Chapter 154

Chapter 154

Peaches were precious, and they’d likely need them again later—how could they use them all at once?

Old Zhao couldn’t bear to, figuring he’d try one slice first to see how it goes. If it didn’t work, he’d give another one later. If two slices couldn’t save him, then it was fate.

The second batch of peaches on the tree hadn’t ripened yet, and the green ones might not work. Their fruity scent didn’t travel as far as ripe peaches, missing that heady smell. The road ahead was long, and who knew what they’d face next? They had to keep some life-saving stuff in reserve.

Still, he picked a thick slice and slipped it to Wu Youliang on the sly.

He’d done what he could; now it was up to fate.

Du Shitou's wife had passed out from crying more than once. Folks couldn’t stand to watch, worried she’d wreck herself with grief. Along with Old Lady Du, who was screaming bloody murder for her son, a bunch of women hauled them back into the woods.

Old Du was in a daze. As a man, he’d braced himself beforehand, but he still couldn’t accept it. Now, with his son lying on the ground, no amount of denial could change the truth. He wiped his eyes, staggered up, and called over his second son, who was quietly dabbing his eyes in the corner. Without letting anyone else help, the father and son worked together to carry Du Shitou’s body into the woods.

Of course, they didn’t place it among the crowd—he wasn’t the type to make a fuss.

“Dad, find a spot. I’ll get the hoe,” said Du Lao'er, a man of few words. He and his elder brother had been assigned different tasks: one to escort the women to safety first, the other to hold the rear. Though they’d split their households after marriage, their new and old homes weren’t far apart. Regardless of their wives’ usual quarrels, they were tight.

With the heat, the body wouldn’t last; if not buried soon, it would start to smell by the next day.

“Lao'er, how could your big brother be gone? How could he just be gone?” Facing his second son, Old Du could no longer hold back. He rubbed his eyes with his dirty sleeve, his cloudy, yellowed old eyes like they'd never stop crying.

Du Mutou sniffled and hung his head, and the father and son wept quietly together.

They were both honest, simple men, crying on the sly. On one hand, they didn’t want outsiders to see their vulnerability; on the other, the fight had been a village-wide effort. It was one thing for his daughter-in-law and wife to cry, but if he wailed in front of everyone, he feared they’d think he was holding a grudge—crying to make them feel bad.

Maybe he was overthinking, but he couldn't stop.

His son was dead; his daughter-in-law and eldest granddaughter still needed the village’s support. Old Du couldn't help but second-guess himself.

So no matter how much it hurt, he could only shed tears in private. That was his eldest son—the one who'd get the lion's share when they split things up!

“Lao'er, Dad can't stand to leave your big brother in these mountains. He doesn’t know this place—how could he sleep soundly?” Old Du’s eyes were bloodshot. “I’m worried that after we leave, he’ll be lonely out here, with nobody to turn to. And we can’t come back!”

“If we ever find a safe place to settle, Dujuan won’t even have a grave to kneel at on Qingming. She’s still young—what if she misses her dad?”

Country folks were real particular about what happened after death. Du Mutou understood his father’s meaning, shocked by the idea. He said, hesitating, “Then I’ll go talk to Uncle Da Gen, see if we can hold up one more day. We'll cremate Big Brother and take his ashes?”

Would his sister-in-law agree? Back home, even the poorest folks wrapped the dead in straw mats. Burning the body to take the ashes—if anyone else had said that, he'd have thrown hands. What kind of hate would make someone say that? He didn't even want to think about it.

Old Du wiped his eyes, his spirit shot, legs too weak to hold him up. He nodded, too exhausted to argue.

He didn’t know when Lao'er left. His old eyes locked on his eldest son lying there, face blank.

“Shitou.”

Dad's rock.

…

When Du Mutou explained his intent, Old Zhao paused, then nodded.

“If that’s your father’s wish, I have no objection.” He paused, adding, “And nobody in the village will, either.”

Would carrying ashes freak anyone out? Even if it did, they’d have to endure it. What you're scared of is someone else's beloved family member, a fallen leaf trying to find its roots. They were rootless now, not knowing where their future was.

But carrying the ashes meant they might one day find a place.

Leaving them buried deep in these wild mountains—even if they settled down later—would haunt them forever, a weight they couldn't get rid of.

