Chapter 13 – The mysterious pearl in the River Lures the Mountain bandits

Ask: why would a bird wedge its beak into a stone and be unable to pull it out?

Answer: because it’s greedy and tried to steal a River Clam that can use earth-escape.

The White Crane neither admitted nor denied it, acting as if the fool wasn’t talking about it.

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But its guilty eyes betrayed it.

As the saying goes: when you hit someone, don’t hit the face; when you curse, don’t expose their flaws.

Li Qiuchen didn’t want to keep haggling with the Stupid Bird over this.

He also couldn’t think of any particularly good way to extract the pearl from such a River Clam.

This little thing’s earth-escape art is uncanny; the instant it senses danger it swaps places with nearby mud or rock.

You’d have to catch it unaware and kick it sky-high so it can’t touch lake water or the ground.

But right now Li Qiuchen has no tools at all; even the cleverest housewife can’t cook without rice.

The clam’s habitat is here and won’t run off; he can come back to dig later anytime.

For now his main attention is on something else.

At dawn, the sky barely light, Li Qiuchen opened his eyes.

This time he didn’t continue along the river; instead he climbed the hill beside the lake.

From the hilltop the view was wide and stretched far.

He quickly spotted smoke rising in the distance.

They say the mountain you can see still kills horses; though the smoke looked only a few li away, detouring there could take who knows how long.

Li Qiuchen weighed it briefly and said to the White Crane: ‘Fly over and scout. If they look like decent folk, we’ll slip in; if not, we’ll go round.’

The White Crane stared at him as if he were an idiot.

What do decent people look like? Do villains write “villain” on their faces?

‘Check first, talk later.’

Li Qiuchen knew the Stupid Bird was unreliable, but he had no better option; he could only pin his hopes on it and judge further once it brought back news.

The White Crane spread its wings, flew over the ridge, and after half an hour returned, starting its performance the moment it landed.

‘Gagagagaga—’

‘Someone’s dead?’

Li Qiuchen’s heart tightened.

‘Ga-oh-ga—’

‘A death in the village, a funeral underway?’

‘Gaga!’

Ah, that’s all right then.

Li Qiuchen exhaled in relief.

You scared me—I thought the whole village was corpses.

If they still have the mood to hold a funeral, things can’t be too dangerous.

In truly dangerous places, no living person would bother burying the dead.

Still, Li Qiuchen didn’t fully trust the Stupid Bird’s report.

He decided to creep closer and observe.

After crossing two ridges, Li Qiuchen faintly heard music and drums ahead.

The village lay at the foot of the mountain by the river; from afar he could see dozens of thatched huts and a hundred mu of fields.

It looked like a proper settlement.

Even so, Li Qiuchen didn’t dare approach openly; he lay on the hill until sunset before cautiously closing in.

The White Crane followed like a sneaky thief.

The moment he entered the village, Li Qiuchen smelled food and couldn’t help swallowing.

From a yard came the wary growl of a mongrel dog—it had caught the scent of an outsider.

Li Qiuchen quickly waved the White Crane farther away.

His own body only carried the smell of grass and trees; even old-forest beasts wouldn’t be alarmed.

The Stupid Bird was different, reeking of mud.

The White Crane rolled its eyes, hopped away, and flapped up into the sky.

Following the aroma, Li Qiuchen slipped into the funeral household—surprisingly a landlord’s big compound. A shed stood in the yard with a coffin inside, and tables nearby were laden with food and wine.

This meal wasn’t for the living but an offering to the netherworld guards.

On the day of death such a table is set; another must be set on the seventh day.

Li Qiuchen knew the custom, but in Songlin Village it had been ages since anyone had attended another family’s feast.

Songlin Village rarely saw deaths, and common folk couldn’t afford such spreads.

All the dishes were cold, but he couldn’t care less; grabbing a steamed bun, he wolfed it down with pickles.

He wasn’t hungry—just greedy.

He could set the food aside for now; on the way back he’d pack a share for the Stupid Bird.

Li Qiuchen had slipped in at night mainly to steal anything useful—

Like rice, flour, salt, bowls, chopsticks.

If he could find clothes that fit, he’d take them; his own garments were already in tatters.

A tour of the back yard yielded a hatchet and a hoe, and Li Qiuchen was well pleased.

Farming in the mountains alone had been exhausting; without proper tools he’d lived like a savage.

With hatchet and hoe he could work far more efficiently, clear more herb plots, plant more medicinal plants, and aid his Cultivation.

He even considered hauling off the iron cauldron, but decided that would be too much and let it go.

A peasant household has little of value; the priciest item is usually that pot.

