Chapter 52:
Peach Blossom Spring (Part 9):
“If You Treat Grandpa Like This Again, Then Grandpa…”
The Great Shaman, wanting to maintain some semblance of dignity, climbed onto a raised platform, smoothing his robes and retrieving his peach branches, his movements slow and deliberate under their watchful gaze.
“Impressive, little one,” he said, his voice laced with resentment, his eyes fixed on Chen Henian. He had the desire, but not the power, his words an empty threat.
He didn’t try to escape. There was no point. If he couldn’t have Zhao Cuicui or Chen Henian, he was doomed.
Chen Henian wasn’t in a hurry to kill him. He wanted to savor the man’s fear, to let it consume him before ending his life.
The Great Shaman laughed, a grotesque sound, his face contorted. He stripped the blossoms from the peach branches, the petals turning to white ash, swirling around him, filling the air.
“Annoying old fool,” Jiang Wan yelled, pointing at him. “Elder Sister, get him!”
The Great Shaman, his resources depleted, was no different from an ordinary human. The Black Wraith, with a single blow, sent him flying, pinning him against the stone wall.
“Hang him up and whip him,” Jiang Wan said.
The Great Shaman, struggling in vain, glared at them, his voice filled with rage. “Heartless creatures, may you suffer a terrible fate!”
“May you face endless trials, abandoned by gods and men!”
He then laughed, a strange, unsettling laughter, a rhythmic chant.
Jiang Wan covered her ears, the sound grating on their nerves. Chen Henian sensed something amiss, realizing it wasn’t laughter, but a spell.
Not a Gu technique, but a Daoist spell. What kind of spell? He was curious, wanting to see what this desperate dog could do.
They inhaled the peach blossom ash, a catalyst for the spell. As the Great Shaman chanted, Chen Henian’s vision blurred, his eyes spinning like a compass needle.
He felt a sharp pain in his head, his gaze fixed on a single point.
But the Great Shaman was gone, vanished without a trace.
Not just him, but Jiang Wan, Zuo He, Zhao Cuicui, all gone.
He called out their names, but there was no answer. He looked around, realizing that he was the one who had disappeared.
He hadn’t moved, but he was no longer in the dark cave. Tall grass tickled his feet, the sky above a dusky orange, a vast field of golden rice stalks stretching before him.
A peaceful evening, a cow grazing in the distance.
“This is an illusion,” the ghost beside him said.
Of course it was, not reality, but a dream.
Just an illusion. Chen Henian was slightly disappointed. The Great Shaman’s tricks were unoriginal. He was likely using a mind control technique, while Chen Henian’s physical body remained in the cave.
Illusions couldn’t trap ghosts. The ghost took Chen Henian’s hand, its voice soothing. “I’ll take you out of here.”
It wasn’t a trap, the warmth of its touch, the pulsing of the red string, reassuring. The great ghost could easily break this illusion.
He decided to trust it.
As he turned to leave, he heard a voice calling his name.
“Xiao Nian! Xiao Nian!”
“Chen Xiao Nian—!”
A familiar yet distant voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in years, a voice that stopped him in his tracks.
The ghost turned to him. “This isn’t good for you. I have to take you out of here.”
“No,” Chen Henian shook his head, pulling his hand away, his expression changing, his emotions shifting. The ghost waited silently, sensing the change.
“I have to do this myself,” Chen Henian said. “Only I can do this.”
Even though this was an illusion, it mattered to him. The ghost saw it, the tremor in his heart beneath his calm exterior.
“Alright,” the ghost nodded. “I’ll wait.”
The ghost vanished, but the voice continued to call his name, growing louder, closer.
Footsteps approached, but Chen Henian didn’t turn around.
The voice, less frantic now, spoke softly. “Xiao Nian, why aren’t you coming home? You ran away again, skipping dinner because you’re angry?”
A small haystack stood beside him, just large enough to hide a child. He looked at it, seeing a small, angry figure, pulling at the grass, tearing at the hay, covering himself in dirt, a childish act of rebellion against the person who would wash his clothes.
But he never ran far, never hid in different places, wanting to be found, wanting to be coaxed back home, always sitting here for an hour, sometimes falling asleep, then carried home in someone’s arms.
When had that happened? He couldn’t remember.
“It was Grandpa’s fault, Grandpa won’t force you to eat vegetables anymore, alright? I’ve steamed an egg for you, just waiting for you. Won’t you forgive Grandpa?”
His grandfather’s voice, or a close imitation. He couldn’t be sure. It was a fake, a cruel mockery, the source of his anger. He would kill it, plunge a knife into its heart, twist it, make it suffer.
