Chapter 257

Chapter 257

On a snowy night in the mountains, all was silent, and the sudden knock at the door was very abrupt.

In the main hall, the old woman who had been dozing off swayed slightly, her blurry eyes instinctively looking toward the tightly shut door. Hearing the screams from inside, accompanied by the sound of a body pounding against the bed boards, a flicker of numbness crossed her face.

The commotion grew louder and louder, mixed with lewd moans and obscene cries. Estimating the usual time, there was still quite a while before it would end.

Two more knocks came at the door, this time clearer, accompanied by a question: "Is anyone home?"

"Don't blame me for knocking late at night. I'm an old hunter from the mountains. My granddaughter suddenly fell gravely ill. After two doses of medicine, there was no improvement, and she's on the verge of death. I have no choice but to go down the mountain to find a doctor." The weathered voice seeped through the crack in the door along with the cold wind, anxious and pleading. "The blizzard outside is too heavy. We can't even light a torch, let alone travel. We couldn't find a cave for shelter. Please, kind homeowners, have some mercy and let us stay for the night."

After speaking, there were a few more urgent knocks, showing their desperation.

The old woman peered through the crack in the door but couldn't see much; she went blind as soon as night fell. In the nearly year since she had been taken captive in the mountains, this was the first time she had heard a knock at the door. Usually, that man would use a thick log to block the door to prevent them from escaping. He never knocked, nor did he leave them any chance to open it.

Her hands and feet were bound.

Sure she hadn't misheard, someone was indeed visiting tonight. A surge of excitement rose within her, but when she heard the noise from inside, it sank heavily again, and her body trembled slightly.

The knocking continued outside. Gritting her teeth, she walked to the side room door and timidly raised her hand to knock on the tightly shut door. "Th-there's someone knocking outside, asking for shelter. Should we let them in?"

"Boom—"

A sharp crash shook the door. The teacup shattered into pieces, fragments scattering all over the floor.

The old woman closed her eyes, her neck stiff and retracted, her whole body trembling uncontrollably.

"I usually hunt in a different direction and didn't know there was a household here." The man outside seemed to be trying to build rapport, speaking dryly. "Life in the mountains isn't easy, especially for us hunters without household registration. We dare not easily go down the mountain, so we have to scrape by in the mountains, living alongside beasts, never knowing when we'll become their prey. I know a few families; we help each other out. When one family has trouble, another helps. After all, sons need to marry, and daughters need to wed, and since we can't look outside, it's all intermarriage between us families..."

There was no response from inside, making his words seem particularly hollow.

Seeing that appealing to emotion didn't work, the voice outside paused and then tried to offer benefits.

"Thanks to the connections left by our ancestors, I know a trader who comes into the mountains to buy furs and herbs. He always brings grain, salt, wine, and cloth. He's very reliable and generous. If you need, I'm willing to act as a go-between. Having a safe and reliable source for trade means you won't have to go down the mountain for daily necessities, and you won't risk having your household registration checked. I'm not hiding anything; I just ask you to open the door and let us three—grandfather and grandchildren—shelter from the storm..."

The surroundings fell silent.

A burly man with a rough face, hidden malice, and fierce eyes was tightly covering the mouth and nose of the woman beneath him. He opened the window a crack, squinted, and looked at the people standing in the yard.

The web of his thumb was bitten hard. His expression changed, and he raised his hand to strike, but then the old man outside spoke again. He ignored it, punished her with a few forceful thrusts, then abruptly let go, shoved something into the mouth of the woman who had been tormented beyond recognition, and tied her hands and feet with a rope.

Pulling on his pants, he opened the door, cast a dark glance at the old woman, and warned in a low voice, "You know what I'm capable of. Don't make trouble if you don't want to suffer."

The old woman shrank her neck, not daring to speak. Under his gaze, she nodded tremblingly.

The main hall door creaked open from the inside.

Heavy footsteps approached, indicating the man's sturdy build and thick presence.

The candle in the room went out, and the light moved to the main hall. Through the thick courtyard wall, Old Man Zhao saw the old woman standing under the eaves holding an oil lamp. When she met his gaze, she first flinched, then forced herself to steady her eyes and pulled a strained smile.

That smile, even though the courtyard gate hadn't opened, gave him about seventy or eighty percent certainty that this trip wouldn't be in vain.

The various human experiences along the way had taught him to discern true emotions from a face easily.

The old man and the young boy exchanged silent glances through their eyes, hearing the sound of the bolt being drawn inside. They both withdrew their gazes, concealing their sharpness.

The heavy courtyard gate was pushed open, and the man's fierce eyes immediately shot over.

