Chapter 108

Chapter 108

Autumn harvest is the most important thing right now.

The biggest worry at this critical time is rain. Even though working in the fields leaves your back scorched and sore, people still hope it won't rain for a week and a half or more.

If it rains, the wheat that hasn't been brought in yet gets soaked, and it either sprouts or goes moldy, making it hard to store—and the year's harvest is ruined all over again.

So time is precious, indeed.

Bian Hong and Rong Feng had already headed out to their wheat fields with sickles and ropes before dawn. Most of their wheat was on the back mountain behind their old place—not a lot, and scattered across little terraced plots.

The two worked quickly and finished by dark, then drove the cart back to their place by Mirror Lake. After that, they went to help Uncle Min. It wasn't until they got to those big fields that they noticed something reassuring.

The migrant harvest workers had finally shown up.

They came in groups again, right on schedule, cutting wheat all over, trading their sweat for money to build houses back home, get married, and support their families.

This year's good harvest meant folks finally had a little money, so most of the wages owed to the migrant workers from last year got paid off now. Some farmers, feeling bad about the delay, would throw in a little extra and serve the best food they had.

In famine years, people might nickel-and-dime you to survive, but once good times came, most folks were easy to deal with.

On the ridge between fields, Bian Hong ran into the young migrant worker who'd been eavesdropping outside the schoolhouse last year. In less than a year, the boy had shot up like a weed, and when he talked, his voice cracked—he'd hit puberty.

Since Yuan Ding and Guan Bao had grown up right next to Bian Hong, he hadn't noticed much change in them. But seeing this young migrant worker today made Bian Hong sigh—kids really do grow up in the blink of an eye.

The young man had come specifically to find Bian Hong. Not only did he bring more seeds for spring planting, but he shyly shared some great news.

He and his dad had saved up enough for the school fees—next year he could study and learn to read. He wouldn't have to eavesdrop outside the schoolhouse anymore, or be made fun of as an illiterate mud-foot.

The young man's eyes sparkled with hope for the future.

Bian Hong felt pleased and patted the boy's skinny shoulder.

But when he looked up, he saw Rong Feng, who'd been cutting wheat nearby, strolling over. The man seriously raised his hand and patted the young man's shoulder too.

That big hand—which the villagers jokingly called a tiger's paw—wasn't even using any force, but it still made the boy cough twice. Then he stood there frozen like a quail, not daring to move.

Rong Feng was tall and solid, with a cold look and those mismatched blue-brown eyes. To strangers, he was pretty intimidating.

Rong Feng had long stopped wearing a bamboo hat to hide his face. Now he showed his eyes openly and without shame.

Even the hair that used to cover his eyes was now combed back neatly, showing off his broad forehead and strong brow, making him look even more handsome and confident.

Bian Hong reached out and patted the man's arm, telling him to knock it off. He knew exactly how strong that man was—sometimes when he woke up in the morning, he could still see two big claw marks on his waist from the night before.

Rong Feng let go, thinking the kid was too scrawny, and he was always blushing around Bian Hong—who knew what was going through his head.

Before long, the young man backed off under Rong Feng's "ghost eyes" and hurried back to cutting wheat.

Bian Hong accused him of deliberately scaring the kid, while Rong Feng claimed the boy had bad intentions.

Bian Hong was slow to catch on, then said in disbelief, "He's just a kid."

The man snorted and turned his face away, all sulky.

Bian Hong watched his "strictly guarded" man and burst out laughing.

After the wheat was cut, there was still threshing, winnowing, and drying before it could go into the granary as winter food.

The two helped the self-combed women at the family shrine haul the heavy wheat into the granary, finally finishing this year's autumn work.

Just as Rong Feng and Bian Hong got a little rest, they got a request for help from the prefectural government.

The Prefect's words were sincere—from the country falling into war, to the people suffering famine, to finally getting through those hard times—everyone from street vendors to court nobles had tasted that hardship.

Now that good years had finally come, it was time to bring back the old customs: the annual late-autumn sacrifice and temple fair.

And for this ceremony, the Mountain Guardian was absolutely essential, because what was being honored was none other than the Mountain Lord.

Rong Feng was duty-bound. Back in the good years, the Mountain Lord ceremony had been quite grand. But because Rong Feng looked different from most people and kept to himself, his master had mostly handled it. When the war broke out, his master went off to fight, and the ceremony got shelved.