He had sons himself, so he got Old Du's fatherly heart. And because he understood, he felt the pain of a parent burying their own kid. He couldn’t let go.

So be it—let him do what he felt.

Thinking of Du Juanniang, who'd passed out from crying and still wasn't awake, he said quietly, “You should also ask Du Juanniang what she thinks. If she agrees, we’ll rest a few more days and get it done. Leave the firewood to the villagers—don't sweat it. These next few days, look after your folks, keep 'em company, and cheer 'em up.”

Du Mutou nodded. “Uncle, I understand.”

“Tell your parents not to worry. Shitou died for the village, and everyone owes him for that.” Old Zhao patted his shoulder. Some things had to be said outright to avoid misunderstandings. “The village will look after Dujuan and her mother. As long as anybody's got food, they won't go hungry. I'm saying this, and I can back it up. Just rest easy.”

Du Mutou returned with his words.

What Old Du thought wasn’t known, but he took it to heart. As soon as his daughter-in-law woke, he shared the idea. Du Juanniang broke down crying again.

At first, hearing her father-in-law wanted to burn her husband, she wanted to protest. But then she thought about burying him in this wild forest, with bandits in the mountains—even dead bandits were fiercer than Shitou. This was someone else’s mountain den. What if the bandits ganged up on him underground?

The thought broke her heart!

So she could only agree.

“Burn him, then. Take him with us. That way, we’ll always have something to remember him by.” Her voice was hoarse from crying. Determined not to let him suffer after death, she wiped her tears, stood up, and went to find a jar. “I’ll ask for some water. I need to clean him so he can rest comfortably.”

He hadn’t enjoyed life; at least let him rest in peace.

Staying a few days meant finding water. Zhao Sandi took a nap, then without bringing outsiders, called his two older brothers and his little sister. The four siblings carried buckets and headed into the woods.

Zhao Xiaobao took turns letting her brothers eat well in the divine place. Steamed buns, flatbreads, porridge—everything was in the kitchen. Cold dishes and meat were pre-mixed in basins, ready to eat.

The three brothers ate their fill, then went to the storeroom for medicinal wine to rub on their arms and legs. How could anyone fight without injuries? Though they hadn’t bled, their bodies were covered in bruises. Overnight, the blood had pooled, dark purple and alarming.

With no outsiders around, Zhao Xiaobao had her brothers fetch water from the stream while she released the buckets with water inside, saving time and effort.

Several trips a day provided enough water for everyone’s needs.

Du Juanniang wanted to wash a jar, but hers was cracked and leaking, with a lid that didn’t fit. Originally used for dried vegetables, it was unsuitable for ashes.

Wangshi found a good jar from her own home. Worried the other woman might be too embarrassed to accept, she offered to trade for the broken one. A cracked clay jar was fine for storing vegetables or rice—she didn’t mind. After much persuasion, she convinced Du Juanniang.

As dusk fell, a temporary mourning shed was set up.

How others handled their dead—burying or discarding them—wasn’t the village’s concern. But for their own, given the means, no one would spare the effort. Helping build the shed, changing into clean clothes, and pooling rice, grain, and meat for a proper feast—despite the rough surroundings, it was almost as good as back home.

Everyone pitched in, treating it with the utmost seriousness. Bustling about, they handled it like a major event.

Old Du and his wife felt a bit relieved. Their son was dead, but not in vain—everyone remembered the debt.

By the firelight, near the steaming pots, men crouched with bowls, eating. As they ate, tears fell into their bowls.

Someone spoke up: “Last night, I was terrified. My hands trembled gripping the hoe. I thought I was afraid of dying, but now I realize I was afraid of being left behind. During the water fight, I bled and fought hard, but I wasn’t scared then. I thought, ‘If I die, I die—I’ll be buried on the back hill, able to see my house below.’ Alive or dead, what did it matter? I’d be near the ancestral graves. I wasn’t alone, and I wouldn’t be a lonely ghost.”

Leaving the village changed everything. They dreaded being hastily buried anywhere.

Du Shitou was the first to die since their exodus, and it weighed on them. They couldn’t help thinking—maybe next time, it would be them.

