Chapter 47:
Peach Blossom Spring (Part 4):
Elsewhere, Chen Henian Would Have…
Chen Henian was still thinking about the snake’s gallbladder, its potential value.
A snake transforming into a dragon was a rare occurrence, these spirits usually cultivating in remote mountains, making their gallbladders highly sought after. It was said that consuming such a gallbladder granted immunity to all poisons and prolonged life. He wouldn’t consume it himself, but selling it would bring a fortune, enough to last him a lifetime.
But his master’s task took precedence, and the four-legged snake had escaped, its whereabouts unknown, the distance too great for his compass to track. The prize had slipped through his fingers, thanks to his cheapskate master. He cursed Zhou Xianzhi silently.
He was stuck in this village, his frustration growing. After lunch, Zhao Cuicui had them help her make rice cakes, kneading the sticky glutinous rice flour, pounding it with a wooden mallet. She explained that they wouldn’t be eating at home tonight, but at a communal feast in the village.
It was a special occasion, a ritual.
They were of the Chinan tribe, a secluded group of Miao people, their practices unknown to outsiders. They lived in these mountains, raising insects and practicing Gu techniques. She wouldn’t reveal the specifics, it was a “family matter,” not for outsiders to know.
After the rice cakes were fried, Zhao Cuicui, ever thoughtful, packed some for them, in case they didn’t like the communal meal.
The villagers gathered in a clearing, a large, circular area paved with stones, the ground slightly lower than the surrounding area. Tables and chairs were set up before sunset, Chen Henian and the others seated at the front, Zhou Manman and Wang Mazi beside them, the children mostly in the back.
“Granny will be here too,” Zhao Cuicui said. “Just relax and enjoy the show!”
“Cuicui,” Zhou Manman called out, and Zhao Cuicui turned to them. “Stay here.”
She and Zhou Manman walked towards a tall stone pillar in the center of the clearing, the other girls joining them.
The tables were arranged around the perimeter, leaving a large open space in the center. The girls gathered, and the men entered, carrying long, wooden instruments, almost as tall as themselves, decorated with red ribbons. They held the instruments to their chests and began to play.
The girls danced, their silver ornaments shimmering in the firelight, their skirts swirling, their voices rising in a traditional song.
“The mountain wind blows—
Across the Hani terraces, our song echoes—
The mountain wind blows—
Bringing spring.”
Their clear voices, rising and falling, brought a sense of peace, the wind rustling through the trees, their silver ornaments jingling, a chorus of ancestral spirits, calling to the heavens, bringing blessings.
The dance ended, and the villagers applauded, the girls returning to their seats, their faces flushed, smiling at the men beside them.
The men lit torches on the stone pillar, a fiery tree, a blue cloth with white embroidery hanging from it, the villagers chattering excitedly. As darkness fell, the flames grew stronger, and food was brought out.
Long wooden platters were placed on the tables, and the sight of their contents silenced Chen Henian, Jiang Wan, and Zuo He.
“Have you seen these before?” Zhou Manman smiled. “These are delicacies. You must have never tasted them before.”
“Try some, they’re very tasty,” Zhao Cuicui said, picking up an insect and popping it into her mouth, crunching it happily.
They weren’t exactly insects. Some were recognizable: cicada pupae, fried and glistening, others long and white, or short and black.
Chen Henian’s face darkened. He started to get up, but Zhao Cuicui stopped him. “You can’t leave now. It’s bad luck, it’ll offend everyone.”
He sat back down, sighing. No wonder she had said they wouldn’t like the food. It was all bugs, nothing edible, the sight making his stomach churn.
“Don’t you raise any livestock?” Zuo He asked politely.
“Of course we have meat! But these are special dishes, only for festivals,” Zhao Cuicui said, slightly offended. “Cicada pupae, bamboo worms, grasshoppers, peach blossom insects, they’re all delicious! I rarely get to eat them.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to try? You won’t find these delicacies anywhere else.”
Chen Henian shook his head, his eyes cold and firm, his decision unwavering. Zuo He and Jiang Wan each tried a cicada pupa, the Chinan villagers eating with gusto.