Now that it was going to be brought back, everyone was in agreement.

In times of disaster and famine, when people were cold and hungry, those vast mountain ranges stretching a thousand miles gave them firewood for warmth and fruit to eat.

The mountains not only raised countless creatures within, but also fed the people living along their slopes.

And the Mountain Lord, in the simple beliefs of the people, was the spirit of the mountains and the master of all beasts.

As for organizing the ceremony, Bian Hong wasn't good at that kind of thing, and Rong Feng just followed the steps his master had used. Luckily, since this was the first year bringing it back, the requirements and extra touches were minimal—sincerity was all that mattered, and it was a chance for people to get together and have some fun.

So, in the cool late-autumn town, officials led the way and the people followed, carrying all kinds of offerings up the outermost mountain path of Miemeng Mountain.

Even though it was the outermost layer, ordinary people would normally take a detour unless they absolutely had to, never daring to trespass. So when they got there, Rong Feng took the lead to clear the path while Bian Hong brought up the rear.

Soon, people gathered under the pure white Mountain Lord stone on Miemeng Mountain, laying out fruits, meats, plenty of grains, and a big jar of fragrant wine.

Rong Feng led the ceremony as the people knelt devoutly, chanting prayers and doing big kowtows.

Some prayed for health, some for good luck, but everyone's wish was simple and sincere—that next year would bring another good harvest.

The ceremony was simple but solemn. Afterward, everyone came down from the mountain, but instead of heading home, they took advantage of this rare gathering to set up stalls along the official road below—selling fruits, rice, flour, oil, and all kinds of snacks like wontons, malt candy, and pan-fried fish cakes.

The kids were set loose, running around excitedly through the little market. The farmers who'd worked hard all autumn also used this chance to relax. Most parents would trade some freshly harvested grain for daily necessities, with a little left over for the kids to buy candy.

The hard years had just passed, and as long as people had enough to eat, they quickly patched up their wounds, showing that stubborn vitality that never gave up.

The current prefectural official really cared about people's livelihoods. Seeing everyone hanging around the official road to celebrate, he just approved the gathering, issued a decree making it a five-day big trading fair, and sent constables to keep order.

So as night fell, the crowd didn't shrink—it grew. People from nearby counties and towns, near or far, came to join the fun, arriving by ox cart or donkey.

Yuan Ding and Guan Bao saw the opportunity and immediately rounded up the three Min kids. Going back to their old trade, they caught fish from Mirror Lake, made fish balls, found a stall in the long market, and hawked their goods at the top of their lungs.

Business was surprisingly good—even Bian Hong had to pitch in, while Rong Feng dove into the lake to catch fish, keeping the stall stocked nonstop.

The biggest crowd came on the fourth day. Bian Hong was at the stall selling fish balls when someone quietly tapped his shoulder. He looked up and was overjoyed.

It was Little Mute, who he hadn't seen in a long time.

The Lumber Gang often did business along the waterways and had good connections. Hearing about the big fair, they quickly rafted over, moored nearby, and came to trade.

When Little Mute heard that the Mountain Lord ceremony had been led by the Mountain Guardian of Miemeng Mountain, he jumped for joy and insisted on coming ashore with the raft—he was sure he'd see Bian Hong!

The moment they met, Little Mute couldn't even be bothered with sign language. He grabbed Bian Hong and spun him around right there.

The young, strong lumber foreman followed behind Little Mute carrying bags. Seeing his wife getting a little too excited, he called out loudly, "Oh my, my dear—careful now!"

Only then did Little Mute reluctantly let go of Bian Hong. Bian Hong, though, was confused, wondering what was wrong with Little Mute. When he asked, Little Mute blushed a little, then pressed his lips together and pointed at his belly.

“Ah?”

Bian Hong didn’t react, “You’re hungry?”

Little Mute rolled his eyes and gestured again with both hands.

Bian Hong was stunned, momentarily speechless.

Little Mute was carrying a child in his belly.

Bian Hong finally realized—this lad was a man who could get pregnant!

Seeing Bian Hong’s dumbfounded expression, Little Mute snorted, turned around, grabbed a spoon from the stall, and scooped up some fish balls to eat. He’d caught the scent from way off and was dying for a taste. Sure, river folk ate plenty of fish, but Little Mute had never smelled fish balls that tasted like this.

