The Yuan[1] Village Landlord’s[2] first and only wife prostrated before Jian Xiaoren[3]. Her thick gold bracelets clanked against cold stones with each kowtow, and her pearl earrings swung with each sob.
“I beg you, lords. Please spare my daughter!” she wailed. “She is but a five-year-old child.”
The daughter was standing within arm’s reach from Tuhu[4], trembling and breathing heavily. She was so small and slim that her white qipao[5] reminded him of the garments on the larger porcelain dolls he had seen during his rare visits to the city. Short, ebony curls clung to the sweat on her forehead while tears soaked her lashes. Her gaze never wavered from her father’s battered and bloodied corpse lying beside her mother.
Xiaoren spat on the head of the dead Landlord.
“Don’t try to make us look bad, woman. We are honorable men.” He then added the rehearsed line, eyes glinting with glee, “We are simply here to collect the debt that aristocrats like your husband owe the people.”
“Debt?” The woman seemed genuinely confused. “Forgive this woman’s ignorance. Which debt is this lord speaking of?”
“Stop pretending. We know everything,” he replied, stressing on the last word. “The peasant children he starved as your family feasted on lavish dinners and the poor servants he exploited with unfair contracts.”
“No, no…” The woman shook her head vehemently. “Our people love us! We’ve always been fair. None of them is starving.”
“Bullshit!” Xiaoren snarled, making the woman jump. He wiped off blood from the stolen sword that he had used to cut down some rickshaw coolie in the streets; he had told Tuhu that the man was an eyesore since he ran “as slowly as a man with a lame leg”. “Unfortunately,” Xiaoren added in a calmer tone, “since my brothers[6] had a little too much fun with your husband, he won’t see to the end of your retribution. But you will.”
Xiaoren finally motioned to Tuhu, who had been standing idle.
As he approached the quaking child, the mother screamed again, “No! Please have mercy on her!”
With the same deft and strength that Tuhu had used to cut pig ribs, he raised his large meat cleaver in the air and brought it down on the neck of his target. The recently sharpened blade cut through flesh and bones as if they were tofu.
The little curly head fell with a thud. It rolled from the momentum, leaving a bloody trail across the courtyard, then stopped against a young peach tree. The delicate body crumpled to the ground, and crimson spread across white fabric, like ink spilled on rice paper.
Once, after they had invaded an enemy village, General Wu De[7] had praised Tuhu for his ability to free the largest amount of souls from their mortal coils without a single bullet. “Efficient,” he had observed after he had watched his man separate countless heads from their bodies.
Bullets were expensive. So, General Wu had ordered his soldiers to use them only when necessary, only on enemies who likewise possessed firearms. At first, the soldiers, including Tuhu’s brothers, had found this order inconvenient, but soon, they had started becoming creative and enjoying it.
Xiaoren had also complimented Tuhu, telling him that his parents had chosen the right name for him. No one in the army, including Xiaoren, knew that “Butcher” wasn’t the name chosen by his parents. “Tuhu” was a misunderstanding, but everyone seemed to like calling him this way. So, he never corrected them.
The mother let out a torn shriek then resumed her weeping, repeating her child’s name like a mantra.
“Elder brother[8]! We’re done,” Ashou[9] announced as he appeared, his pockets filled with gold and jewelry. Aye[10] was standing behind with no less trophies.
“What do we do about her?” the latter asked.
“It won’t hurt to loosen up. She’s a real beauty,” Ashou added, throwing a questioning glance at Xiaoren.
Xiaoren seemed to be considering. Screams and drunken laughter in the streets could be heard from the courtyard.
“No. Let’s leave,” he replied after glancing at the bleeding sky. “We have to report back soon.” The general had given them only until late evening to celebrate their victory.
Perhaps Xiaoren had noticed Ashou’s face tighten in discontentment, because he added, “Don’t worry. We have enough gold to make Miss Hong[11] fall for us.”
Tuhu’s brothers always asked for Miss Hong when they visited the brothel in the city after a victorious battle. According to them, no woman was more beautiful than her.
“It’s a promise then.”
“Of course.”
Ashou seemed satisfied, because he didn’t say another word.
“Let’s leave then,” Aye suggested. Xiaoren threw a meaningful glance at Tuhu.
While Xiaoren always insisted on keeping the parents alive to watch their child or children beheaded, he didn’t like leaving them alive afterwards. So, with a swift swing, Tuhu severed the still crouching and sobbing woman’s thin neck.
