Chapter 100

Chapter 100

After returning to the courtyard, Bian Hong cleaned up the dishes, but in the kitchen, he spotted a pile of items covered by a straw mat. Lifting it, he found a dazzling array of things—various dried meats of unknown origins, well air-cured and fragrant when brought to the nose, excellent provisions for the road.

There were also several expertly crafted furs, beautiful in color, thick and soft. Whether used in snowy winters or spread over a small bed, they were extremely warm. Moreover, these hides were easy to clean—no water needed. Just toss them fur-side down into the snow, roll them around a couple of times, and they'd be as good as new.

There were even bottles and jars of medicinal ointments, each thoughtfully labeled with their uses and preparation methods. Bian Hong opened one to sniff—mostly rich herbal fragrances, and a few finer ones with small, dense pills that carried a delicate floral scent.

Bian Hong let out a soft chuckle. So not all Mountain Guards had to choke down those spicy, bitter "death-defying pills." Others had sweet and fragrant ones—only Rong Feng and his master shared the same lineage of eye-watering, tongue-numbing medicine, so large you had to stretch your neck to swallow them down.

After sorting through the gifts, Bian Hong turned to call out to Rong Feng outside, wanting to tell him that everyone had secretly left them presents.

But when he stepped out, he saw the man slouched against the stone ledge of the small flower bed by the yard, fast asleep.

Bian Hong crept over quietly and crouched before Rong Feng. The man didn't stir at all, still sleeping deeply.

He was drunk. It was the first time Bian Hong had seen Rong Feng drink this much, and the alcohol showed clearly on his face—his cheeks were flushed, as were his neck and ears.

So Bian Hong, feeling mischievous, reached out a finger and parted the man's collar, sliding downward. The firm chest and abdomen, usually bronze, were now tinged with a light red.

Bian Hong squinted like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream, running his cool hands over the man's body.

His lips curled up unconsciously. Sometimes, when his fingers hit a ticklish spot, the muscle there would instinctively tense, and Bian Hong would pinch and squeeze with even greater delight, totally amused.

Just as Bian Hong was having his fun, a scorching hot hand suddenly seized his wrist. Oh crap, he'd woken him up! He immediately rose to pull away, hastily tugging the man's shirt back together, trying to pretend nothing had happened.

But the big hand gripping his wrist was too tight to break free from. Only then did Bian Hong reluctantly look up at the man.

And he met a pair of brown-blue heterochromatic eyes, shimmering like they were wet.

The man's voice was hoarse and low, carrying a light laugh.

"Touching me?"

Bian Hong shook his head in denial. "No."

So the man pressed Bian Hong's captured hand back onto his bare chest.

"So the puppy did it?"

Bian Hong decided playing dog wasn't half bad. "The puppy touched you."

But feeling the man's heart beating faster and faster beneath his palm, Bian Hong sensed this spelled trouble. He quickly let out two "woof, woof" sounds, hoping to make a swift escape.

Then, out of nowhere, the guy sprang up from the stone platform, nothing like a drunkard, then grabbed Bian Hong's arm and slung him over his shoulder, striding toward the back rooms.

Bian Hong struggled immediately. This wasn't right, this wouldn't do—his ass was about to be in serious trouble.

A drunk man had no sense of restraint, and even sober it was already deadly. So Bian Hong struggled harder, only to get a playful smack on the ass.

"Don't want to go inside? Guess the puppy likes it outside, huh?"

Bian Hong clammed up instantly, his face flushing. Honestly, he was a bit embarrassed.

When Rong Feng got like this, he had zero filter, saying all sorts of things—nothing like his usual steady, dignified self. Every time, he'd have Bian Hong blushing like a schoolgirl first.

And now, drunk on top of that, before they'd even entered the house, Bian Hong stopped moving, scared to death of waking the kids in the main room, or he might actually go through with it right here—and then Bian Hong would've killed Rong Feng.

Feeling the guy on his shoulder go limp, Rong Feng shifted him into his arms, wrapping his hands around Bian Hong's long, lean legs to hook them around his waist, groping his ass as he carried him inside.