Chen Henian couldn’t just sit there like a statue. He turned to Zhao Cuicui. “Rice cakes.”
“I won’t let you go hungry,” she said, taking out a cloth-wrapped package from her bag. “Here.” She unwrapped the fried rice cakes, carefully preserved in a clean cloth.
Chen Henian averted his gaze from the plate of insects, taking a bite of the rice cake. It was different from the ones he had eaten in the morning, sweet, coated in a layer of caramelized sugar.
“How is it?” Zhao Cuicui asked. “Big Sister said you like sweet things, so I made them like this.”
“Not bad,” he replied, not looking at them, continuing to eat the rice cakes.
“He’s not even trying,” Zhou Manman said, rolling her eyes. “Afraid of bugs? Such a big man, but his courage is smaller than an insect’s.”
“Manman, stop it,” Zhao Cuicui said, afraid of causing offense. “You should get ready for your dance. Wang Mazi, what are you waiting for?”
Zhou Manman’s face flushed, and Wang Mazi took her hand.
“Manman, it’s our turn,” he said.
She nodded, and they walked onto the platform, the stone pillar lit by torches, the night dark, the flames bright. Wang Mazi clapped his hands, setting the rhythm, his feet tapping, and Zhou Manman danced, her movements graceful. When the dance ended, she stepped onto his shoulders, reaching for the cloth hanging from the pillar.
He held onto the pillar, his stance firm and steady, supporting her weight. They seemed practiced, their movements fluid. She reached for the cloth, Zhao Cuicui about to cheer, when Zhou Manman suddenly screamed, losing her balance, falling from his shoulders.
Wang Mazi caught her just in time, preventing a serious fall. She sat on the ground, her hands covering her face.
Zhao Cuicui, hearing her cries, rushed over. Zhou Manman clutched her foot, and as she lifted the hem of her skirt, they saw her veins bulging, the blood turning black.
“It’s alright, Manman, don’t be afraid,” Zhao Cuicui said, understanding what had happened.
She and Wang Mazi helped her back to her seat. The festive atmosphere vanished, replaced by tension and silence.
“My leg is numb, Cuicui, I lost,” Zhou Manman whispered, tears in her eyes.
“I’ll win it back for you, don’t worry,” Zhao Cuicui said.
“Why did this happen now? Can I still dance at my wedding tomorrow?” Zhou Manman sniffled.
“Of course, you’ll be fine by tonight,” Zhao Cuicui smiled. “You’ll be the most beautiful bride. The Great Shaman will bless you.”
A gust of wind blew, the flames on the pillar flickering, the sound of bells approaching, a strange, unsettling sound.
“The Great Shaman is here,” Zhao Cuicui said.
The villagers lowered their heads respectfully, only Chen Henian, Jiang Wan, and Zuo He daring to look. A tall figure approached, its face hidden by a mask, a crown of dry branches on its head, its body draped in a long, black robe, a bundle of peach branches in its hand.
Bells were tied to its ankles, jingling with each slow, deliberate step.
“I failed,” Zhou Manman said, her voice filled with regret. “I couldn’t retrieve the blessed cloth. Great Shaman, I’m sorry.”
The Great Shaman stopped before her, its hand gently lifting her face.
“It’s not your fault,” a deep, raspy voice came from behind the mask.
It walked to the stone pillar, raising its hands to the sky. “Choose another to receive the blessing, to absolve the sin!”
“I’ll do it!” Zhao Cuicui jumped up, wanting to complete Zhou Manman’s task. But the Great Shaman, its masked eyes fixed on her, shook its head.
It didn’t choose her. Its gaze shifted, and Chen Henian smiled coldly.
“You,” it said, the peach branches in its hand pointing at him.
Elsewhere, Chen Henian would have told him to get lost, but he was in their territory. He forced himself to be polite. “I don’t want to.”
But the Great Shaman, unmoved by his words, shook its bell, its voice booming. “This is destiny! You cannot refuse!”
“Does the Great Shaman speak for the heavens? Or have you visited the underworld yourself?” Chen Henian retorted.