Ashou stepped on the pooling blood to reach the woman’s wrists and remove the bracelets. Aye unhooked the earrings from the head. Xiaoren only waited by the entrance, gaze shifting between each of them.
Tuhu was about to join him when an object on the ground caught his eyes.
It was a group of four feathers – perhaps those of a rooster – attached to a round base. Each feather had a different color: one was as red as a rooster’s comb, one, as blue as cobalt pigment, one, as yellow as a water fairy flower’s[12] corona, and one, as green as a watermelon.
Intrigued, Tuhu picked up the object with his free hand. It was a jianzi[13] with an old bronze coin as base.
As a child, Tuhu had seen other children playing with it. They would form a circle and kick it to pass it between them, exclaiming in disappointment then laughing when it fell and cheering when one of them decided to steal the toy and keep it in the air by performing dozens of consecutive kicks. The cheers would grow louder by the kick, attracting more children.
Tuhu would stand there, frozen, unable to pull his eyes away, waiting for one of the children to invite him to join them. However, his uncle would always find him first and scold him for abandoning his duties.
“Tuhu?” he heard Xiaoren call. He dropped the toy in his pocket then followed his companions.
They arrived at the camp when the sun had completely fallen. The bleeding wound of the sky had closed and clogged into a dark color. The air was cooler but still stank of blood and mud. Mosquitoes buzzed in dark clouds around them, forcing Tuhu’s companions to swat relentlessly at them.
As usual, Xiaoren insisted that they handed in two chengs[14] of the treasure they found to General Wu and split the rest among them. He went to pay his respects to the general as Ashou, Aye, and some other brothers discussed about some maids in the last village they had conquered.
Tuhu simply sat next to them, staring at the dancing campfire and the swarms of moths and flies. Once, they used to ask his opinions, but Tuhu never understood what the difference was between some actress and some scrawny peasant woman the men found “as ugly as a monkey”. So, Tuhu would reply briefly, “She’s fine.” After a couple of times, they never asked him again.
“So, what are your plans?” Xiaoren asked as he re-emerged from the darkness and sat next to him. At Tuhu’s confused expression, he explained, “We just fought our last battle. The war has ended. General Wu would dismiss us all soon.”
Suddenly, Tuhu felt his stomach burn. He didn’t remember eating anything rotten. The sensation also differed from the usual stomachache. No, it felt more like a whirlpool than a fire, dragging him in from the inside out.
Xiaoren observed him for a while then suddenly laughed.
“You didn’t know? No one has told you?”
“No.” No one had told him; no one had told him anything but who to cut, how well he cut them, and how many dayangs[15] he would receive. The realization was as new as the strange sensation in his stomach.
“Well, now that you know, what are your plans? Are you going home? Any woman waiting for you there?”
“No.”
“Are you staying here?”
“I don’t know.”
Tuhu had never thought he would leave the army – not because he knew that many died in war. He wasn’t one to reflect on the future; during most of his life, he had simply never thought more than what he would eat the next day. After joining the army and being provided regular meals, even this thought had disappeared.
The whirlpool was growing. He was only sure that it was neither a stomachache nor hunger. They had a feast not long ago.
“What about you, Elder Brother?” Ashou had been listening to their conversation. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll stay.” He lifted high his chin. His eyes gleamed. “General Wu has just offered me to be his adjutant. The poor man didn’t live through the battle.”
“Ah, congratulations, Elder Brother! The general has foresight.”
“Yes, congratulations,” Aye, who had been watching them, added.
The others imitated them, showering Xiaoren with compliments. As always, Tuhu remained silent, but Xiaoren never seemed to mind.
“Come, let’s drink for Elder Brother!” Ashou announced as he raised his bowl of rice wine, which the general had allowed for special occasions. The others cheered and raised their own bowls.
Tuhu couldn’t move. He felt as if his whole stomach, his whole inside, his whole being had been swallowed by the whirlpool.
Never had he felt so empty.
*****
A couple of days later, General Wu rewarded each of his men with enough dayangs to live comfortably for a year then sent them home. He only kept a couple of men, including Xiaoren but excluding Tuhu.
Having no home and no one to return to, Tuhu wandered from village to village and, sometimes, to the city. He never remained at a place for long, never visited any brothel, opium parlor, or underground gambling den. He only stopped by inns at night and street food stands at mealtimes.