Bian Hong felt like he was on fire. Pressed up against him like that, the rubbing was too much, and he could only cling to the man's firm waist and abs, biting him once.

That bite drove the man absolutely crazy. That night, Rong Feng's heavy breathing hit Bian Hong's ear from behind.

He said: "I don't know how dogs do it, but I know how wolves do."

Then he whispered a soft "woof" right into Bian Hong's ear.

Bian Hong was full of regret.

When Bian Hong woke the next morning and threw off the covers, his body was covered in little bite marks all over, especially on the back of his neck.

His movement woke the man still asleep beneath him. Rong Feng, seeing Bian Hong sprawled on top of him, instinctively pulled him close and rubbed his back.

But Bian Hong shifted, gritted his teeth, and flopped back down, legs like jelly.

"You dog, can you get off me first?"

Rong Feng, still half-asleep, jolted upright, making Bian Hong let out a muffled grunt.

Rong Feng came to his senses, remembering how wild he'd been the night before. His body felt amazing—totally recharged—but his face went red.

But embarrassment aside, in this position, he was still kinda tempted...

In the end, one "my back hurts" from Bian Hong killed the mood, and he hopped up to fetch water, start the fire, and scrub the tub.

When he reached the kitchen, Rong Feng also saw the pile of gifts the Mountain Guards had left. He thought it was sweet—if they ever had time, he'd take Bian Hong to visit the mountains and thank them in person.

Lost in that thought, Rong Feng lifted the pot lid. To his surprise, steam rushed out—flower-shaped steamed buns on top, mushroom and fish ball soup below.

He stuck his head out to check. The horse stall was empty, and Little Bear was gone too.

The kids had gotten up early and gone to school, and before leaving, they'd even cooked a meal and left hot food for their two older brothers who'd overslept from "drinking."

Rong Feng stood there, looking around. The aroma of food filled the kitchen. The firewood by the stove was a mess—classic Guan Bao. If it were Yuan Ding, it'd be stacked neat and tidy, just like Bian Hong would do.

The little stool by the stove was gone, because Yuan Ding had grown tall enough to reach the pot without it. And Guan Bao had grown up too—he rarely wet the bed anymore, and he'd help feed the fire while Yuan Ding cooked.

Rong Feng got a little choked up.

He wanted to go back and tell Bian Hong—see, kids grow up fast. Time doesn't wait for anyone, so don't waste it.

A couple of days after the Mountain Guards left, He Zhuo showed up at noon.

He didn't come alone—Little Mountain Lord was with him. He Zhuo's grandpa was still at Erlongkou. He'd heard Rong Feng and Bian Hong were safe, so he wasn't in a rush to head to Miemeng Mountain.

But since the day before yesterday, Little Mountain Lord had been acting weird—super anxious. It wouldn't even go into the mountains during the day, just stayed crouched at home, motioning for He Zhuo to follow.

He Zhuo didn't get it. He wanted to follow, but with his grandpa gone, he wasn't sure. But seeing how frantic Little Mountain Lord was, he gritted his teeth, locked up the house and yard, and followed it out of Gui Mountain.

The two of them traveled together, scavenging for food along the way. The further they went, the more He Zhuo realized—he'd never taken this route before, but he'd heard Rong Feng and Hong mention it. This was the way to Miemeng Mountain!

So He Zhuo relaxed. Looked like Little Mountain Lord was homesick and wanted to go back.

And hey, he missed his two big brothers too. So for the rest of the trip, he trotted along happily with Little Mountain Lord.

So while the other Mountain Guards had rushed over for an emergency, He Zhuo had wandered along, sightseeing and visiting family.

Rong Feng, though, had a serious talk with He Zhuo. This time there was no real danger—it was fine for He Zhuo to follow Little Mountain Lord. But if there was real trouble next time and He Zhuo came charging in unprepared like that, wouldn't that be super dangerous?

He Zhuo wasn't the type to ignore good advice. He reflected on himself for a while and resolved to study even harder, so that, as Brother Rong Feng had said, he'd be prepared for anything—real skill being what truly gets you through the world.

