Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Eight: Uncle Qiu

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“Fire at the ancestral hall—!”

The cry in the deep night startled those sleeping. The silent little mountain village stirred to life.

Figures rushed out of their homes, some carrying buckets, others with brooms, all hurrying toward the Yu family's ancestral hall in a panic.

The ancestral hall was on fire?

The ancestral hall was a sacred place, where the tablets of ancestors were enshrined. A fire there would be catastrophic.

While everyone was busy fighting the blaze, Yu Ergou let out a long sigh of relief. He had run around the village, shouting. Seeing the uncles and brothers rushing toward the hall, he finally followed.

Before reaching the entrance, he slowed his steps.

Yu Ye’s disappearance, the killing of Dirt Dog, and then the encounter with two strange figures had truly frightened him. He wanted to return to the hall and warn Yu Baoshan, but feared he might face danger alone. In the dead of night, it was impossible to gather help. Quick-witted, he raised a false alarm about the ancestral hall fire. The trick worked—he even startled the village’s Third Grandpa. But if he had seen wrong or guessed falsely, it would be deceiving the whole village, and his father would not spare him.

The more Yu Ergou thought, the more anxious he became. He turned aside, avoiding the hall’s entrance. There was a gap in the courtyard wall at the back. Slipping to the wall, he placed a stone as a foothold, climbed up, and peeked over.

Under the faint moonlight, the rear courtyard was crowded with villagers—twenty or thirty uncles and brothers, headed by Yu Youcai and his own father, Yu Shitou, each holding a bucket or carrying a pole. All of them stood wide-eyed in shock.

At the center of the courtyard stood two men. One, chin raised, looked familiar; the other was a bearded stranger, holding a sharp sword. Beneath his blade knelt another figure.

Yu Baoshan?

Indeed, it was Yu Baoshan, beaten, blood streaming down his face, one arm limp and clearly badly injured. Yet the surprise did not end there—it was the familiar-faced man.

“I don’t know, beat me all you want, I don’t know—”

“Bang—”

Yu Baoshan’s cursing was cut short as the sword-wielding man kicked him over.

“Don’t hit him—”

“Let Baoshan go—”

“Stop—”

The crowd snapped out of their shock.

Yu Youcai raised his pole angrily: “Chen Qi, you are a cultivator—why trespass Yu Village at night, committing violence in our ancestral hall?”

The arrogant man was indeed Bai Zhi’s senior, Chen Qi. Just days ago, there had been trouble in Spirit Jiao Valley; the village hunters remembered him well.

Chen Qi stood with hands behind his back, silent. His companion pressed a foot on Yu Baoshan’s back, raised his sword, threatening fiercely: “Tell me where Yu Ye is hiding, or I’ll kill you!”

“Kill me if you dare, ow—”

Awoken from sleep and beaten, Yu Baoshan cursed furiously. But subdued and in pain, he could only cry out: “Yu Ye went out to relieve himself, who knows where he is…”

The crowd suddenly understood and all looked to the side room.

Chen Qi had come for Yu Ye. Or rather, the conflict in Spirit Jiao Valley was not over. Yu Ye, meant to be recovering in the side room, was missing—so they seized Yu Baoshan.

“Heh—”

Chen Qi sneered coldly: “Yu Ye was wounded by me, as good as dead. How could a dead man go out at night?” He looked at the villagers. “I’ve searched the village, found no trace of the boy. If you dare deceive me, don’t blame me for showing no mercy!”

At that moment, the crowd parted, torches lit, and several young men escorted an elderly man forward.

“Third Grandpa!”

“Third Uncle!”

“Father…”

The old man was the village elder, called Third Grandpa by the juniors. Though his beard was white and his face aged, his back was straight and his step firm. He nodded gently to Yu Youcai and the others, apparently realizing the situation, and bowed to Chen Qi: “We mountain folk lack manners; may you two masters forgive us. Could you release my grandson, and allow me to make amends?”

Chen Qi did not answer, but his companion interjected: “Old man, hand over Yu Ye, or else—”

“Or else what?”

Third Grandpa grew anxious: “Such arrogance—do you not fear ridicule from your peers? Besides, Yu Ye’s whereabouts are unknown…”

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The old man loved his grandson dearly, desperate to save him. But before he finished, a flash of blood appeared, and something rolled to his feet—a head, Yu Baoshan’s head. The struggling Yu Baoshan was now a headless corpse, blood spraying everywhere.

Third Grandpa trembled, his beard quivering, crying out: “Baoshan…”

The villagers of Yu Village were stunned.

A single word, and they killed someone? And inside the ancestral hall, publicly killing Yu Baoshan.

Chen Qi seemed surprised himself, frowning: “Gu…”

The man called Gu shrugged: “A coarse hillman, his death is nothing. If we don’t find Yu Ye today, I’ll slaughter the whole village!”

Yu Youcai, witnessing Baoshan’s fate and his father’s grief, was beside himself with rage, raising his pole and charging forward.

“Give me back my son—”

Yu Shitou and others, furious, grabbed buckets, raised torches, and swung fists.

The hunters of Yu Village, humble and kind by nature, would not be bullied. Once roused, they fought with desperation.

Chen Qi stepped back, hesitating.

