Of Mountains and Rivers 21
All Good Things Must Come to an End.
If they were in North China, where all four seasons were distinct, they typically would’ve already entered the winter days during mid-late August. Living in the Liyi Clan, Chu Huan slightly couldn’t remember the days anymore; he only had a rough estimate and vaguely believed the (1) solar calendar was coming up soon. He didn’t know which calendar the Liyi Clan used; either way, in terms of temperature, it still felt like early Autumn here, almost no different from when Chu Huan first arrived – those afraid of the cold would wear an additional thin wind jacket whilst a few silly boys, their skin thick and vitality strong, wouldn’t wear anything at all. There wasn’t much to say about this.
The leaves in the forest were still green and the grasses were still verdant and lush; even the snake hadn’t begun hibernating yet, although, during the mornings and evenings when the dews were heavy, it would appear slightly afraid of the cold.
Back then, when Nanshan mentioned ‘winter’, Chu Huan found it a bit unfathomable. “Sealing the mountain? This place is near the south, so are the winters really that cold?”
Nanshan replied, “You’ll see when winter comes.”
But when would winter arrive?
If it was possible he wished winter would never come, but he restrained himself from thinking like this too much; delusion was a drug that would aggravate the pain.
Right on the fourteenth morning after that day, Chu Huan got up before dawn to proceed with his routine exercise as usual, but when he pushed open the door he was stunned.
Overnight, the fog that’d originally floated above the water had experienced a great, universe-shifting change – it was now shrouding the entire land. With another look, one could see the marvel of mountains shrouded in mist and clouds. The high, suspended ceilings of the clans-people exposed small points among the white fog as if they were mounting the clouds and riding the mist.
The entire valley and plains were touched by an immortal’s breath, barely discernible. Standing in it was like having one foot already stepped past the (2) Nantian Gates.
…This is quite good. He hadn’t even died yet before ascending to Heaven in advance.
Chu Huan took off his frosty glasses, wiping the lenses with his cuff sleeve, before walking into the fog. The temperature actually hadn’t dropped, yet the forest trees had begun revealing traces of winter. They must’ve collectively experienced an enormous worry – within one night, they uniformly became bald. On the ground were thick piles of frosty leaves whereas, left in the air, were dead branches slaughtered empty, raised in disorder and maintaining a heavy sense of death.
Chu Huan lingered before the familiar forest for a while, finally understanding – so this was the Liyi Clan’s winter.
He didn’t continue walking; he went around it before directly returning to his residence.
He didn’t know whether it was an illusion, but Chu Huan felt as if the fog was thicker compared to when he just stepped out; once again, he understood the meaning behind ‘sealing the mountain’.
When Chu Huan walked into his house, he efficiently packed his luggage – truthfully, he didn’t have much luggage; other than the bayonet and the knife Nanshan gave him, practically everything else could just be left there.
He sat on the already-cold edge of the bed and fell into a daze for a moment, silently keeping company with the loneliness before dawn. He stayed there for a while before taking out half a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He fidgeted with it and observed it; in the end, he stuffed it back.
First, Chu Huan’s addiction to cigarettes wasn’t very severe; secondly, he didn’t want to use nicotine and carbon monoxide to pollute the Liyi Clan’s green hills and clear waters.
…And at the county seat, Nanshan seemed to have made it clear he didn’t like smoking.
At this moment, a rustling sounded; Chu Huan raised his head and saw the small venomous snake slithering towards him on the bed.
It appeared to be afraid of the cold; it quickly crawled up Chu Huan’s arms, past his shoulders, and made its way directly to Chu Huan’s chest. It was halfway through before it hit the triangular bayonet Chu Huan folded and hung beneath his wind jacket. It suddenly hesitated. The small snake spat out its tongue and probed the bayonet’s surface. Then, it quickly avoided it, making a detour around the military bayonet and coiling into Chu Huan’s sleeve; it popped out its small triangular-shaped head and craned its body to look at him.
Chu Huan: “I’m going soon.”
The snake’s head stretched out further – it seemed a little surprised.
But… How could a snake be surprised?
Chu Huan: “Come out, otherwise, I’ll take you along with me.”
The small venomous snake hesitatingly stretched out half of its body, its icy scales rubbing against the back of Chu Huan’s hand, but its body still coiled tightly around his arm.
Chu Huan: “What? You want to leave with me?”
The small venomous snake hissed out its tongue.