Bian Hong saw that the boy had already been talked to by Rong Feng and said no more, simply taking He Zhuo inside. This was the first time He Zhuo had traveled this far from Gui Mountain as a guest, and Bian Hong felt he should make sure to be a good host.

Besides, since He Zhuo's grandfather had been away on official business lately, the boy had probably just been grabbing whatever he could to eat. Bian Hong steamed some buns and baked flatbreads, planning to send them home with He Zhuo. Even though it was summer, the mountain air was cool, and the food would keep for a few days.

The little mountain lord, however, didn't come inside. Instead, it turned and vanished into the forest without a trace. Before long, a series of beastly howls echoed through the mountains.

The two men and the boy stood on the hillside beneath the layered ridges, listening closely.

In the end, all the rustling sounds of the forest concluded with a single, gentle roar from the Mountain Lord. Somewhere in the woods, no doubt, a family was getting together.

He Zhuo didn't stay the night. Having spent a good deal of time on the road, the boy still worried about home, so he said goodbye to the two of them in the evening and, together with the unseen little mountain lord, turned back toward Gui Mountain.

But on the winding path down the slope, in the thick of the trees, Bian Hong could still catch glimpses of the little mountain lord's gleaming golden fur. Clearly, it wasn't completely cold-hearted—it deliberately let Bian Hong and Rong Feng see its form.

After all, if it didn't want to be seen, even the best Mountain Guard couldn't find a mountain lord.

When the little mountain lord picked up the familiar smell of fish balls from He Zhuo's bundle, along with the scent of the big bowl it had once used here, it paused, looked back, then rose and hopped up onto a high rock ledge, crouching at the very top to sit for a while.

From afar, Rong Feng and Bian Hong saw, in the glow of the setting sun, that flash of gold up on the peak.

Maybe that was the unspoken connection between people and "spirits."

Even if that connection started with a bamboo basket and grew over bowl after bowl of fragrant fish ball soup.

Back in the courtyard, Bian Hong and Rong Feng began going through their stuff, getting ready to move.

He Zhuo had lingered here for quite a while today, not just eating and playing. He'd also really pushed Rong Feng to follow him around the small mountain to a few specific spots for a careful look.

Because while He Zhuo was helping Bian Hong pick vegetables in the terraced fields below the slope, he'd noticed something off about the mountain.

When it came to martial arts, Gui Mountain might not have the strongest rep, but when it came to studying mountain formations, reading the rocks and the lay of the land, Gui Mountain was second to none.

This was the first thing He Zhuo had learned as a kid.

After his survey, he told Bian Hong and Rong Feng without any doubt: they needed to move fast. Once summer passed and autumn arrived, with the weather and water changing, this small peak was in danger of collapsing.

As he spoke, He Zhuo didn't look like a kid anymore—he was dead serious and all business. He marked several spots, explaining where the collapse would likely start, and how to get out of the way if it happened.

The two men didn't brush off what he said. They wrote down every word carefully, and He Zhuo, seeing this, was quite satisfied.

But for the time being, the two couldn't break away to move, because Mountain Guards from every direction who could feel the ground shaking were all heading this way.

One after another, Bian Hong and Rong Feng hosted a bunch of visitors here. These people would occasionally meet and travel together on the road, then part ways again after sharing a stretch of the journey.

By pure chance, this hillside that was about to collapse had turned into a meeting spot for Mountain Guards.

They exchanged the specialties of their own mountains—good remedies and medicines—and traded stories and tips from their mountains. Mountain Guards, men and women, old and young alike, were all top-notch folks with serious skills, so even a short chat was worth a lot.

Bian Hong and Rong Feng told everyone they met that they were about to move, and planned to meet up again at Mirror Lake on Mie Meng Mountain—the spot Rong Feng had picked after thinking it over for their new home.

It was nestled against the mountain and beside the water, right where the human world meets the deep wilds of Mie Meng—a spot where they could go either way, right in the middle.

But how would the Mountain Guards find the exact place when they came?

