Just as Zhenyi looked out over the wide field, Orange, who had been leisurely following, suddenly ran into it.
The wheat was very tall at this time of year, and Orange disappeared completely once it plunged in; only the ripples of wheat remained.
Zhenyi called out, and seeing the waves of wheat stirred up by Orange continuing to ripple forward, she knew Orange wouldn’t do this without reason. Without hesitation, she lifted her skirt and waded into the dense wheat ridges.
“Meow—!”
Zhenyi had just reached the center of the wheat field when she suddenly heard Orange let out a sharp cry.
Looking up, she saw Orange seem to have discovered something, pounce on her, but was thrown aside and fell into the field.
The wheat field rippled, and Zhenyi quickly saw a familiar figure half-standing up—it was Ji Wu, who most often appeared in the fields.
The next moment, however, a hand suddenly reached out from the wheat field in front of Ji Wu, struggling to emerge, accompanied by muffled cries.
Zhen Yi was startled and shouted, “—Mother Zhuo?!”
She quickened her pace and ran forward.
Ju Zi jumped up again and pounced on Ji Wu, instantly scratching several bloody marks on his neck and face. Ji Wu screamed, took two steps back, grabbed Ju Zi’s head, and threw him violently to the ground.
Mother Zhuo seized the opportunity to scramble out of the wheat field, her hair disheveled, blood trickling from her mouth, and her clothes torn and tattered. She struggled to her feet and cried to Zhen Yi, who was approaching, “Miss! Quick!… Go get someone!”
Before Zhen Yi could react to what had happened, she saw Ji Wu grab Mother Zhuo’s hair, pull her arm, and drag her further away.
Mother Zhuo was in pain and terrified, her cries filled with despair.
Ji Wu looked thin, but years of hard labor had roughened his hands. He no longer cared for his fields as he usually did, dragging Zhuo’s mother along, leaving a mark in the wheat field.
As he backed away, his eyes glared at Zhenyi.
Zhenyi had never seen such a fierce look in his eyes, so different from the simple, honest Ji Wu of the past, as if possessed by a demon.
Such a ferocious appearance was enough to frighten away an eleven or twelve-year-old child, enough to leave a lasting, terrifying memory in her mind.
Zhenyi instinctively took a step back, then two.
Zhuo’s mother told her to go and call for help…
Zhenyi stiffened and turned around in extreme fear, only to find that they were already at the other end of the field, far from the village.
At midday, the fields were deserted, and this despairing silence brought to Zhenyi’s mind a children’s rhyme: “At midday, ghosts show their heads.”
This rhyme told people not to go near water or cliffs at midday, and not to go out alone, lest they be haunted by evil spirits.
Zhenyi had previously found this saying contradictory. According to those who believed in ghosts and spirits, midday was when yang energy was at its peak; why would evil spirits dare to appear at this time? Talk of ghosts and spirits was always so difficult to reconcile.
Only now did Zhenyi understand the origin of this six-character proverb.
At such a time, if one encountered danger outside and cried for help, no one would answer; thus, “ghosts” dared to show their faces and commit evil.
Zhenyi had never imagined that Ji Wu could be a “ghost.”
When she first saw Ji Wu, Zhenyi was terrified by his appearance and the long, horrifying scars on either side of his mouth.
Later, Wang Xichen asked his father about Ji Wu’s experiences. Zhenyi, who was with Zhuo’s mother, overheard the conversation.
Ji Wu had injured several people, and it seemed one had even died, but everyone only felt sorry for him and thought him tragic.
Ji Wu lost his parents at a young age. He grew up in a remote and impoverished place. One day, a county magistrate sent someone to say that he wanted to build a bridge in front of their village.
There had always been only a single log used as a bridge there. The villagers were very happy. They heard that an official was passing through the area for inspection or returning home… in short, some important person needed to use the route. If they didn’t use this route, they would have to take a detour. How could they let the magistrate take a detour? The county magistrate and the wealthy gentry readily agreed to build the bridge.
Everyone was overjoyed. They had benefited from the influence of a powerful person; from now on, they would have a bridge to use.
It was the rainy season, the river was swift, and the construction schedule was tight. Many villagers were conscripted for labor, but two were swept away by the current; one was rescued, the other drowned. The drowning was a minor matter; some funeral money could be given to the family to appease them. This was for an important person building a bridge; who dared to obstruct it? The serious issue was that accidents had occurred before the bridge was even completed—a very bad omen.
That same day, two large snakes were unearthed, causing even greater panic among the villagers.
A spiritual expert was consulted, who declared that many water ghosts had drowned there and that it was essential to appease them.
Offerings and incense were quickly prepared.
A deep pit was dug on the riverbank, where the bridge pier would be built.
The offering was bound, resembling a straight bridge pillar, ready to be driven into the pit.
The offering struggled, but it couldn’t speak, only pleading with its tear-filled eyes.
No one cared about pitying him. Following the master’s instructions, they shoveled mud and sand, pouring it into his mouth, intending to mold him into a real bridge pillar and drive him into the pit.