Gu said: “These people know you. If word gets out, who knows what might happen!”

Chen Qi nodded silently, a fierce glint in his eyes.

His companion grinned savagely and swung his sword into the crowd. In the small rear courtyard, screams and blood soon filled the air…

…

Inside the mountain cave.

Yu Ye lay curled on the ground, eyes half-closed, his face haggard.

Perhaps there had been another heavy snow, blocking the cave entrance, and only the changing daylight outside marked the passage of time.

How many days had passed?

After Uncle Qiu left, weary and dejected, Yu Ye had fallen asleep. But soon he was awakened by sharp stomach pains. He took out a small bottle, poured out a pill and swallowed it; the pain eased somewhat and he slept again, though restlessly, plagued by memories of Spirit Jiao Valley and Uncle Qiu’s obscure words. Hours later, the pain struck again, as if gnawing his bones, forcing him to writhe and moan. He took another pill, barely enduring.

Yu Ye opened his eyes and held out his hand.

The small bottle was now empty. Whenever pain struck, he took a pill. Now the pills were gone—would he have to wait for death?

Uncle Qiu had said: there was no cure for Jiao venom. This bottle of restorative pills only eased the pain.

Yet after each pill, sweat poured from his body, and the intervals between pain grew longer. At first, every few hours he suffered. Now, over ten hours had passed, and the venom had not acted.

If he could find more pills, could he extend his life?

At least, for now, he lived.

After days hiding in the mountains, he wondered what had happened in the village. He owed his survival to Third Uncle, Fifth Uncle, and the others. Even the much-maligned Yu Baoshan had stood up for him. When he returned, he should thank them all.

Yu Ye tucked the empty bottle into his clothing.

His broken shoulder and wrist had healed. Though his limbs felt weak and his mind somewhat adrift.

He rose and went to the cave entrance, scraping at the blocked snow. After half an hour of effort, he staggered out.

Outside, the light was dazzling, the snow blindingly white.

Yu Ye shielded his eyes, squinting.

It must be afternoon, clear skies. All around, vast and grand, the valley in full splendor.

A gust of wind blew, snowflakes swirling into his face.

Yu Ye wrapped his robe tighter, though oddly, he felt no cold. He was simply starving from days without food.

Sweat had made his body sticky and filthy, as if coated in grime.

The mountain path was buried under deep snow.

Yu Ye moved gingerly, slipping with each step. Reaching a cliff blocked by pines and cypresses, he glimpsed the path he’d taken before. As he skirted the trees, he looked down and picked up an object.

A bamboo pole, over five feet long, useful as a walking stick in the snow.

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If he was not mistaken, this was Uncle Qiu’s bamboo staff!

Aside from the cliff and snow, no one was in sight.

Uncle Qiu had left, and not returned. He’d abandoned the staff here—where had he gone?

Yu Ye was baffled, seeing no sign of the old man, and so he set off down the mountain, leaning on the staff. He stumbled several times, but finally made it down. Crossing the frozen stream, through the woods, and up a slope, he saw a row of low huts and a few crooked old trees in the distance.

Yu Ye trudged through the snow, struggling forward.

Now, his face was filthy, lips cracked, his manner frail, yet his eyes burned, as if flames guided his steps.

But when he halted, his eyes dimmed.

The huts were right before him, half-collapsed, the door shattered, snow burying all—ruined and desolate.

This was his home.

Though the hut was humble, it was his only shelter. He remembered leaving it intact; now, after just a few days, his home was unrecognizable.

What had happened?

There were messy footprints in the snow around the hut.

Yu Ye, full of confusion and doubt, slowly entered. The house had always been poor, and now nothing was left. He found a piece of rice cake in a broken jar, then returned under the old tree, waded through knee-deep snow, and reached a mound some twenty or thirty yards away.

It was a snow-covered grave.

His mother's grave.

His mother’s name was Ying E. She died shortly after giving birth to him. Fifteen years later, his father perished in Spirit Jiao Valley.

Now, even his home was gone.

Yu Ye’s eyes reddened, tears streaming. He wanted to sob aloud, to lament the injustice of fate, but instead he wiped his tears and silently bit into the rice cake.

To live—however short the time—one must live well.

If I die, I’ll be buried here with Mother.

Just then, someone cried out—

“Yu Ye, pay with your life—”

“You’ve brought disaster to the whole village—”

“Yu Ye, you deserve to die—”

A few village women were wailing and cursing in front of the collapsed hut. A young man ran from afar to stop them, just as furious, but waved repeatedly toward Yu Ye.

It was Yu Ergou, urging him to leave.

Yu Ye did not know why he was being scolded, nor why he had to leave. He stood before his mother’s grave, dazed, watching it all.

Yu Ergou ran over, shouting: “Go!”

“Why chase me away?”

“You’ve been gone ten days—why come back now?”

“What happened?”

“Hmph, you dare ask? Come with me—”

Yu Ye was grabbed by Yu Ergou and dragged toward the western side of the village. He dared not resist, not knowing what had happened, but panic overwhelmed him.

Soon, the brothers arrived at the slope west of the village.

Yu Ergou pushed Yu Ye aside, pointed, and cried out in grief and anger: “See for yourself—”