voice grew more agitated. “People shouldn’t act like this!”

The wailing women nearby fell silent. Everyone pricked up their ears—especially those who had lost loved ones. At first, they too had wanted to question Old Man Zhao and the others: Why didn’t you save people? How could you not save people? We’re all from the same village!

But they lacked the courage. They dared vent anger only on the refugees’ corpses—because the refugees were utterly dead. Scarface, Hei Ban, and Axe Man—even lying lifeless, their long-limbed, mountainous frames terrified these simple villagers, churning their guts.

Let alone throwing a tantrum at Old Man Zhao and the others who had slain Scarface and his men. They truly didn’t dare. Even if resentment and indignation festered within, they could only cry, curse, and hex behind people’s backs—never daring to show it openly.

Now, hearing Wang Tiegen’s words, they couldn’t help but silently shed tears again—uncertain whether they wept for their departed loved ones or for themselves, who had resented Old Man Zhao and the others.

Wang Tiegen continued: “And let me speak harshly—don’t take offense, folks. We peasants all know: if you want your own field’s crops to thrive, you must tend them yourself. There’s no logic in demanding bountiful harvests while blaming others for not helping you, right?”

“How big is our face?” he added, growing somewhat blunt. “We *could* descend the mountain. You can still see your loved ones one last time, kneel here weeping at the vigil, see the unruined crops in the fields, lie in your own houses untouched by fire. All of this was bought with the lives Da Gen, Da He, and the others risked!”

“You’ve all seen A Song and Er Zhu’s injuries with your own eyes, haven’t you? They can’t be faked, right? Wounds that deep—you all have eyes, you can see them, right? ‘A hundred days for tendons and bones to heal’—won’t they need months of bed rest to fully recover? Autumn harvest is just around the corner. Their families are short one able-bodied laborer. Have they asked any of you to help with the rush harvest? No! They stepped up, got injured, and haven’t even demanded repayment from us. What more are you dissatisfied with?!” Wang Tiegen snorted coldly, turning to glare at those who avoided his gaze—too timid to meet his eyes. His own Wang family had also lost people—but he understood clearly: they had benefited from this. Those who gain advantages and then posture as righteous are the most detestable—like Li Laiyin and Zhou Fugui, forever blaming others. If you’re so capable, why didn’t *you* descend the mountain to save people?

Especially Li Laiyin. He knew early on that clansmen were captured. Why did *none* of the Li family ever suggest descending the mountain to save them?

Hah! Now it’s perfect. The Zhao family killed the refugees—he descends the mountain safe and sound—and instead starts blaming others for not saving people.

He just had to ask: Li Laiyin—where is your face?!

“Besides, Da Gen’s house was burned; Dashan was injured and poisoned. He was carried into the mountain back then—you all saw it.” He pointed at several men nearby, then turned back to Li Laiyin and Zhou Fugui. “From start to finish, I haven’t seen you utter a single word of concern or greeting. It’s as if they owed you from a past life—and this life they’re paying it back, right?!”

Li Laiyin and Zhou Fugui were scolded so fiercely they couldn’t lift their heads—their aged faces flushed crimson, nostrils flaring with heavy breaths. They looked ready to faint, eyes rolling back. Old Man Zhao quickly cried “Ai-ai-ai!” and supported them, then opened his mouth in a rather good-humored tone: “My Old Brother Wang, saying all that treats me like an outsider. Like my Old Brother Li said—we’re all from the same village. Why split hairs so clearly? I did it for the crops in the field too. After working hard for a year, I simply couldn’t stand by and watch the refugees ruin it.”

He hurriedly beckoned to nearby Li and Zhou family men, smiling as he handed the two elders over to their own clansmen for support. Then he gazed at the bodies in the shed, sighed deeply, and stepped forward to light three sticks of incense.

He didn’t see Widow Li here. He didn’t know whether the villagers had barred her from coming—or whether she herself had chosen not to.

Either way, it was better she didn’t come—lest the dead feel uneasy and the living uncomfortable.

After lighting the incense, it was growing late. Li Laiyin, having somewhat recovered, forced himself to continue presiding over the makeshift funeral: “Is everyone here? Check the carrying poles and ropes—make sure they’re sturdy. They suffered in life; in death, we must carry them up the mountain properly. We absolutely cannot drop them halfway.” As he spoke, he wiped his eyes—his voice choked with sobs, his expression pained.

The women and elderly ladies began wailing again—part of the mourning ritual, part genuine grief.

The men waiting nearby also stepped forward with carrying poles and ropes. The children confined to the village seemed to sense the changed atmosphere, craning their necks toward the shed.