As the mud and sand filled his mouth, nose, and throat, he struggled. The men held him down, forcing his lip open with the shovel, blood gushing forth, the exposed flesh filled with mud and sand.
The sacrifice stopped pleading. The usually docile and cowardly man somehow broke free of his ropes, snatched the shovel, fought back frantically, and then fled.
He was still captured and sentenced by the authorities to exile as a slave. No one cared why he had injured and killed someone. On the day he was led to exile, he saw in the distance that the bridge was already half-built—who had made him the sacrifice? He didn’t know.
The wound on his lip, once dripping with blood, slowly healed, twisted and grotesque from the wind and sun, like an earthworm in a wheat field.
In a flash, Zhenyi turned and ran, the wheat fields rippling with her movement.
A long stick was propped up in the wheat field, with a tattered cloth hanging from it, the cloth fluttering in the wind.
A pair of still-childish hands gripped the stick, pulling it out with all their might.
Zhenyi turned back, stick in hand, and ran quickly towards Mother Zhuo.
They were nearing the end of the field, beyond which lay the mountains. Her grandfather never allowed her to go into the mountains; once she was there, no one would be able to find her!
Returning to the village to call for help would take at least fifteen minutes, and Zhenyi feared Mother Zhuo wouldn’t be able to wait that long—if she were Mother Zhuo, being dragged along like this without seeing anyone would terrify her!
Mother Zhuo was already exhausted. Seeing Zhenyi chasing after her instead of leaving, she cried out, “Miss, help me!” and then shouted, “Miss, run! He’s gone mad!”
Zhenyi was terrified.
Her hand gripping the long stick trembled. Just as the stick reached Ji Wu, he grabbed it.
Zhenyi stumbled forward, falling into the field, still clinging tightly to the stick.
Ju Zi, its fur bristling, lunged at Ji Wu’s face. He shook her off, and Zhenyi seized the opportunity to scramble to her feet, striking Ji Wu with the stick while repeatedly screaming for help in a trembling voice.
Zhuo’s mother, crying and staggering, crawled towards Zhenyi, shouting, “…Help! Someone help me! Someone’s killing me!”
Ji Wu, scratched by the cat and seeing the situation turning against him, seemed to hear something. He snapped out of his daze, no longer daring to fight, and suddenly turned and ran, fleeing towards the mountains.
Zhuo’s mother held Zhenyi tightly, still crying and screaming for help.
“…Mother Zhuo! He’s gone!”
“Good, good!” Mother Zhuo hugged Zhenyi tightly, her voice trembling as she repeated her plea, “Go quickly, let him go quickly! Please, please don’t let him come back!”
“Who goes there! Stop!”
A young man’s voice, demanding an answer, faintly came from the mountain path at the end of the field.
Zhenyi saw a man and a horse. Ji Wu ran even more frantically, and just as he was about to step onto the narrow mountain path, the young man on horseback drew his bow and arrow.
Ji Wu was struck in the leg and fell to the ground.
Soon, four or five more people appeared.
Leading them was a woman dressed in Mongolian riding attire. She spotted Zhenyi and Mother Zhuo, dismounted, and hurried over to investigate.
Mother Zhuo, her clothes disheveled and hair in disarray, cried as she hugged Zhenyi. Zhenyi’s face was deathly pale, and she still clutched a long stick, facing forward defensively.
The tall woman reached out and grasped the long staff, her deep brown eyes filled with reassurance. Zhenyi’s eyelashes fluttered, tears streaming down her face, and she lowered the staff.
Zhuo’s mother was limp and unable to move due to incontinence. The woman took off her cloak and draped it over her, then easily lifted her up.
Zhenyi pointed the way and followed behind the woman.
The young man who had fired the arrow had already directed his servants to tie up Ji Wu. Ji Wu’s face was blackened, making his identity easily identifiable; even if he was only treated as a fugitive, the arrow had been fired.
The young man ordered someone to keep an eye on Ji Wu and quickly followed.
The young man didn’t speak, only glancing at Zhenyi, whose face was covered in cold sweat, and then at Ju Zi, whose clothes were covered in mud and wheat leaves.
He recognized Zhenyi, and he recognized the cat, even though it wasn’t wearing its flowered jacket today.
Emerging from the wheat field, Zhenyi saw a pair of cloth shoes lying at the edge of the field; they were made by Zhuo’s mother for Ji Wu.
Ji Wu cherished them and was reluctant to wear them to work in the fields.
Zhenyi returned home, and the news spread quickly. Soon, someone summoned Wang Zhefu back.
Not long after, Qisheng, who had gone out to buy supplies with the villagers, also returned.
When Grandma Dong and Tao’er returned home, Zhenyi rushed into her grandmother’s arms.
Grandma Dong stroked her granddaughter’s head: “Good, good…good child, don’t be afraid.”
Wang Zhefu followed the mother and son to handle the aftermath. The concerned, sighing, and scolding crowd gradually dispersed. As darkness fell, Qisheng closed the courtyard gate.
