Chapter 58

Chapter 58

As the saying goes: once the ground softens, get to plowing fast.

Spring planting is such a rush—there are only a few days of suitable weather, and in all that tumbling, head-over-heels busyness, it feels like the sun peels a layer of skin right off you.

And when the itinerant tenant farmers pack up their bundles and set off once more, planting comes to an end, and every household finally gets a moment to catch its breath.

Bian Hong sowed the last handful of wheat seeds into the freshly plowed furrows, then let out a sigh of relief.

Rong Feng didn't have much land to tend here—nothing like the villagers with their large, intact fields. He and his mother had long since moved deep into the mountains to live. Rong Feng's mother was in poor health and rarely set foot in the fields to farm. As for Rong Feng, aside from caring for his mother, he spent most of his time in the mountains—when would he ever have time to tend farmland?

There were just a few terraced fields carved into the hillside behind the house. With no one to tend them carefully, the harvest wasn't much to speak of, but it was enough to feed the two of them.

After all, most of their household expenses came from Mount Miemang. Living off the mountain, as the saying goes, they never lacked for anything. Let alone planting vegetables—when the season came, they couldn't even finish all the wild greens and fruit the mountain provided.

This year, though, his household had not only gained new mouths but two rather voracious ones at that. Silver Frost ate grass, sure, but he also needed grain feed. And the little brown bear, while omnivorous, was extremely voracious—its ever-growing appetite matched a body that seemed to change size almost daily.

Yesterday, when Bian Hong carried the little bear from the kang to the door, it was already so heavy that it was half-dragging along the ground. The little one, with its big paws dangling down, still had the sense to take its own steps.

Bian Hong dragged it along, grumbling, "You've gotten fat, you know that?"

The bear cub let out little whines and grunts, "Mm, mm."

"I can't carry you anymore, got it?"

The cub grunted "mm, mm" again, its paws on the ground scrambling in little quick steps—though with its short legs, it didn't do much good.

So this year, Rong Feng worked especially hard. Together with Bian Hong, they planted wheat across the whole hillside—Rong Feng prepared the soil and dug the holes while Bian Hong scattered the seeds.

Bian Hong was afraid it wouldn't be enough. A man who'd known hunger treasures anything connected to food. So he also carved out two large vegetable plots on either side of the yard, cut planks to make a fence, watered and planted—it looked quite impressive.

Yuan Ding had reached an age where he could actually help out. Ever since he started learning martial arts from Rong Feng, he'd grown like a weed, sprouting up an inch at a time.

A few of his old clothes could no longer be worn, though fortunately he still had some that had been deliberately made larger at the time, so his wrists and ankles weren't yet showing.

In the afternoon, Yuan Ding made trip after trip carrying planks to Bian Hong, who was building the fence, working until sweat broke out on his forehead. Bian Hong didn't hold his younger brother back from working—a real man should be raised to stand tall and hold his own.

But the other, smaller "little man" was a different story. Guan Bao propped himself against the bear cub's back, with a pile of roasted sweet potatoes and dried fruit, sitting not far off eating and playing, occasionally glancing over at the big brothers working—as if terrified of being left out.

The muscles in Rong Feng's arms bulged as he swung the axe with powerful, vigorous strokes, chopping round logs into planks. Yuan Ding carried the planks at a jog to hand them to Bian Hong. Bian Hong was handier than Rong Feng—he bound the planks with coarse hemp rope, fitted them together, and nailed them into the foundation he'd dug.

Rong Feng looked up and glanced at Guan Bao, who was sharing roasted potatoes and dried fruit with the bear cub.

"One for the little bear, one for me; one for big brother, one for me; one for Brother Xi, one for me..."

By the end, a pretty tall pile had stacked up in front of him. Rong Feng shook his head, stopped what he was doing, and leaned on the axe handle with both hands to chat with Bian Hong.

"Hey, I reckon this kid Guan Bao will be a merchant when he grows up."

Bian Hong paused between hammering stakes and glanced at the man. "How do you figure?"

"He's good at keeping accounts. He never comes out on the losing end."

Bian Hong looked over at Guan Bao amusing himself, and looking at the little boy's chubby cheeks, he felt completely at peace. Whatever the child did when he grew up didn't matter—as long as he ate his fill, stayed warm, and was happy, that was enough.

