Chapter 3 A Disaster of Snakes (Part 2)
It was almost dark when Wenjia got home. His mom was busy in the kitchen, creating fragrant smells. He handed the basket to her. "Mom, Xinyi gave this to us. She wanted you try it."
His mom didn't accept the gift, only sighing. "I'm not hungry."
"What's wrong?" He was worried at his mom's expression.
"We're poor, but we're well-educated. Are you really happy taking charity from others? You're engaged to Xinyi, but if you don't get a government job out of the exam, how will you be able to marry her? Even if she didn't mind, her father will."
"You're right," Wenjia agreed. "I'll study hard and try to do well in the exam."
"Aye." His mom took out dinner, half-scolding and half-cajoling him. "Your ancestors were all top-ranked intellectuals. If you can't get a basic title, you'll have no face to see anyone."
"Of course!" He smiled to appeasing her. "Your son will study hard, and make it to the top. I'll win you a title, too—the mother of the top scholar!"
"Stop kidding around." His mom sniffed, but her face showed her affection. She finished setting up dinner before calling, "Let's eat. It's getting colder, and the nights are longer, too. Don't study too late."
When the two of them finished dinner, Wenjia helped his mom clean up and get ready for bed, then he went to the secluded study in the backyard to keep studying. After the Luo family lost its money, they had to sell all of their land, but since the family once had ranking officials in the capital city, even though the house was dilapidated, it was still a nice size. The house included a pavilion and a garden, and the study had books of all kinds. If not for these resources, Wenjia wouldn't have been able to study.
Wenjia began his nightly work in the dim glow of an oil lamp. After finishing one essay in "The Analects of Confucius," he heard a thump in the backyard that sounded like someone had jumped off the wall. Surprised, he grabbed the lamp and hurried to check. Why would anyone want to rob such a shabby-looking house?
The grass by the wall was moving slightly, and when Wenjia used the lamp to see, he was shocked to see an old man dressed in black hiding there. The man was covered in blood and had his eyes shut, and with how shallow he breathed, he seemed to be unconscious. After getting over his shock, Wenjia called out, "Sir, sir?"
The old man mumbled a reply but didn't open his eyes. Wenjia was a kind soul; seeing how injured the old man was, he helped him up and walked him to the study, where he had the man lay on a lounge chair. He took a closer look at the old man, who didn't seem to be elderly at all, but had gray sideburns and lines etched into his thin face. Even with his eyes closed, the old man looked forbidding. He was very pale and breathed with difficulty. Wenjia hurriedly asked, "Sir, where are you hurt? I'll get a doctor for you."
Wenjia turned to go but the old man grabbed his wrist. His grip was strong, even while injured, and Wenjia couldn't get away. The old man pointed to his own chest. "I . . . I have medicine!"
Wenjia opened the man's lapels to find two bottles of medicine. Wenjia took them out and asked, "How do I use them?"
"The pills I take; the powder goes on the wounds." Just speaking these words made the old man puff with effort.
Wenjia gave the pills to the old man, then tried to tear open the bloody shirt he wore, but the wounds stuck to his shirt and made the old man yell in pain before passing out. Wenjia was at a loss, so he applied the medicine powder to the old man's chest wound, then tore off a piece of fabric to cover the wound. After doing this, he found there was another small package in the old man's clothes, tucked next to his body; it was already soaked through with blood.
Worried it'd stick to the wound, Wenjia took out the package. It wasn't a heavy parcel and was shaped like a book. Wenjia had always been a bookworm, so he couldn't help opening it to see. Inside was a sheepskin-covered book about half-an-inch thick. The book looked ancient, and on the cover were the words, "Qianmen: The Secret Book," written in an old style.
Wenjia was very well-read and had seen almost every type of book, but he'd never seen a book like this. Intrigued, he opened the first page and saw nothing but a short prologue, which was just one sentence, also written in an old style. He read, "Humans do not have the claws and teeth of tigers and wolves, nor the strength of lions and elephants, yet they can capture and train the animals because of their wisdom."
"What is this?" Wenjia asked himself. He tried to turn to page two, but the pages were stuck together. Before he could investigate further, his neck tightened; he was gripped by a hand as hard as an eagle claw. With a flash of silver, a knife was pressed to his eyes. A shout came from behind him. "How dare you read our secret book? You should get your eyes cut out."
"I didn't!" Wenjia tossed the book aside, only to realize it was the old man who had moved from the lounge chair to behind him and had pressed the knife to his eyes. He tried to explain. "Sir, please forgive me. I . . . I didn't know . . ."
"What did you see?" the old man demanded.
"I didn't see anything. Just that one line on the first page!" Wenjia replied.
"If you did, your eyes will be cut out!" The old man tightened his grip. Before he could do more, a tree branch cracked outside the window. The sound was faint to Wenjia, but shocked the old man. He flipped Wenjia around, then pressed the knife's handle into Wenjia's hand. He grabbed Wenjia's hand and stabbed himself in the chest wound with the knife.