Tao’er lit a lamp and said, choking back tears, “Fortunately, Zhuo’s mother didn’t suffer any serious bone injuries.”
With no outsiders present, Mother Zhuo, on the couch,h finally burst into tears, crying out, “Old Madam…”
Grandma Dong sat beside the couch, comforting Mother Zhuo and listening to her recount what had happened.
It turned out that Mother Zhuo had prepared lunch earlier that day, but Ji Wu hadn’t returned for his meal. She went to the fields to call for him, but perhaps because of the distance, Ji Wu seemed not to hear her. Having seen each other daily for over a year, they knew each other well, so Mother Zhuo didn’t think much of it and went along the paddy field ridges to call for him.
As Mother Zhuo approached, Ji Wu looked up, laughing.
Mother Zhuo stopped going forward and waved to him, signaling him to go back for lunch.
But Ji Wu held up a bunch of wildflowers he had picked sometime earlier.
Mother Zhuo waved her hand, refusing to take them, but Ji Wu circled around her, forcing them into her hands and leaning against her. Mother Zhuo was displeased and turned to leave, but Ji Wu grabbed her arm.
This was unprecedented. Although Ji Wu couldn’t speak, his past behavior clearly showed he considered himself inferior and would never act this way.
Zhuo’s mother sensed something was wrong and turned around. She saw Ji Wu looking up at her with a smile, but that smile held an excitement different from usual, his eyes roaming over her.
Zhuo’s mother felt a chill run down her spine. She immediately hardened her expression, cursed, and shook off Ji Wu, trying to leave.
Ji Wu, overcome with lust, wouldn’t let her go.
At first, he only harassed her, but when Zhuo’s mother, disregarding her dignity, began to call for help, he suddenly slapped her.
Violence, like malice, can be learned without instruction.
Zhuo’s mother was forced down in the wheat field, struggling desperately until Zhenyi and Ju Zi arrived.
Many things are decided in a single thought. Ji Wu committed an evil act because of a single thought, and Zhenyi went to search for someone behind the house because of a single thought.
Grandma Dong looked at the sewing basket beside her and whispered, “These shoes shouldn’t have been made.”
That night, the old lady held her granddaughter as she lay down to sleep, gently stroking Zhenyi’s back again and again.
“Grandma… is his pitifulness fake?” Zhenyi asked softly.
“It’s not fake,” Grandma Dong told her granddaughter. “But pity and goodness are two different things.”
Zhenyi: “But he used to be so good…”
“That’s because of fear,” Grandma Dong said. “Some people are uneducated; only fear can restrain the evil in their hearts. Reasoning won’t work.”
“But this kind of evil is often the most clumsy.” Grandma Dong spoke to her granddaughter about evil for the first time: “There is another kind of evil that can hide beneath the bright facade of sagehood and morality, making it easy for you to not see that he is doing evil…”
Zhenyi was frightened. She grabbed her grandmother’s clothes and looked up at her, asking, “Grandma, how can I see through it and avoid it?”
Zhenyi didn’t hear her grandmother’s answer; her grandmother seemed to sigh.
Zhenyi’s gaze shifted to the window, where she saw the plump, fuzzy back of Orange perched on the windowsill, keeping watch. Only then did she feel relieved, and she began to speak of Orange’s contribution: “Grandma, thanks to Orange today…”
As night deepened, the cat guarded the window, preventing nightmares from approaching.
Frightened, Zhenyi stayed home for several days. Only after seeing that Mother Zhuo was feeling better did she return to the private school. Besides Tao’er, Qisheng was now also accompanying Zhenyi to school.
One day, on her way home from school, Zhenyi passed a field and saw that the wheat ears were already green.
At this time, the wheat ears were still very light, the grains were just beginning to fill out, and the ears were not yet full; hence the name of this solar term, “Xiaoman” (Minor Fullness).
Zhenyi arrived at the village entrance and saw villagers sharpening sickles—a sign that the wheat grains were not yet full, but the farmers were already sharpening their sickles.
The women sharpening their sickles told Zhenyi that they had distinguished guests at her home.
Curious, Zhenyi hurried over to her house. There, she saw several tall horses tethered, and a villager was bending over picking up horse manure.
Ju Zi followed Zhenyi inside and saw that the people who had come were the mother and son who had escorted Zhuo Mama back and taken Ji Wu away that day.
This mother and son hadn’t been passing by by chance; they had come to see Wang Zhefu that day, but due to the chaotic situation, they hadn’t discussed their purpose in detail. Now that Ji Wu’s matter was settled, they had come formally.
Zhuo Mama, still bearing bruises on her face, bowed and thanked the woman.
The young woman looked at Zhenyi, who had returned: “My son and I were merely passing by. The one who saved us that day was this precious jewel from the royal family.”
(Good morning, it’s Mid-Autumn Festival today. Wishing everyone a happy and fulfilling year.)
Thank you all for your monthly tickets, rewards, and comments. We’re now entering the eighth solar term of this book!