In these times, Bian Hong wanted nothing more.

With some of the family busy working outside the yard and others busy eating, the sun set before they knew it.

Time is the strangest thing.

When you're struggling to survive, a single day stretches endlessly—every hour and minute is agony, and one day feels like a year.

But when life is stable and peaceful, a day passes in the blink of an eye, like a fleeting glimpse. Bustling here and there, you just blink and it's gone, and the sun has already dipped below the horizon.

It's as if time moves with a person's joys and sorrows, shifting endlessly, leaving you baffled and helpless.

And what seems to fill those gaps in time is nothing other than three meals a day.

Dinner was lavish. With more frequent contact with the villages and towns below the mountain, Bian Hong had even collected every seasoning he could find around here. Go to any household in the village, and none had a more complete set than his.

So Rong Feng could clearly tell that the food on the table got better with each passing day. Some preparations he couldn't even imagine how they were done.

The finer the food, the finer the life—that's what makes each day more flavorful.

Rong Feng grabbed a piping hot big bun and bit into it—Chinese toon and wild boar filling. Tasting carefully, he found bits of crispy fried pork fat inside, the fat fried until dry and crispy, adding a special fragrance mixed into the bun.

Paired with the toon shoots Bian Hong had just picked from the mountain woods behind the house that morning, it was wonderfully fresh. When you squeezed it, the juice-soaked bun skin would leak a bit of broth—absolutely delicious. Rong Feng couldn't help taking another bite.

Yuan Ding and Guan Bao ate even more enthusiastically, practically bobbing their heads with pure joy.

They also dipped them in garlic sauce and black vinegar, which really woke up the taste buds.

Bian Hong wiped his hands, walked over from the kitchen, and looked at the three of them at the kang table wolfing down their food with satisfaction. He hadn't even eaten yet, but he already felt satisfied.

Rong Feng promptly grabbed the biggest bun in his big hand and handed it to Bian Hong, who was still standing on the floor.

"Come on, eat it while it's hot—there's juice inside."

Bian Hong took it but asked first, "Is it tasty?"

The grown-up and the two kids at the table all looked up at once and said in unison, "Tasty!"

Even once they were in bed that night, Rong Feng was still thinking about the flavor of those toon and pork buns. After a moment's thought, he spoke to Bian Hong, who had just lifted the blanket to climb in.

"Tomorrow's the monthly sacrifice to the Mountain Lord. I was thinking—besides buying wine down the mountain, maybe we could make some buns to let His Lordship have a taste too."

The Mountain Lord had shown them great kindness. It was he who, in Rong Feng's most desperate moment while carrying the at-death's-door Bian Hong, had appeared before him amid wind and mist, and led him to hope—even giving up his own safe den for the two of them to stay in.

Such delicious buns—of course the Mountain Lord should get a taste too.

Bian Hong naturally agreed. It was just making buns—no trouble at all. And ever since Rong Feng told him the story of finding the healing vine, Bian Hong had grown even more in awe of the Mountain Lord.

He'd gone from being an atheist to believing the world had spirits—and he believed it wholeheartedly.

After lying down, Bian Hong was figuring out how much flour he'd need for tomorrow's buns. Going by Rong Feng's description of the Mountain Lord, the buns shouldn't be made too small either—it wouldn't do for His Lordship to take one bite and it not even fill a gap between his teeth.

The Lord would come all that way over mountains and rivers for a meal, only to find the food didn't even make up for the energy burned getting there, and go back even hungrier. That wouldn't do—it would make him seem insincere.

Bian Hong lay staring blankly at the ceiling beams, lost in thought, when he felt a big hand reach over from under the blanket and wrap around his waist—and, not exactly behaving itself, started feeling up and down.

Bian Hong quickly reached under the blanket and grabbed that misbehaving "tiger paw."

"Why aren't you sleeping? What are you up to?"

The man shifted onto his side, lying close beside him, his heart pounding—thump, thump, thump. So close, with just a layer of clothes between them, even a deaf man would've heard it, let alone Bian Hong with his sharp ears and eyes.

"Nothing. Just checking if you've put on any weight."

Bian Hong firmly pulled that scorching hand out from under his inner garment.

"If you wanna feel something, feel yourself."