Their hearts were heavy, but then they learned Old Du wanted to burn Du Shitou and take the ashes, and even his wife agreed. The village bustled about, building the shed, gathering ingredients, to send him off properly. The feast was as good as any, lacking only the music and a few extra days. It was even more generous than what some poor families back home could afford.

They suddenly felt like crying, and they weren't afraid of dying anymore.

People actually remembered their good deeds, even though they only meant to protect their own families who'd taken off with the main group.

But if their fight meant something, if the whole village remembered them, if they'd be taken away after death and given a proper sendoff, then what was there to fear?

These simple country folks didn't expect much from life—just to eat their fill while alive and get a decent funeral when they die.

Now, the bowls heaped with meat kept telling them there was nothing to be afraid of. When trouble came, they could cut loose and fight, knowing their blood wouldn't be wasted. Even if they died, they'd be taken away, not left out in the wild woods to get pushed around by stray ghosts.

It was worth it.

"Worth it!" A bunch of men buried their heads in their bowls, shoveling down rice, tears mixing with the corners of their mouths as they ate with abandon.

That night was bound to be agonizing. They were scared of having to hold two funeral feasts back-to-back. The mourning shed and the Wu place were swarming with people coming and going—this family leaving, that one arriving—nonstop condolences.

On top of the peaches, Old Man Zhao gave a packet of medicine, mainly for treating stubborn high fevers. Whether it would work or not, they had to try. Better than not giving him the soup and then having him come back to life—that'd be a real freak thing.

As for the split-open gut, Wu Youliang's ma waved her hand and, ignoring everyone's objections, sewed it right up.

She didn't know much else, just that people and clothes are the same—if there's a tear, you gotta sew it up. As for whether the stitching was right, she just said her stitches were tight and neat. Anyway, after sewing it up, she sprinkled the medicine powder from Old Zhao's family on it, and the bleeding stopped.

The old country woman's words were rough but not wrong. She just figured if the wound stopped bleeding, that meant it was getting better. If he got through the first night without a fever, he'd live.

If not, they'd have to carry him to the mourning shed.

At the break of dawn, after downing two bowls of herbal medicine and under the unblinking care of his whole family, Wu Youliang survived the night.

When Old Man Zhao came over, he deliberately lifted the clothes to check the wound on his belly. It was a bit red, but it looked okay. He then felt his forehead—slightly warm, but much milder than the high fevers of those with broken legs.

The heavy weight in his chest finally lifted, knowing that the peaches had done their job.

"Good, good, good." He patted Old Man Wu's shoulder repeatedly, showing the first smile in two days. "Watch him closely these days. If anything's wrong, call me immediately."

"Alright." Old Man Wu wiped his face, his eyes red and swollen beyond recognition. "Thanks to you, brother. You gave us the herbs and the powder. If he doesn't make it, it's just his fate."

"Hey, don't say that. Youliang is a lucky one; he'll pull through." Old Man Zhao glanced at Wu Youliang again, told his family to take good care of him, and then headed to the mourning shed.

The body couldn't be kept; it had to be burned today.

Firewood wasn't a problem, but they needed to find an open space and dig a firebreak to prevent sparks from catching on dry trees and leaves and starting a wildfire.

Cremating a body was much more troublesome than digging a grave and burying it. Under these refugee conditions, really, a corpse could be left on the ground and no one would care. That body hanging from the rafters in the main hall—he believed he wasn't the first to find it. But even if it rotted, bred maggots, turned to bones, and couldn't hang anymore, it would just fall down.

No one would lend a hand to give it a proper burial.

In this world, everyone's in danger, everyone's just trying to survive. Out on the road, those who showed kindness died first.

Of course, that was for outsiders. If you showed no kindness to your own people, you'd eventually become a walking corpse yourself.

Gathering firewood, digging a firebreak, guarding against wildfires, and even preparing for the possibility of being discovered by mountain bandits—it took time and effort just to fulfill the Du family's wish. Old Man Zhao thought to himself, why couldn't they do it?

They couldn't let fleeing from famine make them lose their conscience. If hearts grew cold, who would be willing to listen to him in the future?

Even if the mountain bandits came, he wasn't afraid. He had already thought of a simple yet effective way to deal with them.

Even if they were surrounded by hundreds of bandits, he would make them obediently step aside, even beg him to leave Wuling Mountain quickly.