The old saying “smash the cauldron and sell the iron” means staking everything on a desperate fight.

Although this family looked like they could afford to lose a cooking pot, Li Qiuchen had no intention of pushing things to the limit.

He carried the burlap sack back to the front courtyard and was about to sit down and pack up the leftovers when he froze.

Another person was sitting at the banquet table, head down, scooping food into his mouth.

The old man was still wearing his burial clothes.

Is this normal?

Even Li Qiuchen, bold and careful as he was, nearly wet himself on the spot.

The old man, still eating, happened to turn his head. Seeing Li Qiuchen in rags and with disheveled hair, his hand shook and he flung away his chopsticks.

He’d gotten a fright too.

The two of them stared at each other under the awning for a long while.

“Sir, you’re…?”

Li Qiuchen ventured a question. Once he calmed down he took a closer look: the old man looked healthy—nothing like a corpse about to be buried.

Hearing him speak, the old man quietly exhaled and chuckled, “Little brother, you’re not from the village, are you?”

“I’m from the mountains.”

“Don’t be scared. I was just hungry and got up for a bite…”

Then you plan to lie back down, right?

Li Qiuchen sat beside him and asked, “You look hale and hearty—how did a funeral get arranged for you?”

The old man sighed. “An old man who won’t die is called a thief—so I have to die.”

“Your children don’t treat you right?”

“No, it’s not the family.”

His face full of worldly sorrow, the old man poured himself a cup of wine, knocked it back in one, and began his tale.

“Our village harvests pearls. Every year we pay a levy to the authorities and merchants come to buy. Life used to be decent…”

Pearls are divided into southern and northern varieties.

The so-called northern pearls are freshwater gems found in the rivers and lakes of the north, prized and costly.

The river outside the village is officially named Dog-Burst River; locals call it Dog-Dang River. It’s a tributary of Black Water River.

The river yields pearls—mediocre quality but steady quantity—enough to keep the villagers fed and clothed.

The old man is the village head. His ancestor, a famous pearl-diver, once found the finest “mysterious pearl” in the river and lifted the whole family into comfort.

The river pearls are wild; quantity is reliable, quality is not. A top-grade mysterious pearl is a once-in-a-lifetime find—none has appeared since.

Who could have guessed that even this would bring disaster.

About two or three years ago a band of bandits came from Pants-Fall Mountain seventy li away. Their Leader, Call Break Heaven, commanded a hundred-odd men, ruthless and savage. Hearing—heaven knows where—that the village possessed a mysterious pearl, he rode in under the banner of celebrating his father’s birthday and demanded a gift from the old headman.

No gold, no silver—only the finest mysterious pearl would do.

Produce it or he would wipe out the whole family.

Against such unreasonable bandits, excuses are useless.

Cornered, the old man changed his story: a mysterious pearl did exist in the river, but the old clam that bore it was so fearsome no village diver could retrieve it.

“There really is a mysterious pearl in the river?”

“There is—and it really can’t be brought up.”

He sighed. “The stone clams that birth those pearls aren’t ordinary. My elders told me they’re Dragon Seed, born with Divine Ability; touch them and they vanish—impossible to catch.”

Uh… after all this talk, it’s the thing I saw by the lake last night?

That counts as Dragon Seed? Is Dragon Seed roadside cabbage?

Still, Li Qiuchen understood: country folk, short on schooling, call any Cultivator an Immortal, any water creature Dragon Seed… a simple, homespun wisdom.

When you meet the unknown—man or ghost—give it the grandest title; you won’t go wrong.

“Since we definitely can’t retrieve it, and Call Break Heaven won’t let it go, I came up with this plan…”

Seeing no way out, the old man discussed with his kin: he would claim he was going to dive for the pearl himself and drown in the river.

Outlaws have their code.

Call Break Heaven hadn’t robbed openly; he asked for a birthday gift for his father. Whether the father existed or not, he still observed, on the surface, the rules of the greenwood.

This is called acting with a righteous cause.

To save his family the old man offered his own life.

This is called a debt wiped by death.

Everything was now arranged; it only remained to see if Call Break Heaven would accept it.

The old man was far from sure.

Meeting Li Qiuchen that night, he hesitated only a moment before spilling the whole story, still nursing a faint hope.

It hinged on Li Qiuchen’s words: “I’m from the mountains.”

What child lives alone in the mountains for no reason?

Claiming to be “from the mountains” can mean only one thing: he is a Spirit Monster of the hills.

Mountain Spirit Monsters possess strange powers; if willing to help, they might yet unravel this deadly deadlock.