A knife appeared in his hand, solid and real.
This illusion could give him what he wanted, making it even easier.
He gripped the knife, exhaling slowly, then turned, raising the blade, ready to strike the imposter.
“My dear boy,” the figure said, a gentle smile on its face.
Chen Henian’s hand froze, his gaze fixed on the figure.
He had forgotten what his grandfather looked like. A weathered old man, his skin rough from years of working in the fields. This figure, standing before him, so lifelike, so real.
His grandfather had been so short, a head shorter than him.
He had to look up to see his face.
A thin face, his eyes narrowed, wrinkles crinkling around the corners, his forehead lined, a small mustache above his lip, his mouth open in a smile, revealing yellowed teeth, his clothes clean and neat.
This wasn’t his grandfather. His grandfather’s clothes were never clean, his face more wrinkled, his skin darker.
But this was the grandfather he wanted to see, happy and healthy.
“Come home with Grandpa,” his grandfather’s voice was kind, coaxing.
He ignored the knife in Chen Henian’s hand, reaching for his other hand.
Chen Henian pulled away.
“I’m not going to hit you, what are you afraid of?” his grandfather asked.
Chen Henian’s face was cold, his eyes fixed on the figure, surprised by the warmth of its touch, the calloused skin, the weight of its hand, so real.
“If you don’t come home, the wolves will get you,” his grandfather said, trying to scare him.
“There are no wolves in the mountains, only weasels,” Chen Henian replied.
“You silly boy,” his grandfather chuckled. “If you meet a weasel, you won’t see Grandpa again. Without Grandpa, all alone, aren’t you afraid?”
Chen Henian paused. “Afraid.”
He lowered his gaze. “I used to be afraid.”
His grandfather smiled, his eyes crinkling into crescents. “Xiao Nian has grown up, not so easily scared anymore.”
His voice was filled with pride. “So tall now, Grandpa can’t even carry you anymore. Are you eating well? Is life treating you well?”
“Stop pretending,” Chen Henian’s voice was cold. “You’re just an illusion. I’ll destroy you, kill you.”
“What illusion! I’m your grandfather!” He reached out, patting Chen Henian’s shoulder, his hand straining to reach his head, but falling short.
“So disrespectful, a grandson shouldn’t speak to his grandfather like that. Didn’t I teach you better?” His voice wasn’t as stern as his words, his expression gentle. “Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten your grandfather?”
Chen Henian didn’t reply, and his grandfather sighed. “Then Grandpa is truly heartbroken.”
Chen Henian’s heart ached, his fingers tightening around the knife handle, but he didn’t strike.
“Alright, don’t be angry. Do you want to eat Grandpa’s cooking?” His grandfather smiled. “Let’s go home.”
He must be under the influence of that old fool’s spell, to be so easily swayed by an illusion, following this fake grandfather back to their home.
What home?
He followed the figure along a familiar path.
It was Dongpi Village, every step a memory, his lost memories resurfacing, the fields, the river, the changing seasons, a farmer harvesting rice, waving at them.
“Taking your grandson home, Old Man?” the farmer asked cheerfully.
“Yes,” his grandfather replied, smiling. “He’s all grown up now.”
“So tall! You won’t have to worry about him anymore! You’re blessed!”
“Not really,” his grandfather said. “He has to leave someday, he can’t stay here with this old man forever.”
“Where else would he go but stay here and take care of you?”
His grandfather’s easy banter with the farmer, so natural, so real, filled Chen Henian with a sense of unease.
“Shut up,” he yelled. “All of you, shut up!”
His voice was sharp, his outburst startling him. But the two figures ignored him, the farmer looking at him strangely. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s just angry with me,” his grandfather said, his voice apologetic. “He’s still upset. Don’t mind him, we’ll be going now.”
“Go on, go on, don’t make me jealous of your precious grandson,” the farmer chuckled, turning back to his work.
His grandfather, no longer talking to the farmer, reached for Chen Henian’s hand.
Chen Henian glared at him, his anger simmering.
His grandfather tried to pull him along, but he resisted, taking a step only when his grandfather pulled, until, exasperated, his grandfather said, “Now that you’re grown up, you don’t listen to Grandpa anymore? This old man can’t control you?”
“Can’t a grandfather discipline his grandson?”
“You’re not my grandfather,” Chen Henian said, looking down.
“Still so stubborn. If I’m not your grandfather, then who is?” His grandfather smiled. “If you treat Grandpa like this again, then Grandpa will have to spank you.”