The emptiness never left Tuhu, and he feared that if he stayed still for too long, it would devour him completely. He could barely sleep at night, shifting relentlessly in his bed until physical exhaustion took over.
Tuhu tried to fill the emptiness with food, asking for bowls of dumpling soup and baskets of steamed pork buns in one sitting. While his stomach threatened to burst, unexpectedly, the whirlpool remained, endlessly tugging on his insides.
After more than a year of wandering, Tuhu spent his last dayang. Soon, he had to trade his belongings: his gun, his jacket, his boots, his belt, and his shirt. Even the meat cleaver he had owned since he was a boy had to go. All he had was a pair of pants, cotton shoes, and the jianzi, which no one wanted. He started eating steamed buns and pickles instead of meat-based dishes and sleeping in cheaper inns.
Since he could barely read, Tuhu tried working as manual labor for some butcher or some Landlord. After assessing his physique, they would gladly accept him but would throw him out without any compensation soon after. Tuhu’s arms seemed to only remember the swing of a meat cleaver against a human neck – not even against a pork rib; his muscles would mysteriously strain as he tried to perform any other task, making him fail at even the simplest manual chore.
With not much left and no way to earn money, Tuhu could only afford bland congee. He started sleeping on the streets, trembling at night from the cold air against his bare skin. Sometimes, he would find some newspaper or some straw mat, but most of the times, he lay against grimy stones. Eventually, he went days with barely any food, only eating when some stranger threw at him a half-eaten bun out of pity.
Tuhu stopped traveling. He would lean against a building wall all day until the owner chased him away. His skin was covered with grime, his oily long hair stuck together, and his dirty beard tickled his bare chest. Passersby tried to circumvent him through the farthest path possible.
The hunger never stopped gnawing at him – nor did the emptiness. However, he felt too tired to move or ask for food. His muscles felt weak, and his eyelids were drooping – even though the sun had just risen. Sweat formed on his hot forehead despite the cold weather. The world seemed to spin.
“Lad, are you alright?” The voice sounded distant. He closed his eyes.
*****
Tuhu woke in a soft, clean bed.
A blend of herbs and iodine filled his nostrils. He glanced around then noticed a man in a golden robe sitting near his bed. The man held wooden beads in his hand and seemed to be meditating.
Tuhu shifted, alerting the man.
“How are you feeling, lad?”
He still felt dizzy, hungry, and empty but not as tired as before. The man seemed to guess his thoughts. He added, “Wait a second. I’ll be back.”
The man left the room then came back with a bowl of congee garnished with sliced green onion.
“Drink this first. The physician will come with the medicine soon.” He handed the bowl and a spoon to Tuhu, who immediately obeyed.
The broth felt warm and soothing to his dry throat. The onion’s flavor burst against his tongue that had only known bland or unpleasant tastes for the past days. He picked up the pace, abandoning the spoon and gorging himself with the congee directly from the bowl.
The man chuckled. “Slow down, lad.”
He waited for Tuhu to finish before speaking, “You seem to be a young and able man. Yet, I found you feverish and starved in the streets. If I may, what tragedy has befallen you to leave you in such a state?”
Tuhu remained silent. He understood the man’s question but couldn’t provide an answer; he, himself, knew not the source of his misery, of the emptiness.
Again, the man seemed to read his thoughts.
“No matter,” he broke the silence. “You seem lost, lad. Why not join us? Perhaps, with time and meditation, you can find your path.”
Realizing that Tuhu might be struggling to understand his words, the man added with a gentle smile, “You will also have warm shelter and rice[16].”
The idea of “rice” appealed to Tuhu – especially after he had lived so many days without it. He immediately replied, “Alright.”
*****
The man was the only monk of a modest temple not far from the village. The ancient single-story wooden building stood hidden from civilization among emerald leaves and stalks of bamboos.
While the monk spent his day meditating, an orphan boy he found would do the chores. He would clean the temple and water the vegetables in its garden.
Tuhu didn’t mind their self-sustained simple diet nor did he mind helping the boy out. He meditated when the monk did, listened without protest to his teachings on ways of life or the arts, and answered questions as best as he could.
At first, the monk seemed content to be sharing his knowledge with a “humble” pupil. However, soon, he started smiling sadly at Tuhu’s silence or brief answers, which constituted mostly of “I don’t know”s and “alright”s.
Tuhu didn’t try to ignore the monk. The concepts about philosophy and morality simply seemed much less tangible to him than a meat cleaver or a dead pig.