“You can’t,” Chu Huan reached out his hand to grab it, “I’d have to buy you little white mice; how troublesome…”
This time, the cunning snake bit into his sleeve and maneuvered its body into the shape of a paper clip, its tail still under Chu Huan’s sleeve; no matter what he did, it wouldn’t come out.
Chu Huan battled against it for a while, the veins on his hands almost strangled out by this small, evil creature. He found out this was a snake-brand dog-skin plaster; the moment it sticks on, it can’t ever be taken off. In the end, his heart softened and he thought, let’s follow its wishes. Either way, raising this small thing isn’t expensive. The only work needed is to make sure it doesn’t run away.
So just like this, wearing this unusual bracelet and carrying a simple suitcase, he went out.
As soon as he opened the door, Chu Huan was first startled – Nanshan was already there waiting for him for who knew how long.
Nanshan was pulling a tethered snow-white horse. There were two bamboo tubes hung around the horse’s neck; even from afar one could smell the aroma of alcohol.
Two people; one standing outside, one standing inside. At first, no one said anything. At times like these, anything said was unnecessary.
“You…” Nanshan’s gaze fell on the travelling bag behind him. His jaw tightened. His throat twitched a little for a good while before he whispered, “Let’s go. I’ll send you off.”
His long hair was neatly tied up, making him appear younger; he was wearing that funny vest again and the harmonica was stupidly hung by his waist – he just tied an extra belt.
As soon as it saw Nanshan, the small venomous snake that was originally coiled around Chu Huan’s wrist, brazenly refusing to leave, instantly softened. No matter what anyone said, it didn’t want to continue as a householder who refuses to vacate their home despite pressure from property developers; it obediently slipped out and slithered away.
Chu Huan uneasily pulled back his hand, instantly feeling like his sleeves were empty – even the wind was pouring in.
He didn’t talk nonsense and climbed on horseback. The white horse seemed to know its way; even without Nanshan leading it along, it would automatically follow him.
As they walked, Nanshan untied the harmonica and lifted it to his lips. He blew into it.
When Chu Huan was younger, he actually had a harmonica too – Chu Aiguo had given it to him. Unfortunately, although it laid in his drawer for many years, he still never figured out what tone came out from which hole; Nanshan, on the other hand, could already blow as if it was his leaf flute, proficiently playing all kinds of tunes.
Maybe things like music really did depend on one’s natural gifts.
Chu Huan had always been heedless; only when listening to Nanshan playing his tunes would his attention become completely captured.
Nanshan’s music surged with happiness, anger, grief, and joy, never concealing a speckle of secrecy. It was so strong it tasted like a mouthful spirit; with one gulp, one’s internal organs would agitate, making them feel that whether it be suffering or happiness, they were truly alive.
They weren’t walking corpses, nor did they muddle through a meager existence.
There were no words for the entire journey; they quickly walked past the residential buildings and fruit trees, then Nanshan led the horse across the mysterious river isolated from the rest of the world.
Chu Huan couldn’t help but look back at the way they came from. There was but a striking white of boundless nothingness.
The noisy chit-chat from the little brats became a page of auditory hallucinations that flashed past his ears; Chu Huan lowered his head and met Nanshan’s dark eyes.
His elegance was incomparable to anything Chu Huan had ever seen in his life. The heedless person took another glance, engraving the beauty in his heart.
Chu Huan’s gaze arrived at his lips and involuntarily lingered there. A moment later, Chu Huan found out and uneasily shifted his line of sight, thinking if he continued to let his imagination run wild it’d be hard not to make mistakes.
He could only stiffly divert his attention elsewhere, pestering himself to turn his yearnings into meaningless laments: in a blink of an eye, he’d already stayed here for three or four months. Time truly flowed like water.
“Hey,” Chu Huan reached out and tapped Nanshan’s shoulder, “Is that alcohol hung around the horse’s neck?”
Nanshan took off one of the bamboo tubes, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip first before turning around and handing it to Chu Huan.
Two people stood by the water’s edge – ‘you drink, I drink’ – in the end, leaving not a single drop of alcohol left in the bamboo tube. “Say, could this be considered driving while intoxicated? Over there, if we’re caught driving intoxicated, we’ll have to be stuffed in a small, dark room for half a year.”
Listening to his casual joke, Nanshan didn’t give him any face. He didn’t smile, nor answer; instead, he bluntly said, “I’m very sad you’re leaving.”
