After returning home, Zhao Lie was brimming with excitement.
He first filled the water vat to the brim, then went to chop firewood until he was completely exhausted before preparing a meal.
Zhao Lie’s home was situated near the back mountain, with few households in the vicinity.
His family had built there because his father was a hunter. The house consisted of three bedrooms, a main hall, and a kitchen, with an outhouse and shower room adjacent to the backyard.
The front yard had a well and a stone table. His mother had loved grapes, so his father had built a grape trellis, which was now over a decade old.
The backyard was filled with vegetable plots, and a large woodshed stood against the wall, storing firewood for winter.
Next to the kitchen was a small woodshed for daily firewood.
The entire house was built with a one-meter-high stone foundation, topped with mud bricks and sloping tiled roofs.
High walls surrounded the property to prevent wild animals from suddenly descending from the mountain and entering the home.
In Daliu Village, such a house was truly one of a kind.
But since Zhao Lieren’s passing, the villagers had avoided Zhao Lie, an orphan.
Fortunately, when his father died, Zhao Lie was already ten years old and could use the skills learned from his father to trap small game like rabbits and pheasants to support himself.
Zhao Lie’s temperament wasn’t particularly cheerful, but neither was it gloomy. His mother had passed away from illness when he was eight—old enough to understand and remember maternal love.
After his wife’s death, Father Zhao lost the will to live. Watching his father suffer pained Zhao Lie deeply.
When Zhao Lie turned ten, Father Zhao could endure no longer. One tranquil night, gazing at his young son, he said, “A-Lie, your father is going to find your mother. She has waited too long. Take good care of yourself from now on. If you must resent anyone, resent me—but not your mother.”
At that moment, Zhao Lie couldn’t articulate his feelings. He couldn’t bear to lose his father, yet he understood his father’s inability to move on.
Though only ten, he nodded firmly. “Father, don’t worry. I can take care of myself. You and Mother needn’t worry about me.”
He knew what those words meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.
Days later, after settling his affairs, Father Zhao went hunting in the mountains and never returned.
No one knew that ten-year-old Zhao Lie had secretly followed his father that day and witnessed his suicide deep in the mountains.
Zhao Lie personally buried his father alongside his mother. Because Father Zhao had taken his own life, no grave marker could be erected.
According to Qi Country’s laws, any immediate descendants of a suicide were barred from holding official positions for three generations.
In Qi Country, suicide was considered a grave crime, which was why no one in the country took their own life.
After burying his father, Zhao Lie waited three days before seeking out the village chief.
The chief organized a search party that scoured the mountains for days, then waited several more, but no trace of Father Zhao was found. Eventually, he was declared killed by wild beasts, and the authorities were notified.
With Father Zhao gone, only ten-year-old Zhao Lie remained in the household. Fearing the boy might come begging for food, everyone avoided him.
The only children who had played with him were from Xu Ruyi’s generation. But when he went to find Xu Ruyi, he learned she had sold herself to save her father.
From then on, Zhao Lie rarely appeared in the village. Only when encountered in the mountains would people remember his existence.
Mother Zhao had been an orphan, so Zhao Lie had no maternal relatives—truly alone in the world.
That night, lying in bed, Zhao Lie felt restless. Gazing at the moon outside his window, a sense of agitation stirred within him.
Whenever he closed his eyes, he would recall that person’s soft hands and lingering fragrance.
Placing his hand near his nose, he could almost still smell the scent of his beloved.
Zhao Lie felt himself growing increasingly restless, with an improper reaction stirring beneath him.
He raised his hand and slapped himself, “I can’t do this. It’s disrespectful to her.”
Zhao Lie thought his thoughts were becoming increasingly filthy, unworthy of that pure moonlight.
But such is human nature—the more you suppress it, the more uncontrollable it becomes. In the end, he covered his eyes, his cheeks flushed red.
With his movements, suppressed sounds began to echo in the room.
A quarter of an hour later, the commotion in the room finally ceased.