The monk was never frustrated though; he reassured Tuhu that a time would come when everything would seem clearer. He would then continue with his monologue, glancing from time to time at Tuhu’s expression, as they strolled down the narrow dirt path through the tall stalks.
Occasionally, the monk would visit the village to gather supplies. Tuhu would then spend the whole day in the bamboo forest. He didn’t particularly enjoy the walks; he simply felt restless. Wandering into the woody jade palace was the only way to soothe the unease.
That day, like any other such days, he dived into the tranquil unknown of the bamboo stalks. For some reason, he felt especially restless. His pace was faster than usual. He was sure that he could even reach the end of the vast forest before nightfall. This wasn’t his goal though; he simply intended to venture deeper, which always made him feel less empty.
He passed by stalks after stalks. Shades of green blurred into emerald walls. He was walking down an endless hallway, toward an unknown destination, toward some grey smoke…
Grey smoke? Tuhu halted. He squinted his eyes and could distinguish the cloud approaching, swallowing the road and the stalks like a flood. He sniffed the air but couldn’t smell anything burned. In any case, he wouldn’t venture into such suspicious apparition.
Tuhu turned around to escape but was shocked to discover that some similar smoke – or should he call it “fog”? – had swallowed his path back. He glanced around. The fog had surrounded him, advancing languidly but steadily.
Soon, he was swallowed, wrapped in a veil of grey. The smell of soil, bamboo, and even his own sweat disappeared. Silence took over the cacophony of birds cries and mosquito buzzes. Tuhu could not even hear his own raspy breathing or the rapid pounding of his heart.
The sensory deprivation felt like an eternity when the fog finally cleared. It fell like a cloth then receded into a thin crack in the sandy ground.
Tuhu blinked. The ground was no longer soil wet from morning dew or dusty dirt of a man-made road.
It was sand, fine golden sand.
All around him were mounds and mounds of sand. Not a stalk of bamboo nor a blade of grass was in sight. The air was hotter and drier. The sun burned his skin like a fire and blinded him.
Tuhu was about to shade himself with his robe when the ground started trembling. Rumbles traveled through the air and through Tuhu’s whole being.
He heard a deafening crack and noticed with horror that the fissure where the fog had disappeared in was widening. The opening stretched toward him like a vicious black snake. He tried to run but the snake was faster.
Before Tuhu knew, he was falling into a seemingly bottomless pit.
Footnotes
[1] Yuan (缘) or Yüan in Wade-Giles means “fate” in Chinese.
[2] “Landlord” (地主) is capitalized to differentiate it from the more modern use of “landlord” as the owner of a residential building (房东). The Landlord here is similar to the feudal landlord.
[3] In this book, first names and surnames are written in the order as they would be called by the Chinese. So, the surname comes before the first name. Jian Xiaoren (贱小人) or Chien Hsiao-jen in Wade-Giles means “cheap little man” in the most derogatory sense.
[4] Tuhu (屠户) or T’u-hu in Wade-Giles means “butcher”.
[5] qipao (旗袍) or ch’i-p’ao in Wade-Giles is a body-hugging dress we usually associate with traditional Chinese fashion. During the 1920s-1930s, it was worn by Chinese upper-class women.
[6] “brothers” (兄弟) is used to mean “close friends” instead of “blood-related siblings”.
[7] Wu De (无德) or Wu Te in Wade-Giles means “no moral”.
[8] “Elder brother” (哥) is again used for a close friend. A person calls a male acquaintance an “elder brother” not necessarily due to seniority in age. It is a sign of respect.
[9] Ashou (啊兽) or A-shou in Wade-Giles has 啊, which can mean “a certain” in Chinese slang. Thus, 啊兽 means “a certain beast”.
[10] Aye (啊野) or A-yeh in Wade-Giles means “a certain wild (person)” or simply “wild”.
[11] Hong (红) or Hung in Wade-Giles means “red”.
[12] Narcissus tazetta. The literal translation of Narcissus (花水仙) from Chinese is “water fairy flower”, which is more poetic. Narcissus tazetta specifically occupies an important role in Chinese culture, representing luck and fortune.
[13] jianzi (毽子) or chien-tzu in Wade-Giles is a Chinese shuttlecock.
[14] “two chengs” (两成) is twenty percent.
[15] dayang (大洋) is one of the main currencies used during the Republic of China (1912-1949).
[16] “rice” (饭) in Chinese can mean both the actual cereal “rice” or “food”. Here, it is used to mean “food”.