Chu Huan: “…”
His smile faded. In the end, he let out a sigh and stretched out an arm; he embraced Nanshan’s neck, taking him into his arms.
Like an illusion, the scent of osmanthus passed the tip of his nose in an instant; suddenly, Chu Huan secretly held himself in a more gentleman-like manner. Since he had distracting thoughts in his heart, he felt there should be taboos, so he restrained himself and patted Nanshan’s back before letting go of him to climb back onto the horse.
“I’ll let it go near the bus station. It’ll recognize its way back, right?” The white horse paced a little. Chu Huan casually moved the horse’s head sideways, letting it circle around Nanshan for a few rounds, then took off the other tube of alcohol around its neck. “This is mine then. Goodbye.”
After he finished speaking, he gently clamped the horse’s belly and urged it to go forward.
He left unhurriedly, calm and composed, but he never looked back.
Nanshan couldn’t help but shout, “Chu Huan…”
With his back facing him, Chu Huan waved his hand.
All good things must come to an end.
Nanshan stood at the same place, watching as the white horse finally left him in the dust. Chu Huan left exactly the same way he came – clean and tidy.
“Our ancestors’ words may not all be true.”
When Nanshan heard a familiar voice from behind him, he didn’t look back; he just retracted his gaze and looked down at his feet. “Elder.”
The Elder walked out from the thick fog, his emaciated face expressionless, like an old demon mounting the stage in full regalia.
“The Sacred Texts states ‘there is a person from that side of the river who can communicate to the past and future, and connect the present and future’. Perhaps it’s true. But didn’t that teacher you found tell you? There are more than sixty-hundred-thousand-thousand people in the world.”
In the Liyi Clan, the unit ‘a hundred million’ had already far exceeded their level of cognition; when the Elder spoke, he couldn’t help but pause as if reflecting on the shock this unimaginable number gave him. “Their men, women, elderly, and young have all kinds of appearances. Walking to the ‘border’ is just that little bit of a distance. You coincidentally encountered a person and happened to bring the person back – how could it be him?”
Nanshan lowered his head without a word.
“I understand your meaning,” the Elder continued, “you want to find a way out for the children. So I won’t stop you. But can you rely on an outsider to lead everyone outside? How narrow this way out is, like a strand of hair caught on fire in the night – you won’t be able to catch it.”
Nanshan didn’t say a word, nor did he explain; his eyes weren’t actually as sharp as many of the youths. Over there laid great mountain-like invulnerability and impregnation.
He just turned around and stepped back into the river, wading back through the water.
•·················•·················•
After Chu Huan disappeared from Nanshan’s line of sight, he wasn’t actually in a hurry.
After crossing a mountain ridge, he felt like the half-tube of alcohol had gotten to his head, so he reined back the horse, found a big tree, and sat down beneath it for a break.
Then he decided to take a nap against the tree.
This nap wasn’t very well slept; Chu Huan was awoken by the rustling of crawling reptiles. Winter here wasn’t as cold compared to the north – sometimes it could even reach up to twenty degrees – so it was inevitable for there to be reptiles in the desolate wilderness. Chu Huan didn’t have any insect or snake repellants with him, so he could only stay on alert.
Who would’ve thought that when he opened his eyes, he would see a small and very familiar venomous snake spitting out its tongue as it swayed before him?
Chu Huan: “…”
It could recognize people, understand people’s words, and even travel from distant lands, through foggy waters, to get here…
Chu Huan hesitatingly lifted the small, venomous snake to his face and shook it. “Say, you’re actually a snake spirit, right?”
Immediately after, Chu Huan heard the hasty pounding of footsteps; he turned his head, flabbergasted, and saw a big pig running towards him.
A… Pig?
When the pig arrived close to him, it abruptly slammed the brakes and used an utterly fearless spirit to stand there, his chest puffed and head raised, like he’d delivered ham from a thousand miles away.
Then, a small, bald head raised up from the pig’s backside; baring a row of baby teeth, it directed a splendid smile towards Chu Huan.
Chu Huan: “…”
(1) Solar Calendar – in China, people use two calendars – the traditional Chinese lunisolar calendar (‘yin li’, ‘阴历’) and the solar calendar (‘yang li’, ‘阳历’), more commonly known as the Gregorian calendar. All Chinese festivals set their dates according to the lunisolar calendar, and many Chinese people celebrate their birthdays on the lunisolar date they were born.
(2) Nantian Gates – said to be the entrance from the human world to the fairyland.