Rong Feng simply said: at the edge of the human world, beside the forested slopes, a small courtyard with two or three rooms—that would be his home.

The Mountain Guards wrote it down and were happy to agree to meet again.

Among all the Mountain Guards who came and went, the one Bian Hong remembered the most was none other than Lin Yao of Di Mountain.

No question—this time, the girl showed up riding a panda...

When Bian Hong saw it, he almost jumped out of his shoes. Pointing at the panda, which was bigger than an ox, he stammered.

"P-p-p-panda!"

Rong Feng glanced sideways at Bian Hong's excitement, a quiet understanding dawning in his mind. Bian Hong whispered to him.

"Back home, that's a national treasure—you'd have to buy a ticket just to look at it."

Rong Feng reminded Bian Hong carefully, "This is called a zhiyi. We should, uh, be a little respectful. The mountain lord of Di Mountain is a fierce zhiyi, you know."

Though he didn't understand why Bian Hong was so worked up, these zhiyi things were vicious, and he wanted Bian Hong to be careful.

Lin Yao was all decked out in bells that jingled as she jumped down from the panda, a trail of jingling sounds behind her. Seeing that both men at the door were intact, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Aiyo, you two gave me such a scare! My uncle said Mie Meng Mountain had quaked—you don't know how worried I was!"

Since they knew each other well, Bian Hong didn't bother with small talk and asked outright, "Don't you ride a camel? Why are you on a panda—er, I mean, a zhiyi today?"

Lin Yao laughed. "Last time, the camel was borrowed from my aunt to haul vines. The zhiyi's got a bad temper and won't carry anything."

With that, the girl grinned and waved at Bian Hong. "Come on, you wanna pet it?"

Bian Hong stared at the panda, bigger than an ox, trembling slightly, but nodded firmly. "Yes, I want to. I want to."

The fur was coarse—maybe because it was summer, the undercoat wasn't thick, and pressing lightly, it was mostly fat.

Bian Hong, who called his own little bear "fatty" every day and teased his own cub relentlessly, had never once thought it was hurtful—because with his bear's temperament, being called fat was taken as a compliment, a sign of being a good cub who never left leftovers.

But today, facing this fierce zhiyi that could kill him with a single swipe, Bian Hong hesitated, timid and meek.

Staring at the zhiyi, so fat you couldn't even see its neck, Bian Hong could only stammer out.

"Wow, uh, what a, what a sturdy build."

At those words, the zhiyi blinked its black-bean eyes and turned its massive head with satisfaction.

It thought to itself: this one's all right—good thing he's honest.

Lin Yao was warm and spirited, her laughter ringing like silver bells—a genuinely lovely girl. Rong Feng and Bian Hong entertained her properly, and Lin Yao was so impressed by Bian Hong's cooking that she learned several dishes from him. She also had him write out recipes and took seeds of seasonings she'd never seen or used before, planning to plant them back home.

And there was another thing about this girl: she was all but ready to swear sworn siblinghood with Bian Hong.

That was because of the pests in the vegetable patch—bugs that no amount of catching could get rid of. Lin Yao simply raised a hand, and a bug with two large horn-like mandibles slithered out from her sleeve. It ate and scared them off in equal measure, and it worked wonders.

So before she left, Lin Yao gave Bian Hong four insect eggs, explained how to raise them, and then, amid a cascade of jingling bells, rode off on the panda into the distance.

By late summer, when the oppressive heat had passed, the vegetables in the garden had gone to seed or ripened, and even the fruit on the trees in the back courtyard had gradually ripened a little over halfway—waiting only for deep autumn, when the alternating cold and warmth would let them build up enough sugar before being picked and stored.

Standing on the slope and looking out, field after field of wheat stood full and heavy—the farmers' most important hope of the year.

Just before the autumn harvest, the court issued a decree: the branch of the nearby Fen River would require the relocation of its residents. The relocated people would be exempt from taxes and given livestock and next year's seed grain as subsidies.

The authorities encouraged villagers from several settlements to first choose their new land, then build their houses. Once the new homes were finished, autumn would have arrived, the grain would be ripe and ready for harvest, and after the harvest was done, the Ministry of Works and Water would begin taming the river. Once the watercourse was diverted, this old land would be flooded.