The fish balls were scorching hot, so Little Mute puffed out his lips, blew on them half-heartedly, then winced and shoved them into his mouth to chew.

By the time Bian Hong got his head together, the kid had already eaten his fill—and even scooped out a bowl to bring to his man.

Bian Hong was real glad to see the Lumber Gang folks again. He and Rong Feng packed up a big batch of fish balls to treat the guests who’d come down the river.

They were all familiar faces, though the Chief Headman hadn’t come. But the old man had sent gifts for Bian Hong and Rong Feng via Little Mute—a finely made waterproof leather air bladder for diving.

That was a rare find. With one of those, a man could dive down to deep waters, and for those who made their living on the river, it was extremely precious.

Bian Hong took it gladly. With this thing, Rong Feng could hold his breath and dive all the way to the bottom of Mirror Lake.

Before the Lumber Gang left, they hit the market and traded their fish and salt for a big load of grain, sugar, and tea. And just before departing, Little Mute pointed at his belly, asking that his unborn kid take Bian Hong as a godfather.

Bian Hong looked at Little Mute’s slightly swollen belly, went home, and dug out an old ginseng root. Along with a prescription, he handed it to the Lumber Gang’s headman, telling him that if things got dangerous, brew it up for Little Mute to drink—it could save his life.

The headman was deeply grateful and tucked that kindness away in his heart, vowing to repay it with his life if it ever came to that.

Finally, Bian Hong and Rong Feng stood by the riverbank to see them off. They climbed onto the raft, cast off the ropes, and hollered out river work songs as they rowed hard into the distance.

Out on the wide river, the burly men on the raft slowly faded from sight, heading off toward the Lumber Gang’s new life.

Bian Hong looked forward to their next meeting.

Around those same days, Yan Qiu and One Cut Red came back too, riding in with their brothers to say hello. The old timid Yan Qiu was a whole different person now—bright-eyed, bold, and easygoing, like seeing the world had finally cracked him open.

One Cut Red didn’t say a word—just drew his blade and went at Rong Feng. Rong Feng still fought with that busted fire poker, but he still drove One Cut Red back step by step.

Even though he couldn’t beat Rong Feng, One Cut Red still took the loss like a champ, yanked out his wine flask, and the two drank and laughed together.

At this meeting, Bian Hong saw the crew wasn’t dressed like bandits anymore—their clothes and armor were all neat and proper. Yan Qiu proudly told Bian Hong that One Cut Red and his brothers had been officially taken in by the imperial court. They’d been righteous bandits to begin with, so the court treated them real well. Now they served in the army, taking orders from generals and doing nothing but hunting down bandits.

With real jobs, life had more direction. A lot of the brothers had already earned ranks, married up, and settled down. One Cut Red figured this was the only way to do right by the brothers who’d fought with justice in their hearts.

But the reunion was short. One Cut Red had already gotten orders to head to Jiangmen for backup, so they only had time for a quick hello before splitting up.

Still, One Cut Red’s visit wasn’t a waste—he loaded up on a ton of medicinal ointments from Bian Hong before he left. The most of what he took were the mountain guardian’s heirloom “Stretch Leg and Stare Eye Pills”—hard to choke down, but they worked wonders on both external and internal injuries.

Bian Hong figured it was just a friendly gift, but after they left, Silver Frost came trotting back from who-knows-where with a big bundle strapped to its back.

When Bian Hong opened it up, there was a whole sack of gold, silver, and jewels.

Tucked inside was a note from One Cut Red, scrawled all wild, with just two big characters on it:

“WE’RE RICH!”

Bian Hong laughed and cursed out that nouveau riche bandit boss.

On the last day of the festival market, He Zhuo from the other mountain showed up to join the fun. The kid was tall and solid, with a head full of little braids and a pair of Mandarin Duck Axes slung across his back. He sat there looking all heroic at the fish ball stall, wolfing down bowl after bowl.

The kid ate and took—said he wanted to bring some back for his grandpa, and that the Little Mountain Lord loved them too. Watching Bian Hong bag up the fish balls, he muttered, “The more the better, the more the better.”

No surprise there—that Little Mountain Lord was both cold and a bottomless pit.