Er Lai wanted to rush over and join the commotion—but was swiftly grabbed by the sharp-eyed Zhao Xiaobao. She put on a stern face and said seriously, “You can’t go over. Mother said we have to stay here.”

“Auntie, I’ll just take a look—just one look. They’re going into the mountain,” Er Lai didn’t dare struggle too hard. If he knocked his little aunt over, he wouldn’t get to watch the commotion—he’d end up lying on a plank, carried up the mountain himself.

“Xi’er, hold down Er Lai like you’re holding a piglet. Don’t let him move,” Zhao Xiaobao waved her small hand—and her little nephew immediately rushed over and pinned Er Lai down.

Watching Er Lai lying on the ground begging for mercy, Zhao Xiaobao huffed, placed her hands behind her back, and gazed toward the shed—her large eyes darting about. Why had they suddenly stopped? Weren’t they going into the mountain?

She was puzzled. Over there, the halted Li Laiyin was even more confused. He already harbored grievances against Zhao Dagen’s group—and then that wretched old man Wang Tiegen had pointed straight at his nose and scolded him, his words implying ingratitude. He’d been ready to let it go—but just as he’d organized people to wrap the bodies and tie the ropes, preparing to enter the mountain, Zhao Dagen suddenly stepped out and declared: Wait.

“What are we waiting for? For them to rot and grow maggots?!” he snapped irritably.

“Burying them a day late won’t grow maggots. But burying them a day early—and your sons, your clansmen, all the able-bodied men in the village—will be conscripted by the court to drive out the refugees.” Old Man Zhao looked at Li Laiyin, whose eyes instantly widened; at the young men securing ropes to carrying poles; and at the women whose wails were abruptly cut off—as if their throats had been squeezed. “I ask you—what’s your choice?”

…

Peach Plum Village.

Today, the youngest son of the Sun family—head of Peach Plum Village—was getting married. Old Lady Sun, being stingy, set up only a few tables for the feast—but invited half the village to eat. A group of elderly women sat in her courtyard, helping to pick vegetables. Avoiding the host family, they nudged each other, privately chuckling that the new bride was probably in for a hard time.

What decent family would schedule a wedding right before the autumn harvest? Old Lady Sun was clearly eager to get the new bride into the house immediately—to help with the work. And the girl’s natal family—they actually agreed to this date, revealing plainly that they, too, didn’t value their daughter.

The bride hadn’t even crossed the threshold yet—but the villagers had already deduced her background. How to interact with her in the future, what attitude to adopt—they’d formed a rough idea after just a few words.

“Why isn’t the wedding party back yet?” an elderly woman couldn’t help asking. It was nearly noon—and the bride’s natal home wasn’t far. Why were they taking so long?

“They’re coming, they’re coming! Someone’s coming!” Several children, eagerly waiting at the village entrance, jumped up. One boy, snot flying, dashed over to deliver the news.

The villagers sitting in the courtyard chewing the fat immediately craned their necks for a look, but saw no red decorations and heard no suona music.

Old Lady Sun's late father-in-law had been a suona player for weddings and funerals, and this family trade had been passed down. Although they might not value this daughter-in-law much, the wedding procession was properly arranged, the wedding robes were borrowed, and appearances were kept up—even the suona player was the groom himself. At the very least, outsiders couldn't find fault with it.

But why was the wedding procession returning without any fanfare?

"Whoa! Seems like we got it wrong," said the little boy who had run back to report, staring wide-eyed at an old man and two women barreling down the main road, his mouth agape enough to fit an egg.

Li Laiyin, dressed in mourning clothes, hadn't even entered the village before he started wailing from afar at the top of his lungs: "Village Head! Village Head! Our Wanxia Village has suffered a great calamity!"

Stumbling and staggering into the village, his dry, hoarse voice raised high, he saw a household at the village entrance setting up banquet tables, clearly hosting a wedding. His rushing steps abruptly halted. Under everyone's gaze, he suddenly turned around, fixed his eyes on the Village Head's tightly shut door, and rushed over, howling like at a funeral: "Those damned refugees somehow made it to our Wanxia Village! They started burning houses as soon as they entered! Many who ran too slowly were caught, and those cursed refugees swung their knives and hacked them down! The young men in the village were also killed protecting us old, weak, women, and children! We hid in the mountains for several days, ran out of food, and had no choice but to sneak back down the mountain. Luckily, there was no one in the village... but that's not right either! The refugees were gone, and the captured villagers were gone too! We searched everywhere, went through every household, and finally found dozens of charred bodies in the burned-down pigsty at the village chief's house!"

An uproar erupted all around.