The words had barely left his mouth when Bian Hong recalled the first time the man had touched himself—that awkward, flustered scene, how he'd gotten all excited, swaying his hips and making a ton of noise.

Bian Hong's face gradually reddened at the memory, but Rong Feng took that moment to grab Bian Hong's hand and press it against his own chest, which was rising and falling.

"Then you touch me too," he said, playing fair.

Bian Hong's hands were cold. Ever since he'd retired from the border troops, his hands and feet had always stayed ice-cold—the chill never let up, season after season, year after year. It got even worse after the famine, though it got a bit better once he started taking the medicine Rong Feng's master had given him on schedule.

But at this moment, compared to the man's blazing chest, the difference was still night and day.

His hand felt like it had been burned, but he didn't pull it back right away.

God, it was warm.

He couldn't help squeezing it gently, only to find that the chest muscle, when relaxed, was soft...

Not like his own—dry, skinny, and wiry.

But that instinctive squeeze made the soft flesh under his hand tremble, then quickly tense up and harden, solid as a branding iron.

The man's breath caught. Bian Hong snapped back to reality, quickly pulled his hand back, and turned his back to him.

"I'm not touching! Go to sleep—I gotta get up early tomorrow to knead dough."

The night was quiet, and no other sound came from the room. It seemed like they'd both fallen asleep.

But the man suddenly opened his eyes, lifted the hand that had touched Bian Hong's belly up to his nose, took a deep sniff, then let out a long breath.

Bian Hong wasn't completely oblivious to this, but he still didn't know what to do.

He wasn't ready to let himself have something precious in this world. He felt flustered, at a loss for what to do.

He'd rather things stay the way they were—living together, keeping each other company, close as family and friends. That was such a safe distance.

He'd never been in love, let alone with another man.

Bian Hong couldn't say if he was straight, but for years, he'd always seen himself as a man. Even if everyone here saw him as a husband, he knew he wasn't.

The thought of being another man's "wife," pinned underneath him, going at it—honestly, he wasn't ready, and he didn't know if he could handle it.

He admitted his heart fluttered sometimes, but when it came down to it, he couldn't help but back off.

He was even disappointed in himself for being such a coward.

But the man didn't seem to see it that way. In the deep quiet of the long nights, he'd turn over and pull the sleeping Bian Hong into his arms—gently, carefully, showing his quiet tenderness.

The next morning, Bian Hong got up early. He mixed the dough first, covered it in a basin, and let it rise slowly. For the dough to be fluffy and fragrant, it needed to ferment naturally—best placed on the warm kang, covered with a quilt, and left to sit.

At the right temperature, it would reach its most delicious state on its own.

But he couldn't put it in Yuan Ding and Guan Bao's bed—before the dough could even rise, the little bear would dig it out and scarf it down.

That little thing didn't care if stuff was raw or cooked; anything that smelled good, it'd dare to shove in its mouth. This dough, sticky and chewy, would be a real treat.

So Bian Hong picked up the basin and, like it was second nature, tucked it into Rong Feng's bed.

So when Rong Feng woke up, the warm, cozy, fragrant person he'd held all night had turned into a big basin of dough.

But he was already used to this kind of thing. If he were still holding Bian Hong in the morning, he was afraid he'd lose control and embarrass himself again.

Rong Feng had just gotten up when he heard the sound of someone saddling a horse outside the yard. He threw on some clothes and went out to see Bian Hong carrying a sack, riding Silver Frost toward the woods on the back slope. When he saw Rong Feng, he called out a reminder.

"Keep an eye on the kids—I'm going into the woods to pick toon shoots."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No need. You're too heavy; Silver Frost can't run fast enough."

With that, he reined the horse around and took off. Bian Hong was decisive, and Rong Feng had long gotten used to it. So he stood in front of the fruit trees behind the house, watching Bian Hong ride Silver Frost toward the mountain forest.

Morning light spread across the land, dancing and leaping over every ridge and treetop.

The morning dew hadn't dried yet, splashing against the horse's white hooves along with bits of green grass.

And so Bian Hong, in Rong Feng's eyes, rode off toward the rising sun.

Yuan Ding and Guan Bao woke up to the smell of food.

They'd never dared to imagine days like this before. After breakfast, Brother Xi carried a big sack into the house, his whole body smelling fresh, like the forest.