Everything happened so sudden that by the time Wenjia realized he was gripping the bloody knife that had stabbed the old man, and who was about to fall over, he could only utter, "I . . . I . . . didn't mean to . . ."
The windows broke open as two people in black slid inside, each holding a sword. When they saw what had happened in the room, they held their swords at the ready and demanded, "Did you kill him?"
"It wasn't me!" Wenjia tossed the knife, pointing to the old man on the floor. "It was him!"
The people in black observed the dying old man on the floor and the flustered Wenjia. They exchanged a look and said coldly, "If you killed him, you must have it. Give it to us now or—"
"What are you talking about?" Wenjia was confused.
"Hah, you really are part of the Qianmen gang. Good acting. Well, sorry that we have to hurt you!" one person in black hollered as he charged toward Wenjia with a sword.
Wenjia tried to back up, but was blocked by a chair. He fell backward, and while not elegant, he avoided the sword headed for him. The person in black hesitated as he sheathed the sword. It was just a flourish. How is this man so weak?
"It's here!" When the other person in black noticed the sheepskin-covered book, his eyes lit up as he tried to grab it. But with a flash of silver light, his friend's sword stabbed him. He was ambushed and stabbed in his torso. As he gripped his wound and stumbled backward, he yelled, "You . . . !"
The person in black who attacked his friend laughed without warmth. "Qianmen: The Secret Book is something everyone wants to hoard. Don't blame me." He stabbed his friend again, killing him. Then he turned to Wenjia, who was struggling to get up, wary of him as he bent to pick up the book.
Just then, the old man, who was on the floor, jumped up, hitting the man in black in the neck. Only aware of Wenjia, and not realizing the old man was going to attack, the man in black was slashed in the throat. He yelped and fell to the floor.
The old man had pulled his wound with his move and blood oozed out of his chest, staining his clothes. He lay limp on the floor again, breathing heavily. After a pause, he curled his finger at the stunned Wenjia. "Come here!"
"No, no!" Wenjia backed up in fear.
"Its okay, I won't hurt you," the old man comforted him. "You helped me earlier."
"It wasn't me!" Wenjia tried to explain. "I don't know how I got the knife. I don't know how I stabbed you."
"It has nothing to do with you," the old man said with effort. "If I hadn't thought of something fast, we couldn't have defeated them."
"Is your wound okay?" Wenjia asked.
"It's just one more stab in the same wound; a little more blood. No big deal." The old man tucked the book inside his clothes, then curled his finger beckoningly at Wenjia. "I won't hurt you, since you saved me. If we ever meet again, I'll repay you for your help. Go bury them now."
Wenjia shook his hands. "No, no. People died, we have to tell the government inspectors."
"Inspectors?" The old man laughed. "I'm leaving soon. When they come, how are you going to explain everything?"
"The truth?"
"Who'd believe you?"
Wenjia was silent. Everything that had happened tonight was too bizarre. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. But he couldn't just bury the people in black as if nothing had happened. A moment later, he said, "An honorable man wants to be true to himself. I'll report tonight's events to the authorities. It doesn't matter whether they believe it."
"What a stupid move." The old man cussed. "Do you know what kind of trouble you'll be in when word gets out about tonight? And how much trouble I'll be in, too?"
Wenjia hesitated but still shook his head. "It's two lives. I can't just bury them without any conscience."
"Intellectuals are so useless!" The old man sighed. He struggled to take a little ceramic bottle from his sleeve, mumbling, "We'll have to use this priceless remedy then."
Then he poured the powder from the bottle into the wounds inside the bodies. With a hissing sound, the two bodies melted away, leaving only two sets of black clothes. Wenjia was so shocked he had to ask himself if he was dreaming.
The old man wrapped the black clothes around the swords, secured them on his back, and began to leave. He turned to say, "Now there's nothing left. Are you still going to tell the authorities?"
Wenjia watched the old man stumble his way out, and realized he didn't even know his name. He chased after him. "How do I call you?"
"What? You need my name for the report, too?" The old man looked stern.
Wenjia sighed. "Please don't be upset. No one will believe tonight without any evidence. It was lucky that I met you tonight. Maybe we'll meet again someday, so I wanted to know your name."
The old man laughed. "You're in a village with hopes of becoming a government official one day. I'm in the wild, fighting by myself. I doubt we'll ever meet again. But seeing how sincere you are, I can tell you my name. My last name is Yun. People call me Master Yun."
Master Yun? Wenjia thought the name to himself. Before he could ask more questions, the old man left. The skies, the night, the moon, and the stars were the same; other than chirping crickets, there was only coolness brought by a slight wind. There was no sign of the men in black or the old man. Wenjia rubbed his eyes, questioning what he'd just seen.
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