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墨書 Inktalez
After a final round of bargaining, Fo Gua agreed not to enter my body but to stay in my pocket instead. The condition was food—delicious food.
I figured this fellow must have been suppressed underground for countless years, never having tasted anything cooked. That’s how my cunning plan succeeded.
Now, the next question arose: how was I going to get back? The money I had was barely enough for a few meals, and taking a bus was out of the question. After pondering for a while, I decided to take it one step at a time.
The boat will find its way when it reaches the bridge! Old sayings always hold some truth.
I found a large ginseng tree, about as thick as two people embracing it, and climbed up using the wall-climbing technique of a gecko!
Once at the top, I carefully oriented myself. Although it was just a rough estimate, as long as I ensured I wasn’t heading toward Miao Yayun’s Village, I would be fine.
I chose the opposite direction and set off on my long journey home. There were mountain springs to quench my thirst and wild game to satisfy my hunger. Life wasn’t too hard after all.
But what about after leaving the mountains? Was I really going to walk all the way back to Hua Yuan without a single coin?
After wandering in the forest for about ten minutes, I finally spotted a village called Shan Xia. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy inside me, and my steps quickened. The morning sun warmed my back, bringing with it a sense of hope.
Where there are people, there is money to be made. As I approached the village entrance, I tidied myself up a bit. At the very least, I couldn’t afford to lose points on my appearance.
Strangely enough, this village was quite different from others I had seen. Every household had its own standalone villa, and a winding concrete road led out of the village.
In the center of the village was a square with scattered fitness equipment. A few children around six or seven years old were playing happily.
I walked over, squatted down, and put on what I thought was a friendly smile. In a gentle voice, I asked, “Hey there, friends! What are you playing?”
The kids paused their games and looked at me. One round-faced boy approached and said, “Uncle, are you here for hiking?”
Uncle? Do I really look that old?
"What else is called Hiking?"
I nodded, pinching the chubby cheeks of the boy, and corrected him, "Brother came from far away, passing through here, wanting to visit Hua Yuan."
The boy opened my hand, his face full of displeasure, and his voice seemed to deepen as he sarcastically replied, "Hua Yuan? Isn't that just a place for scamming food and drinks?"
Despite his young age, this child could hit quite hard; he must be quite tough.
But this village kid was surprisingly smart, understanding even the concept of Hua Yuan. Feeling a bit embarrassed for being seen through by a child, I chuckled and said, "How can it be called scamming? Monks don't scam; they call it Hua Yuan. The transformation is about the connection between the benefactor and Buddha."
With that, I pressed my palms together and muttered a prayer. If I could see myself at that moment, I would probably admire my own potential to be a con artist.
The child paused for a moment, sucking on his finger as if pondering deeply. After a long while, he reluctantly said, "Oh, then come with me."
The boy greeted a few other children, saying, "I’ll take Uncle home first. Let’s play together tomorrow."
Then he waved his hand with an air of authority and said, "Follow me."
For a brief moment, I had the illusion that there was an old schemer residing in this child's body.
I followed behind him reluctantly until we reached a two-story house. In front of the house were several plots of vegetable gardens growing garlic and cabbage.
The boy shouted into the house, "Grandma, come out quickly! I saved someone!"
His voice sounded strange, as if it were forced out from his throat; it didn’t have the soft and gentle tone typical of a six or seven-year-old.
As soon as he finished speaking, an elderly couple with gray hair emerged from inside. They were dressed simply; after all, it was hard to tell the age of rural people at first glance. They looked to be in their sixties or perhaps seventies? Aside from the deep lines on their faces resembling ravines and their dark skin showing signs of aging, their eyes were surprisingly bright and their backs straight.
“Such a silly boy…” The old lady pinched the boy's cheek, her tone scolding yet filled with affection.
Then she turned to me and said, “Children can be so thoughtless; please don’t take it to heart. Come, come, let’s go inside. You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Grandma will make you some noodles.”
With that, she warmly pulled me into the house. Once inside, she hurried into the kitchen to get busy, leaving the boy to entertain me.
The boy didn’t seem shy at all; he walked over to the sofa and turned on the television to watch cartoons. There were some snacks and fruits laid out on the table.
“Uncle, do you want some chips?” he asked, holding out a bag towards me.
I shook my head and replied, “No, thank you. By the way, what’s your name?”
He stared at the screen and said, “Everyone calls me A Yong. My full name is He Yong.”
“A Yong, why don’t I see your mom and dad? Are they not home?” I asked curiously. After all, I was here to share a meal, and it was polite to greet the family.
A Yong's expression changed abruptly; he frowned and almost shouted at me, “I don’t have a mom or dad…”
Then he dashed upstairs in a hurry. I was taken aback, left bewildered and confused. Just then, Granny He came out with a steaming bowl of noodles. “Don’t mind him. A Yong is just a poor child. My son and daughter-in-law are always working away from home. They come back so rarely; it’s no wonder he holds a grudge against them.”
“Try Grandma’s cooking; there’s plenty more in the pot if you need it,” Granny He said kindly. Yet something about it felt a bit off to me.
The clear broth was sprinkled with minced garlic and topped with a fried egg. I quickly expressed my gratitude and began to eat heartily, thinking that this was the best bowl of noodles I had ever had in my life.
“Eat slowly; there’s plenty more in the pot,” Granny He reminded me with a smile before asking, “You don’t look too old; what brings you to our village? Are you here on vacation?”
I casually fabricated a story about having a falling out with my family and getting lost after running away, which led me here as an excuse to deflect her curiosity.
“Grandma, what did you put in this noodle? It smells so good!”
He Granny's expression changed slightly, then she smiled and said, “Oh, it’s nothing special. Everything is from our own home.”
I ate two big bowls of noodles, and He Granny was quite polite. “Well, if you have nowhere to go, you can stay at home. After all, besides me, this old lady, and A Yong, there’s no one else here. It would be livelier with more people around. A Yong wouldn’t feel so lonely either.”
I quickly replied, “Grandma, just call me Ling Feng. My dad calls me that too.”
He Granny nodded and called upstairs in a voice that was quite loud and penetrating, “A Yong! A Yong! Take your brother to walk around the village, did you hear?”
A Yong came running down the stairs with a thud, grabbing my hand and pulling me outside. Suddenly, I felt a jolt in my heart; the hand I held was not the soft touch of a six or seven-year-old child—A Yong's hand was calloused!
How could a six or seven-year-old child have calluses?
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