The Dead and the Living

"Master..."

Jia Ruo came back to himself, awakening from his turmoil of grief and rage.

Tears slid from the corners of his eyes, cutting two tracks through the blood and grime on his face.

"They're all dead. The villagers are all dead, too."

Jia Ruo clung tightly to Yi.

Yi didn't mind the blood and grime covering Jia Ruo. He simply patted his disciple gently on the back.

His young disciple had seen the invaders' atrocities for the first time, and had killed someone for the first time, too. He was still immature, and his heart must be filled with anger and grief.

Yi could feel him trembling, and sense what was on his mind.

"May you one day use the sword in your hands to protect those you cherish. There have already been too many tragedies."

Yi wiped away Jia Ruo's tears. "Let's bury the villagers."

"Okay."

Jia Ruo nodded, choking up so badly he could hardly speak.

Yi found a hoe and a shovel in one of the houses.

He didn't leave the village. Instead, he began digging in the threshing ground at its center.

No one would be using it to dry grain anymore. They could make it the villagers' final resting place.

As he shoveled, Yi briefly told Neeko what had happened.

Neeko was tending to the wound on Jia Ruo's shoulder after he had washed up.

Fortunately, it was only a large bruise and a few punctures from the spikes on a spiked club. None of them had damaged his bones or tendons.

By the time Neeko finished bandaging Jia Ruo, Yi had finished telling her everything.

"Then... then Neeko will help, too."

Neeko felt great sympathy for the dead villagers.

Now dressed in clean clothes, Jia Ruo said nothing as he picked up a hoe.

By the time the sun reached its highest point, they had dug nearly a hundred neat graves.

"Neeko, take a break. Jia Ruo, come with me to carry the bodies."

Yi set down his shovel.

Even though he had prepared himself, when Jia Ruo carried the bodies out of the houses with his own hands, shock still surged through him.

From toddlers of three or five to elders nearing seventy, every one of them had had their throat slit.

The pale faces of the dead were frozen in their final moments of despair.

Jia Ruo gently closed their eyes—he couldn't bear to look at those vacant gazes any longer.

Though Jia Ruo had avenged them, a deep sense of guilt welled up inside him instead.

Why couldn't I have gotten here sooner? If I had, maybe I could have changed this tragedy.

Yi and Jia Ruo carried the bodies of men and women, young and old, into the graves one by one.

Neeko silently filled the graves back in.

At last, as the deep night gradually descended over the quiet village, all the villagers had been laid to rest.

The pirates' bodies were buried in a large pit—to prevent an outbreak of disease, and also to show them some measure of humanity.

"May you all rest in peace."

Jia Ruo stood in the newly made cemetery with his hands clasped, murmuring the words.

Yi watched Jia Ruo in the cemetery. He realized how much his disciple resembled him.

Once, Yi had stood in a graveyard just like this.

Back then, he had thought his tears could bring the dead back.

Only after he had cried himself dry did he understand one thing.

Killing and revenge could bring nothing but more graves for the dead and deeper wounds in the hearts of the living.

Now, all he could do was hope his second disciple would mature quickly and learn to stand on his own.

Yi stepped forward, patted Jia Ruo on the shoulder, and said gently, "Get some rest. We have to set off early tomorrow."

"Yes, Master."

That day, Jia Ruo had finally done something that could be called standing up for justice.

But it was nothing like the dream he had cherished: wielding blades and swords in the name of justice, performing heroic deeds, and having them passed down through poetry and song.

From that day on, Jia Ruo trained with even greater diligence and discipline.