Since it was the last day of the market anyway, Bian Hong packed up all the unsold fish balls and handed them to He Zhuo to take back. Then he counted up the stall’s earnings for the past few days, wrote off the fish balls his friends took as his own cost, and paid the three Min kids what he owed them.

After that, he took He Zhuo, Yuan Ding, Guan Bao, and the Min kids on a good, carefree stroll through the market.

It was the first time in Bian Hong’s life he’d ever walked a market just for “fun.”

He felt a little lost at first, but then he chuckled to himself and led the kids around to check everything out.

Rong Feng trailed along steady behind him, silver in hand, paying for the candied figurines for every one of the kids up front.

The kids had gotten real familiar with the market over these past few days. They were good kids, sensible and sharp—even at their age, they knew how to wheel and deal.

A lot of the stall owners took a shine to them and handed them freebies all along the way—mostly stuff that hadn’t sold on the last day and wasn’t worth hauling back, so they just gave it away.

He Zhuo had never seen anything like it. Normally he lived up in the mountains with just his grandpa, training in martial arts and patrolling the peaks—never any of this lively people stuff. So he cut loose and played to his heart’s content, finally dropping that little-old-man act.

He told himself that when he grew up, he’d host a celebration like this at the foot of his own mountain. That’d be something.

By afternoon, He Zhuo couldn’t stick around much longer. Besides having stuff to do up in the mountains, he was also worried that if he stayed too long, the fish balls Bian Hong packed for him would go bad—and that’d be a crying shame.

So he said his goodbyes and hit the road that very night to head home.

Before he left, he pulled the pair of Mandarin Duck Axes off his back and clanged them together in rhythm. The ringing notes strung together into a tune—pretty and sharp—carrying from the main road all the way into Miemeng Mountain.

Bian Hong figured the kid was playing them a little farewell song, but Rong Feng set him straight:

“He’s summoning the Mountain Lord.”

Bian Hong nodded, getting it. “He must be paying his respects to the mountain lord, using this ritual to pay homage.”

But the man saw right through it with a knowing smirk. That kid’s worship was a front—he was probably scared the Little Mountain Lord might trail after him. Since he was about to head out, he figured he’d better give a heads-up and call the Little Mountain Lord back home.

A country can’t go a day without its ruler, and a mountain can’t go a day without its master. The kid looked simple, but when it came to the big stuff, he was careful and sharp as a tack.

After He Zhuo left, the sky slowly dimmed, and the gathering that had sprung up around the sacrifice finally wound down.

Right then, somebody on the main road hollered out all excited, “Look! What’s that flying up there? It’s huge—gotta be a god or something!”

Bian Hong looked up at the sky and couldn’t help but laugh.

The shape flying in was a familiar one—a Roc Eagle with its wings spread wide, blocking out the sky. It soared and circled in the last glow of sunset, and to the regular folks, it really did look like a god coming down to earth.

The folks on the road were buzzing with excitement. They didn’t dare get close, but they all wanted to ask Rong Feng, the mountain guardian, if they ought to get some meat offerings ready. Since it happened to be this very day, god or not, they figured it might appreciate a little incense.

But Rong Feng and Bian Hong were both up on a little cliff near the mountain, seeing He Zhuo off. That spot had wild animals from time to time, so regular folks didn’t dare get too close.

While the folks were hemming and hawing, the Prefect—who’d come to wrap things up and check on the villagers—didn’t hesitate one bit. He had a cow readied on the spot and sent his officials to deliver it with all due respect.

No mystery there—the Prefect had helped with the dam flood control last time, so of course he knew that was the Grand State Preceptor’s Roc Eagle!

That Roc Eagle was pretty well known among court officials, especially the ones who’d seen battle.

In countless moments of crisis on the battlefield, the Grand State Preceptor, with a grim, imposing guard at his side, descended from the heavens atop his Roc Eagle, single-handedly reforming the scattered ranks, devising new battle strategies, and propping up a collapsing cause.

Many generals even turned the Roc Eagle into a banner emblem to inspire their troops.

It was common knowledge that the Roc Eagle ate cattle. However, as the years turned hard and provisions ran short, the Preceptor led by example—not only living frugally himself but also forbidding his Roc Eagle from being fed cattle. The bird went hungry day after day and wasted away.