The villagers from several settlements deliberated for a long time, scouting around everywhere, and then came to ask Rong Feng for his opinion.

The number was not large, and together with Nanqi Wazi, Shangyu Village, and a few surrounding small fortresses, everyone figured they might as well merge into one big village—it would make building houses more convenient.

Rong Feng thought it over and set about helping choose the location, for even the authorities tacitly accepted that the people at the foot of Miemeng Mountain could follow Rong Feng. It was only right and proper for him to take over.

And so, after a bustling round of village relocation and site selection, the location was finally settled—also chosen around Jinghu Lake on the other side of Miemeng Mountain, though in a different spot from where Bian Hong and Rong Feng were. There were already some people living there, so it was a good fit to merge them together and bring the wasteland under cultivation.

During the famine years, the villages there had long since been abandoned by nearly everyone. This time around, even the farmland was ready-made; all that remained was to report to the imperial court, re-register households, and allocate the land.

For a time, building houses and courtyards at the new settlement proceeded with great fervor.

New techniques were also employed in building the houses. The court deliberately sent people down to quickly construct a brick kiln nearby, and the bricks produced were given as compensation to the villagers who had sacrificed the homeland their ancestors had lived in for generations for the nation's grand river plan.

So the houses were no longer stone-and-mud structures, but neat and orderly, with thick, warm walls. Bian Hong also took part in the building, combining local customs and working with the village masons to produce several house designs.

Even details like building heated walls and chimneys were included. With a heated wall, once the kang was lit, the smoke would travel through the wall, warming the entire wall—in such a cold winter, it was not only warm but also saved a lot of fuel.

With fewer logs to split, the household's able-bodied men could free up more time to grow more grain from the fields.

And so, everyone's mind was now on brick-firing. Though the court had built the brick kiln, who would fire it, what to fire, and who would make the adobe—all of that had to be coordinated by the village itself.

There might be small squabbles, but as long as it was for a better life, no one was disobedient, and no one spared their strength, striving to make every mud brick and every roof beam the best possible.

If anyone was lazy or shirked, they would be called out, cursed by the whole village, and driven out—go wherever they liked.

But there was still human warmth. Those known to be sickly or frail, or widows with orphans, would not be left to fend for themselves. Neighbors for years, with roots tracing back to their ancestors, were bound by ties that even broken bones couldn't sever.

Thus, the community was far more resilient than the individual, and held greater power to thrive.

By the shores of Jinghu Lake, Rong Feng had already found the spot. In the late summer and early autumn, a gentle breeze swept across the lake, stirring ripples that mirrored the blue sky, like a mirror lying on the earth.

Living by the water was another way of life altogether.

The foundation for the house was laid in front of a ginkgo grove not far from the lake, where the land was flat and best suited for living.

Rong Feng had wanted to build it himself, but the village firmly refused. On matters like this, the usually mild-mannered common folk were exceptionally stubborn. Each time Rong Feng declined, they would trail after Bian Hong, calling her "auntie" at every turn, until Bian Hong, flushed with embarrassment and anger, would lie on Rong Feng at night and bite his neck to vent.

So Rong Feng's new house was built with everyone's effort. They were also very considerate, having built several houses in the distant village first, and only after gaining experience—good or bad—did they dare to start. By then, it looked quite proper.

Rong Feng remembered the words his master had spoken before leaving, and beside their house, near the water's edge at Jinghu Lake, he also built a dwelling for his master and his master's junior brother. The pavilions, windows, and doors were all designed by Bian Hong, and to the villagers and Rong Feng alike, it was indescribably elegant.

But to Bian Hong, it was a common modern sight—a single-story Chinese-style courtyard, the kind of small yard he had caught a fleeting glimpse of in a film shown at the orphanage.

It was also the place he had dreamed of while squatting in the dark coal pit, counting on his fingers the meager wages that might never be paid, comparing them to the exorbitant housing prices.

A shelter he could only look up at from the stinking ground, forever out of reach.