He first looked the tall, sturdy old man up and down, a hint of caution in his eyes, then his gaze fell on the little girl in his arms. Before he could look closely, he was drawn to the timid boy huddled beside him, clutching the old man's clothes. At the same time, his peripheral vision swept over the surroundings. Seeing the two sets of footprints—one deep, one shallow—on the ground, his tense nerves instantly relaxed.

Old Man Zhao's back was not as straight as usual; he was hunched, weathered, and disheveled, looking exactly like someone who had trekked through the blizzard for a long time. He wore an old padded jacket patched all over, the stitches sloppy, as if saving on thread.

Both his sturdy build and frugal habits matched those of a mountain hunter.

The boy beside him was too timid to look at anyone, his small hands red from cold, only clutching the adult's clothes tightly. His frightened, uneducated demeanor was exactly like a child raised in the mountains.

As for the sick child...

Zhao Xiaobao used her skill of pretending to sleep, which she had used to fool her parents, mimicking the sickly state of refugees she had seen on the road. Now her face was haggard, her eyes tightly shut, looking completely like she was at death's door.

An old man and two children carried only one basket on their backs. The contents were clear at a glance: a deer, half a bag of grain, and a long, narrow object wrapped in cloth.

Perhaps there was more, but he didn't bother to look further, lost in thought.

It wasn't easy for a hunter to come out of the mountains; they usually brought some mountain goods to sell in town. The money earned and the supplies bought balanced out, and life would drag on for a while. These were lessons he had learned over several years in the mountains. The old man in front clearly thought he was a hunter.

That wasn't strange; the mountains were vast, each peak far apart. No one knew how many people lived deep in the mountains, or whether there were neighbors nearby.

But he knew that the natives who had lived in the mountains for generations often interacted. They would marry, visit, and share news.

Though he was unhappy that an outsider had found his dwelling, which made him uneasy, the old man's words about sons needing wives hit home. He had gone through great trouble to capture a woman in the mountains to bear him a son, and with all the abuse, maybe she was already pregnant.

The villagers down the mountain weren't easy to deal with. They kept a close watch on their daughters. That he had managed to capture a young woman still capable of bearing children was mostly luck. By the time his son grew up, he would be old and might not have the strength to catch another woman for him.

If he could connect with the mountain hunters, he wouldn't have to worry about his son marrying, and he wouldn't have to risk going down the mountain to buy grain and wine.

With that thought, the burly man pushed the courtyard gate open a bit wider, his eyes falling on the little girl in the old man's arms. He still hadn't let down his guard, smiling but not quite smiling. "This place is remote. How did you folks end up coming this way?"

Old Man Zhao sighed, anxious and helpless. "Who knew it would snow so heavily! The road on our mountain is treacherous, and the downhill path is steep. One misstep and you'd fall off the cliff, let alone make it down to see a doctor. We'd have lost our lives on the way."

"No choice but to take a detour." He hugged the child, his heart aching, tears threatening to fall. "In this storm, I'm not familiar with the paths here. As we walked, it got dark, and we couldn't find a cave to shelter in. I didn't dare stay outside with the two children; they can't stand the cold, especially the little one who's sick."

"Brother, have mercy. I only have this one granddaughter; I can't lose her." He pleaded. "These children lost their parents young. I can't let anything happen to them. I won't stay for free. I have a deer here. I was going to sell it in town to get money for the child's treatment. I'll give you the deer as payment for lodging, okay? Just give us a room and boil some hot water. We don't even need blankets. We'll leave at dawn, I swear we won't overstay!"

"Just one night, that's all!"

At the height of his sorrow, he even shed tears, making it hard to find fault.

The burly man glanced at the basket on the boy's back. The deer was frozen stiff, covered in frost, the blood still fairly fresh, as if hunted that very day.

He had a slight suspicion, but considering the weather, fresh blood was normal. He hunted himself; the freshness of dead prey differed between summer and winter.

He looked at the half bag of grain and didn't take the bait. "Most people carry grain up the mountain, but you're doing the opposite."

"The child is seriously ill. I'm afraid my meager savings won't last." Seeing that the man still hadn't relented, he was clearly not easy to fool. But he hadn't driven them away, which meant that either the deer or his earlier words had struck a chord.

Old Man Zhao carefully observed his expression and tentatively said, "Before the new year, Du Laosan brought people into the mountains to buy goods. He said there was war everywhere outside, food was scarce, and salt and medicine were hard to come by even with money. Furs are worthless this year, can't fetch a good price. Herbs are bought at high prices, but with grain prices skyrocketing, it all balances out. After a year's work selling furs and herbs, all we have left is enough to buy a few bags of grain."