The Great Shaman’s voice turned cold. “Insolent child, how dare you disrespect the heavens! You will be punished!”
Zhao Cuicui tugged at his sleeve, urging him to apologize, but he refused. This was a trap, and he wouldn’t walk into it willingly.
Jiang Wan chuckled softly, and Zuo He, placing his sword on the table, said calmly, “We are mere outsiders, how can we participate in such an important ritual? Great Shaman, have you considered this carefully?”
The Great Shaman seemed about to retaliate, but a loud thud, the sound of a staff striking the ground, interrupted it. “He’s right,” Granny Zhao’s voice was firm and unwavering.
“Granny,” the villagers said in unison, and Zhao Cuicui’s face lit up.
“Great Shaman, you should know better. For generations, outsiders have never participated in our rituals,” Granny Zhao said. “They are my guests, here to observe, they’ll be leaving in three days, they won’t cause any trouble.”
“Besides, isn’t there a more suitable candidate?”
“Cuicui,” she said. “Retrieve the cloth.”
Emboldened by her grandmother’s presence, Zhao Cuicui ran to the pillar, releasing a swarm of insects from her sleeve. They flew through the flames, reaching the top, and carried the cloth back to her.
She knelt before the Great Shaman, holding out the cloth. “Great Shaman, may the heavens bless our Chinan tribe.”
All eyes were on the Great Shaman. Its masked face was unreadable as it took the cloth, its voice echoing through the clearing. “May the heavens bless our Chinan tribe.”
It didn’t bother Chen Henian any further, but he could still feel its gaze on him, a heavy, oppressive presence.
The Chinan tribe, unlike Daoist practitioners, used witchcraft and Gu techniques. But Chen Henian sensed a strong scent of death clinging to the Great Shaman, like a living corpse, its connection to the world of the dead evident, its power more than just witchcraft. Like Granny Zhao, it must have recognized his Tai Yin constitution. The man was repulsive, like a swarm of insects.
But the villagers clearly respected him, his authority unquestioned.
The ritual ended, and Granny Zhao urged them to leave. Chen Henian, under the Great Shaman’s watchful gaze, walked away, the repulsive scent fading as he left the clearing.
On the way back, Zhao Cuicui said, “Pretty Brother, you were so brave, confronting the Great Shaman! I was so scared! It’s a good thing Granny arrived, or he would have punished you!”
“But Granny also said you have to leave soon,” she continued, her voice a mix of happiness and disappointment. “I’ll be so bored when you’re gone.”
“What about me, Cuicui?” Zhou Manman asked.
“You’re getting married to Wang Mazi in two days! You’ll have children soon, you won’t have time for me!” Zhao Cuicui retorted.
“It won’t be that soon, at least three months,” Zhou Manman said shyly, her face flushing.
Jiang Wan frowned. “You’re so young, why are you getting married? And having children?”
“I’m sixteen,” Zhou Manman replied. “I’ll be old soon if I don’t have children.”
“Only sixteen?”
They looked so young, but they were truly young, sixteen, not even adults!
“We’re different from outsiders,” Zhao Cuicui explained. “Here, we have children at sixteen. I’m older than Manman, almost seventeen.”
“Too bad Cuicui is so picky, she can’t find a man she likes,” Zhou Manman teased.
“Manman!”
“What? Can’t I even say that?”
They giggled and shoved each other playfully, then parted ways, returning to Zhao Cuicui’s house. She went to change her clothes, leaving Chen Henian, Jiang Wan, and Zuo He in the living room.
They were waiting for Granny Zhao.
She had said they would be leaving in three days, so she would surely reveal her request before then. They sipped their tea, their minds racing.
“Haven’t you noticed?” Chen Henian said. “There are no elderly people in this village, not even middle-aged people, except for Granny Zhao.”
“Yes,” Jiang Wan agreed. “Their seating arrangement during the ritual was based on seniority, the elders at the front. Zhao Cuicui, at seventeen, was seated at the front.”
“That means…”
Chen Henian finished her sentence.
“People here have short lifespans. They don’t live past middle age.”