The old women picking vegetables were so startled they dropped the vegetables in their hands. The villagers of Taoli Village all rushed out of their homes, and those waiting at the Suns' for the wedding procession also gathered around.

"Dozens of bodies?? You mean dozens?!" someone exclaimed in shock. "How could so many die?"

"Where is Wanxia Village? I've never heard of it!"

"Is it true or not? Old man, don't you dare lie to us! I went to town just yesterday and didn't hear about any refugees in our Tongjiang Town now!"

"Would I lie about something as serious as the life and death of an entire village?!" The Village Head, having received the news, hurried over. As soon as Li Laiyin saw him, he threw himself on the ground, wailing and sobbing. "Village Head, you must seek justice for our Wanxia Village! The refugees stole our grain, burned our houses, and killed our people! Besides the dozens burned to death, we also fished over a dozen bodies out of the latrines, all bloated and burned beyond recognition!"

"The dozens of bodies are still laid out in the shed. We old folks dug graves in the mountains overnight, thinking we couldn't let them suffer even in death, we must bury them quickly, but we can't carry them!!" Tears streamed down his aged face, his grief utterly genuine, making the surrounding women and old ladies clutch their clothes and wipe their tears. "We don't know who died, we don't know who's left. The bandits were brutal, killing anyone they saw. In the panic, everyone just knew to run into the mountains. The Village Head knows, our Wanxia Village is remote, surrounded by mountains on all sides. The villagers were terrified of the murderous refugees, no one knew what the situation was like down the mountain. We sent people into the mountains to search, but couldn't find a single one. I'm afraid they were so scared they ran deep into the mountains, where there are wolves, tigers, and leopards! Village Head, please help us!"

He sobbed and wailed, his face smeared with snot and tears. At his advanced age, even older than the Village Head, having experienced such a tragedy, and with so many people watching, the Village Head quickly helped him up and began questioning him carefully.

The old man had started wailing as soon as he entered the village, his words disjointed and jumbled, only roughly piecing together the gist.

"You're saying refugees went to your Wanxia Village, killed people, set fires, and stole all the grain?" the Village Head ushered him into his own home, ignoring the villagers crowding the courtyard to watch the commotion, and asked anxiously, "What about the crops? Are the crops in the fields alright?"

Li Laiyin's crying paused for a moment, then he wailed even louder: "The crops are fine, but our people aren't! With so many bodies lying there, and only women and children left in the village, what are we to do? We can't even lift the carrying poles!"

"Did the refugees kill, steal, and then just run away?" The Village Head was full of anxiety. Seeing him cry incessantly, he felt like telling him to shut up. Really, not a word about the crucial details! "Did you see which direction they ran? About how many were there? Did they kill on sight, or did they ask for grain and kill when you refused?"

"They killed on sight," Li Laiyin replied sullenly, suppressing his anger. Although he knew the Village Head was unreliable, he hadn't expected him to be this unreliable, showing no concern for them at all, only asking about the refugees.

"Forty, fifty people, all carrying big knives, very fierce," Li Laiyin deliberately exaggerated the number, wiping tears from the corner of his eye. Giving up on hints, he asked directly, "Village Head, such a major incident has happened in our village. Should we report it to the county?"

He glanced sideways at the Village Head and saw his face stiffen momentarily at the mention of reporting. He knew Da Gen was right; he wouldn't take them to report it. Keeping his eyes downcast and still wiping tears while speaking, he sniffled, "We don't know the way to the county. Village Head, could you take us to report it? So many people died in the village this time; it's a major case. We don't even know exactly who died; they're unrecognizable. And we need to send people to search for those villagers who hid in the mountains and can't be found."

"The county is too far. Since refugees have reached your Wanxia Village, it shows it's unsafe outside," the Village Head hesitated for a moment, then reached out and patted the back of Li Laiyin's hand. "The autumn harvest is coming soon. Officials will come down from the county then. We can report it at that time. It's the same if the constables report back to the county magistrate, and it saves travel time."

He helped Li Laiyin to his feet, then looked at the villagers gathered around watching the commotion. "I'll gather a group of people to go to Wanxia Village first to help, and then search the mountains for the villagers who hid there. And about the bodies you mentioned... Ah, the weather is hot now, they can't be kept for long. Best to let the dead rest in peace first. We can discuss other matters later."

He had his doubts, wondering if the old man was exaggerating. Dozens of bodies? How terrifying! In their remote podunk mountain village, if all the able-bodied men died, wouldn't that cut off a generation?!

If the next generation of children couldn't be raised, once they old folks died, in a few decades, Wanxia Village would cease to exist entirely.

He didn't believe it. He had to see for himself.