Then Brother Xi dumped a pile of toon shoots onto the kang bed. Maybe he'd picked them in a hurry, because mixed in with them were other leaves and twigs, and every now and then you could spot a few mushrooms.

The two kids, without needing to say anything, hurried over to help Bian Hong sort through the toon shoots, keeping the best of spring's freshness.

The little bear was already impatient, but it knew how to read the situation—it would only snatch a handful and shove it in its mouth when Bian Hong's expression was still okay. The moment Bian Hong gave it a glare, it would quickly pull its paw back and sit obediently next to the kids.

As time went on, even Guan Bao figured out the pattern: this bear cub's biggest fear wasn't the tough Rong Feng, but the physically unimpressive Brother Xi right in front of him.

It had gotten to the point where one look would make it behave. The two kids thought it was amazing—Brother Xi was such a gentle person, what was there to be afraid of?

Even Bian Hong didn't really get it, but when Rong Feng heard this, he secretly rubbed his nose, thinking that the animals of the mountain weren't born yesterday—they could always see through appearances to what really mattered.

He even calmly patted the bear cub's big head, thinking, You're right to be scared. I'm scared too.

He loved Bian Hong, loved him so much it scared him.

Knowing this, he laughed at himself along with the little bear cub with its shiny black eyes.

When the buns were finally steamed and the bamboo steamer was lifted off the pot, a wave of meaty fragrance mixed with toon and dough rushed out with the thick steam.

The whole family, big and small, stood in the kitchen, all taking a deep breath.

The little bear was already scratching the wall, it was so hungry. Yuan Ding stood on his tiptoes to peek into the steamer—whoa! Those buns were huge, each one as big as his head.

"Brother Xi, I couldn't eat one of these in a whole day."

Bian Hong smiled. "There are smaller ones in the steamer below. These big ones are for the Mountain Lord."

With that, he lifted the lower steamer, dipped his chopsticks in water, and took out the smaller buns, handing one to each of them.

Fresh out of the pot and still scalding, but Yuan Ding and Guan Bao didn't care—they passed them back and forth between their hands, blowing on them every now and then to cool them down.

Rong Feng, with his thick skin, held his easily and took a bite while it was still hot.

When the little bear beside them stood up and started whining pitifully, Bian Hong couldn't resist and gave it one that had cooled down. Sure enough, the bear took it, didn't care if it was hot or cold, stuffed it right into its mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. Then it turned back and looked at Bian Hong with pleading eyes.

Bian Hong's heart had hardened. He simply set his own meal down in front of it.

By noon, Bian Hong told the two boys to stay home and keep watch, while Rong Feng reset the traps around the yard.

Then the two of them rode Silver Frost toward the Mountain Lord's Stone.

Along the way, the scenery shifted between woods and open fields—a clear sign that spring had truly arrived.

Rong Feng rarely rode Silver Frost. Usually, Bian Hong was in the saddle while Rong Feng walked alongside, holding the reins.

Sometimes, when they picked up speed, he'd get caught up in the moment and race Silver Frost on foot.

So there was Bian Hong, leaning sideways in the saddle, staring in disbelief at the man keeping pace with the horse, hoof for hoof.

Not only was he better than an ox at plowing, but he could also give a horse a run for its money.

Bian Hong laughed. What a Mountain Guard of Cimeng Mountain—a real ox-horse of a man.

Before long, they reached the Mountain Lord's Stone. The pristine white stele seemed even more crystalline in the afternoon sun.

Bian Hong stood beneath it, tracing the elegant script in the air. Unlike their brief encounter before, he now felt a deeper reverence—no longer seeing it as a mere boundary marker, but as the mountain spirit incarnate.

Rong Feng respectfully scrubbed the wine urn beneath the Mountain Lord's Stone, clearing out the fallen leaves and rainwater.

When no rituals were underway, the great urn collected dew and rain, quenching the thirst of every passing creature. Now, it was about to serve its true purpose.

It was filled with rich wine, waiting for the Mountain Lord to taste.

Rong Feng then took the large buns off the horse and moved to set them on the ground, but Bian Hong stopped him, pointing to the broad-leafed grass sprouting in the woods behind the stele.

"Pick some leaves to set them on, or they'll get dusty."

Bian Hong figured the Mountain Lord would also prefer his buns clean.