He smiled bitterly. "I only have this one granddaughter. Even if it costs everything, I have to treat her."

This wasn't just half a bag of grain; it was life-saving rations.

The man was still somewhat suspicious, but hearing him speak with such detail and name names, he figured maybe it was just a coincidence tonight.

Most importantly, this old man was unusually tall. During his days lurking down the mountain, he had a good memory, and none of the villagers were shaped like a pumpkin—they were definitely not this tall and sturdy.

Nor did they have the guts to venture into the mountains.

He had grabbed two women, one after another, yet not one village dared to go near the mountains behind Eagle Rock. They were a bunch of cowards—even if their daughters or mothers were taken, they'd just bow their heads and take it lying down, never knowing how to fight back.

With this thought, a smile finally crept onto his face. He asked them which mountain they lived on. Old Man Zhao pointed in a direction and complained, "Wolf Mountain, of all places. I don't know how the hell our ancestors picked that spot. You hear wolf howls all day long, and you can't even get a decent night's sleep."

The burly man looked at the direction he indicated, and he was finally completely relieved. That area did have a lot of wolves; signs of their presence were all around. He himself had avoided hunting in that direction to steer clear of those beasts.

He turned slightly and pushed open the other courtyard gate, saying with a smile, "We're all mountain dwellers here—even if a few peaks separate us, we're still neighbors. Don't talk about such formalities. Forget the deer, it's nothing. Just a night's lodging, hardly worth mentioning."

Not letting the old man refuse, he guided them into the yard while continuing, "I only have my elderly mother and my new bride at home. There's no spare room, so I'm afraid you and your granddaughter will have to make do in the woodshed for the night."

"No trouble at all," Old Man Zhao quickly replied. "A woodshed is already more than enough. As long as it keeps out the snow and wind, we'll be fine."

Once in the yard, without taking time to look around, the burly man led them to the main hall. He pointed at the old woman and said, "This is my mother." He didn't mention the new bride, and Old Man Zhao naturally didn't ask.

After exchanging greetings, the burly man told the old woman to boil some water in the kitchen and bring over a quilt.

While the adults exchanged pleasantries, Qing Xuan, who had been ignored until now, sneaked a look at the main hall. From the signs of daily life—the teacups on the table, the shoes under the eaves, a lone stool—it was hard to believe that this small courtyard housed three people.

The crying he had heard earlier still echoed in his ears, and the forced smile on the old woman's face lingered in his mind. Her attitude toward the burly man was not like a mother to her son, but more like facing an enemy she dared not defy.

Qing Xuan's brief life experience rivaled Old Man Zhao's. Peeling away the rough veneer, he too sensed something amiss.

"I hope you can understand." The burly man's words brought his mind back. Following his gaze, he saw the man looking at the basket he was carrying.

So they were being asked to leave the basket in the main hall.

"Understood, I understand it all." Old Man Zhao hesitated for only a moment before gritting his teeth and agreeing. "I know what you mean. We're all mountain folk. It's late, and we're imposing. We need to put your mind at ease."

The burly man finally relaxed. He didn't ask if they had brought any bows, arrows, axes, or other weapons—it would be strange if a hunter didn't carry such things. But letting this old hunter keep a weapon on him while staying in his home made him uneasy. He wanted to do the man a favor, so he couldn't bring himself to make excessive demands.

The contents of the basket were clear at a glance; there was no way to hide a bow or an axe. As for whether the old hunter might have a short knife hidden on him, even if he somehow had more weapons, the burly man wasn't afraid of close combat.

As long as there were no large weapons, he was fine.

Seeing the boy set down the basket himself, the burly man smiled and led them to the woodshed, even helping to tidy up a space.

Meanwhile, the burly man casually asked about Du Laosan. Old Man Zhao, as if holding nothing back, answered every question: "It's a relationship passed down from our ancestors. In the old days, it was Du Laosan's grandfather who came into the mountains to buy goods. After the old man passed, his father took over. After decades of walking the mountain paths, his health gave out, and the family business fell to the current Du Laosan. Three generations of the Du family have done this trade."

"We sell our goods to him every year, and when he comes into the mountains, he helps us bring things like grain and salt. Even if he occasionally squeezes the price, we don't complain. People like us—how dare we go down the mountain lightly? It's a crime that gets your head chopped off if we're caught. Having this connection saves us a lot of trouble."

The burly man nodded, muttering to himself, "Yeah, those of us without household registrations can't risk going down the mountain. Even eight lives wouldn't be enough to lose..."

