Chapter Thirty: The Elder of the Village (Part Two)

"Hey, that old man has quite a temper," Fatty muttered, about to step forward, but was stopped by Wenbin, who said, "We were wrong to come in without knocking, and even more so to visit without his permission. If you speak rudely, you are being disrespectful. Add up all three, and his scolding us juniors is perfectly justified. It was our lack of manners first, so we should go and apologize."

Fatty twisted his neck and said, "Apologize to him?"

Xiaobai shot him a glare. "Go on, Wenbin is right. No matter what, he's an elder—at his age, he could easily be your grandfather."

Both of them targeted Fatty, who felt a bit embarrassed and stubbornly protested, "I didn't insult him, I just joked about his cat..."

To my surprise, Xiaobai impressed me this time. She reached over and twisted Fatty's ear, making him yelp and rise on his tiptoes with pain.

"Are you going or not?"

"Alright, alright, auntie, let go! I'll go, alright?"

Seeing Fatty's surrender, I laughed too. "Xiaobai, where did you learn that move?"

Xiaobai grinned mischievously. "With his slick tongue, you have to be a little tough." When a person moves from one environment to another, after enough time, they naturally adapt. The daughter of a capitalist, fallen on hard times, became much like any rural girl, yet her nature remained unchanged. Once she adjusted to her new surroundings, she shed her defensive mask. Perhaps this is the real Xiaobai.

Fatty walked to the door and said in a low voice, "Grandpa Qiu, I'm here to apologize. I was wrong. Please don't hold a grudge against us younger folks. I was being immature."

At that, an old man in a blue robe and cloth shoes slowly walked out, cradling the black cat from earlier, his hand softly stroking its fur. He paused in front of Fatty, sizing us up—he must have recognized me and Xiaobai—and said to Fatty, "Don't apologize to me, apologize to it. If it forgives you, I have no complaints."

Fatty was momentarily stunned, then immediately put on a childishly bright face, so forced that even I felt nauseous. He addressed the black cat in a syrupy tone, "Big Sister Cat, I was wrong today and came to apologize. You're generous, please forgive me, alright?" He laughed awkwardly and reached out to pet the cat, but before his hand got close, the cat bared its teeth and snapped at him. Luckily, Fatty was quick and avoided being bitten.

The old man grunted and turned to leave. Fatty, seeing this, gritted his teeth and pulled a small square from his pocket. "Wait!" He slowly peeled off the wrapper, revealing a black piece of something. The cat licked its lips and stared intently at Fatty's hand.

Fatty, trembling, extended his hand and bowed, saying, "A small offering for you." The black cat took it without hesitation, swallowed it in one gulp, and licked its lips.

The old man stroked the cat's back, and it lazily nestled into his arms and fell asleep. Only then did the old man look at us directly and say, "Come in."

I followed Fatty and whispered, "What was that just now?"

"Beef jerky."

"Where did you get it?"

"Last night, from Secretary's net bag. That was the only piece, I—" Fatty realized he'd said too much.

Xiaobai heard and cried, "Stone Guardian, you actually stole socialist beef jerky from the people! I must report you!"

"Hey, don't, auntie! I'm just a small farmer who's not yet reformed, unlike you, from a wealthy household. Besides, I didn't even get to enjoy it myself..."

The room was dark, with no skylight, and the only window was covered with thick yellow paper. The odor of mold mixed with sourness made my nose twitch. I could tell Fatty and Xiaobai felt the same, though Wenbin appeared calm.

It was a crude room: two long benches with a door panel laid across them, straw scattered everywhere, and the bedding was black and tattered. At the head of the bed was a stove with a small iron pot, one handle broken, containing a semi-solid mixture—perhaps flour paste or cornmeal.

Near the bed was a wooden box, where the black cat was curled up. A kitten poked its head out, probably uneasy from our presence.

The old man sat on the bed, and since there was nowhere else to sit, we stood awkwardly.

"Grandpa Qiu," Wenbin said, placing the net bag with canned goods beside the bed—inside were two cans. "We're the educated youth from the village. We've been here half a year, still unfamiliar with many things. We heard that you have seen more of the world than anyone else here, so we came to visit."

The old man glanced at the goods, eyed Wenbin, and finally spoke. "Take your things back. I can't afford them; they'll shorten my life. If you have questions, ask. If I can answer, I will. If not, don't press."

"Then I'll be direct," Wenbin said. "A few days ago, we drained two of the village ponds. One had nothing but a gold coin. The other was full of human bones. There are eighteen such ponds in the village. Today, my friends and I went up the mountain; these ponds don't seem natural, but man-made. I can't figure out the mystery, so I hoped you'd tell us their history."

No sooner had he finished asking than the old man replied bluntly, "Leave. I don't know."

Fatty sighed. "See, told you. No answers."

Wenbin stepped forward, his tone rapid. "No, you know. Why won't you tell us? Your daughter—she drowned herself in one of those ponds, didn't she?"

The old man shot up, his voice harsh. "Say that again!"

Wenbin didn’t back down. "I want to know—in which pond did your daughter drown herself?"

The two faced each other, tension thick in the air. I worried the old man might grab a stick to chase us out, and I couldn't fathom why Wenbin pressed so hard.

They stood off for about a minute. Wenbin didn't retreat once. I truly admired him; had it been me, I would have run at Grandpa Qiu’s glare. But Wenbin remained steadfast, radiating a quality that surpassed his years.

Finally, the old man sat down and sighed. "How did you know?"

"You needn't worry how I know, but I do know you're troubled. We can help you."

"How?"

"We can help you recover her remains and bury her properly."

"Really?"

Wenbin nodded. "We've already drained two ponds. One more is no trouble. But as a condition, you must truthfully tell us the story behind these eighteen ponds."

To our surprise, the old man broke down in tears, the kind that streamed ceaselessly. Xiaobai quickly handed him her handkerchief. No one expected a fierce-looking old man to be so shaken by a single question. There is nothing more painful than a parent losing their child, but in those years we were too young to understand. Only later did Wenbin experience it himself and truly grasp its meaning.

The old man slapped the bed and sighed, "Ah, it's all my fault!"

Wenbin sat beside him and said gently, "Don't rush, take your time."

"Actually, I'm not from here. My hometown is Xi'an. When I was young, it was a time of chaos. My parents died early, and I became an orphan at seven or eight, wandering everywhere. To survive, I stole and robbed. When I was ten, I stole bread from a landlord's kitchen. The master caught me and chopped off one finger." Grandpa Qiu rolled up his sleeve, revealing his left ring finger, which was half missing. He continued, "After that, I drifted north. They said there was food up north. When I reached Mongolia, I was starving and rescued by several passing merchants. I followed them. Only later did I realize they weren't ordinary men. They were searching for a treasure."

Fatty immediately asked, "What treasure?"

"I heard their leader mention, by chance, that there once was a kingdom here called Qingqiu. The king ruled by pillage, raiding the surrounding tribes, including what are now the three northeastern provinces and the Korean peninsula. But somehow, the kingdom was destroyed, leaving a huge treasure behind. Those men had a map—sheepskin, covered in lines and markings—so they followed it here."

"Did they find the treasure?" Fatty was eager.

Grandpa Qiu shook his head, then gazed out the door, his teeth clenched. "What they found was no treasure, but a demon."