With the offerings in place, the two knelt before the stele, kowtowed, and paid their respects to the mountain.

Just then, the trees behind them—now sprouting new branches—rustled. Both turned to look. Bian Hong's heart leaped, thinking the Mountain Lord had arrived. He felt nervous and excited.

He had never seen the Mountain Lord's true form—only sensed it when he was at death's door. Everything else he knew came from Rong Feng's stories, and Bian Hong was dying of curiosity.

And he thought that when they met again, he would express his gratitude—not just for himself, but for the common folk who had fought to survive the plague.

Now many prefectures had started growing that vine themselves. The survival rate wasn't great, but there was hope. Bian Hong had even brought back a cutting and planted it beside the small terrace house in the backyard, which faced the mountain and the moon.

The spot got plenty of sun, and the soil was rich with decayed leaves and pine needles—perfect for the vine. He hoped it would take root and thrive in this bountiful spring.

These thoughts flashed through Bian Hong's mind in an instant. Both held their breath, waiting in silence for the "Mountain Lord" behind the trees to show itself.

But what emerged was not the Mountain Lord in the form of a giant tiger—it was a red deer with one antler broken off.

Rong Feng frowned. There were red deer in Cimeng Mountain too, but without salt rocks—which red deer crave—the ones there were smaller, nowhere near this size.

The deer's antler was broken on one side, and it seemed injured elsewhere too. It must have been waiting by the Mountain Lord's Stone for a while, only showing itself once people arrived and began the ritual.

The deer looked at Bian Hong, then at Rong Feng, and finally stepped forward.

Only when it stepped out did Bian Hong realize how big it really was. Its coat was yellow, and its eyes held a spark of intelligence. He hesitated.

"Could this be the Mountain Lord?"

Rong Feng shook his head and walked cautiously toward the deer on his own. Bian Hong, uneasy, followed behind, staying on guard.

The deer stepped back at first, but eventually let Rong Feng approach step by step. Then it lowered its head.

The two saw a strip of cloth tied at the base of the remaining antler.

It was plain gray cloth, but there appeared to be writing on it.

A sense of dread rose in Rong Feng's chest. He quickly reached out, untied the cloth, and spread it in his palm—then froze.

Not only was there writing on the cloth—it was written in blood. The characters were crooked and unrefined, not unlike Yuan Ding's handwriting.

But what stunned Rong Feng was the message itself.

"Gui Mountain is in trouble. Come quickly."

Just those eight characters, and beside them, the seal of a Mountain Guard—clearly bearing the name of Gui Mountain.

Bian Hong hurried over, took the cloth, glanced at it, and looked up. "Is this real?"

Rong Feng frowned deeply and nodded. "It's real."

The Mountain Guards had a tradition: if one mountain was in danger, it would send a plea for aid to the others. But the distances were vast, and travel took time, so they entrusted such messages to animals of exceptional intelligence.

This red deer was likely the messenger chosen by the Mountain Guard of Gui Mountain.

Whenever such a plea arrived, one had to set out immediately, because Mountain Guards would never ask for help unless the situation was dire.

Even Rong Feng's master had never dealt with a cross-mountain distress call, but he had still passed down the old covenant to Rong Feng, just in case.

But Rong Feng had never needed to use that contingency. Instead, he had become the one receiving the call.

This reminded Rong Feng of the Mountain Guards he had met that day: Sikong Yi of Danxue Mountain, Daochongzi of Yufa Mountain, and Lin Yao of Di Mountain—all capable people whom ordinary disasters could hardly touch.

This showed that Gui Mountain was in real trouble.

Without a second thought, Rong Feng packed his things. He didn't wait to see the Mountain Lord with Bian Hong—he was ready to leave with the red deer right away.

But Bian Hong spoke up. "Let's go home first to pack. Gui Mountain is probably far."

Rong Feng thought it over and nodded.

In the end, the two hurried home. Rong Feng quickly packed his gear, while Bian Hong rode off to take the children to the family shrine, along with the little brown bear.

Then he turned back up the mountain and caught up with Rong Feng halfway up the slope.

Bian Hong reined in his horse with one hand and, under the moonlight, spoke to Rong Feng with calm resolve.

"I'm going with you."

Through dragon dens and tiger pits, through forests of blades and mountains of swords—Bian Hong would see it through to the end.