"Exactly." Old Man Zhao nodded with a smile, lifted his eyes and shot him a glance. As if casually, he asked, "So who did you sell your goods to this year? How was the price?"

Seeing the man look at him, he kept his composure. "Du Laosan told me business has been tough lately. A few competitors looking to steal his rice bowl have appeared. You've even married a wife this year, young brother—you must be living comfortably, with plenty to spare."

He spoke half probing, half joking: "If you know any generous mountain traders, don't hold out on me. We mountain folk have a hard life. If there's a better path, what does it matter who we sell our goods to? You'd earn yourself a favor too, wouldn't you?"

Seeing him like this, the burly man instead let out a laugh. He waved his hand and said, "Everyone in this trade is out to make money—they'd flay you alive if they could. This wife of mine came willingly; I didn't pay a copper for her."

"I'm not making money, not at all. They're just leeches sucking blood off your instep—how could they let you profit?" He waved his hands again, half-truthfully. "But I have heard of Du Laosan. Among the traders who come into the mountains, he's the only one willing to help carry things. Others curse him behind his back for being foolish."

"But," he paused, looking at Old Man Zhao with a smile, "I think Du Laosan knows how to do business. He may collect mountain goods for profit, but he's willing to go out of his way for the mountain folk and put effort into maintaining these relationships. As you said, Grandpa—what does it matter who you sell to? I'd rather sell to Du Laosan."

Their eyes met, and they laughed together—a laugh that said everything without words.

Old Man Zhao kept saying, "No problem, I'll put in a good word for you," but his eyes strayed toward the main hall. Their basket had been confiscated, so they no longer had their weapons on them.

The old woman was still boiling water in the kitchen, and there was no movement from inside the house. No one would be coming for a while.

The old hunter wasn't born yesterday; he hadn't had to work hard to get the answer he wanted. The burly man felt the night hadn't been wasted. Quite satisfied, he said, "My mother is old and her legs are bad. When the water's ready, you can go to the kitchen yourselves and scoop it. The buckets and wooden basins are free to use."

Old Man Zhao nodded, holding his daughter, and made as if to see him out.

"Then get some rest early..." The burly man pushed open the woodshed door that the wind had shut, one foot already over the threshold. He turned to say they didn't need to see him out, but in the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something behind him. His eyes widened instantly, his eyes instantly bloodshot.

The girl who had been tightly held in the old hunter's arms had vanished into thin air. In her place was a long knife gripped tight in his hand.

The cold wind howled, snowflakes danced, and smoke curled up from the chimney.

A crackle from the firewood in the stove. The old woman, who had been dozing, seemed to hear a scream. She jolted awake, unsure for a moment if it was dream or reality.

The stove was connected to the side room. Remembering that she still had to fetch a quilt for the three, she hurriedly got up and went to the side room.

The bed was in disarray. The girl lying there, covered in spots and bruises, her eyes closed tight, was barely breathing—more breath out than in.

The old woman rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to stay awake. She bent down, picked up the quilt from the floor, and wrapped it around the girl's frozen body. Then she went through the motions she had done a thousand times: wipe the body, apply medicine...

She would usually change her clothes too, but she dared not untie the ropes. Every move she made, she had done countless times—on herself, on the girl. The ropes didn't get in the way.

Fearing the girl wouldn't hold on, the old woman wanted to cry, but she had no tears left. Her expression was numb, her movements slow. She just kept rubbing the soles of her feet, hoping she could endure.

A knock at the door startled her. She stood still for a long time before slowly turning her head, surprised that man had learned to knock.

The door opened—but it wasn't the man. It was the boy who had come to stay.

She opened her mouth, utterly confused. She wanted to ask, "Why is it you? Wasn't that scream just now from you all?"

That man doesn't lift a finger unless there's something in it for him. How could he have agreed to let strangers stay? This old hunter had grain and meat, maybe even money. When she saw him fall into that man's hands, she never thought they would leave this courtyard alive.

She had seen the man kill before—one swing of the knife, and he didn't even leave a whole body.

"My uncle asked you to come out. He has something to ask you."

Hearing the stealthy footsteps behind him, Qing Xuan didn't turn around. He reached out his hand. Zhao Xiaobao bounded over and grabbed it, her chubby little body pressing close, peeking curiously into the room.

Qing Xuan shifted to block her view, not letting her see inside. Even though he hadn't looked closely himself, he knew some scenes weren't meant for a child's eyes.

After he spoke, he took the little girl's hand and left, closing the door behind him.

The old woman stared at the door for a moment, dazed. Then, as if a thought struck her, her face turned pale with fear.

That man... was it possible that he had been...