Now, with the nation's restoration close at hand, and with herds of cattle and sheep, and a new generation of livestock, all grown, they couldn't let a "hero of merit" go hungry. Thus, the Prefect acted without hesitation and had someone offer an ox to the "divine eagle."

On the road below the mountain, the crowd was in high spirits, but Bian Hong paid it no attention, for after circling, the Roc Eagle locked onto its target and dove, touching down on the edge of the small crag where Bian Hong and Rong Feng stood.

The wind from its enormous wings had barely died down when the Roc Eagle turned its head, pulled a bundle from its back with its sharp beak, placed it in Rong Feng's arms, and tilted its head, nudging him to open it.

Rong Feng was clearly startled. He opened the bundle and stood frozen.

Before Rong Feng lay the legendary weapon of the Mountain Guards of Miemeng Mountain, passed down through generations.

The Yunjie Spear.

The spear was unassuming in design—ancient yet elegant, the shaft heavy with the weight of ages, while its cold, gleaming edge was breathtaking.

Rong Di, who had always passed on the mountain's teachings but never the spear itself, had finally, on this day, placed this divine weapon back in his disciple's hands.

With the war over, Rong Feng's master no longer had to fight desperately on chaotic battlefields, shielding the Grand State Preceptor, his commander.

Nor did he need to lie awake at night, ever watchful for plots against the Preceptor's life.

With the Yunjie in hand, he had finally found no use for it.

Now, he formally returned the divine weapon, giving the Yunjie back to his disciple—who had no weapon of his own and had been making do with a fire poker.

Bian Hong watched Rong Feng, who stood silent, gripping the Yunjie, and understood his feelings.

It was perhaps a rite of passage—a true recognition from his master.

Rong Feng's eyes grew a little red, and for a long time he said nothing. Finally, he reached out and, with some clever trick of force, split the Yunjie in two.

One part was the old, heavy shaft Rong Di usually wielded; the other was the coldly beautiful spearhead.

Rong Feng turned and pressed the spearhead into Bian Hong's hands.

Bian Hong was reluctant to take it.

Seeing him hesitate, Rong Feng said, "Take it. This is how it's meant to be used—it comes apart and fits back together. My master only used the shaft; the spearhead was always the Preceptor's. Now it's yours to defend yourself with."

Only then did Bian Hong wipe his hands on his robe and reverently accept this ancient divine weapon.

Under the setting sun, surrounded by the silent mountains, Bian Hong felt a swell of emotion.

Across mountains and rivers, he and Rong Feng were blade and shaft to each other, supporting one another in guarding this land.

As the two stood facing each other, holding the Yunjie in silent understanding, the Roc Eagle had already spotted the whole ox, tied with a red cord, that had been brought to the foot of the mountain. Without hesitation, it dove down, grabbed the ox in its massive talons, and flew off with a triumphant cry.

The divine bird flew off. In the sunset, the overjoyed townsfolk lit bonfires on the road, beat drums and clay pots, and sang in a circle around the flames.

The god comes from Jade Mountain, peace fills the land

Wheat and millet grow tall in Shu, hemp and kudzu spread wide

In this good land, I live, I stay

The magpie has its nest, and I have my home

We build and raise, making house and home

In this good land, I live, I stay

Guarding home and land, firm as hills

In this good land, I live, I stay

In this good land, I live, I stay

...

At dusk, the grand setting sun flooded the world with light, warming people's faces and painting the mountains.

On the highest peak of Miemeng Mountain, a majestic figure seemed to flash past.

It seemed to be the Mountain Lord, glancing once at the mortal world before silently vanishing into the woods.

Bian Hong stood where mountain and humanity met.

He watched the endless hustle of the mortal world, and the Mountain Lord's fading figure among the peaks.

Holding the Yunjie, he was the living link between mountain and people—a bond of blood and soul.

Rong Feng wrapped his arms around him from behind. In the evening glow, their shadows merged as one, never to be alone again.

In the distance, the autumn wind blew cold and bleak. Swallows flew south across the endless sky, but one wild goose, amid the misty blue peaks, landed on the green ridge of Miemeng Mountain.

Guarding the mountain, guarding the people, guarding himself—Bian Hong was a wild goose that had wandered ten thousand miles, finally settling in this wilderness, resting in Rong Feng's broad arms.

And so, the wild goose came home to the mountains.