Monkey

When Li Jinshui reached the camp entrance, the sun had already slanted far west, stretching his dusty-gray silhouette into a long, thin shadow.

Li Houde had been standing there for four whole hours.

He wore a dark-gray robe, his hair neatly combed, still carrying himself with the air of a clan leader.

But the composure he'd shown three months ago was nowhere to be seen on his face.

Fine sweat beaded on his forehead. His lips were pale, and his eyes held weariness, unease, and a fear that had seeped into his bones.

Yes, fear.

Ever since he'd seen the twenty-seven corpses from the collateral branch that morning, that fear had coiled around his heart like a venomous snake, tightening its grip with every passing moment.

With every breath, he felt the snake constrict another inch.

He told himself he was the clan leader. He couldn't panic.

But standing at the entrance to Third Battalion, watching soldiers come and go with knives at their waists, sizing him up like prey, his legs had already begun to buckle.

By the second hour, he'd thought about turning around and leaving.

But whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Li Houshan pinned to a door—eyes open, mouth agape, like a grasshopper crushed underfoot.

He didn't dare leave.

He was afraid that tonight, it wouldn't be only the collateral branch lying in their graves.

When Li Jinshui emerged, Li Houde's eyes first lit up, then his heart suddenly clenched.

The young man wore a clean military uniform, a long saber at his waist. He walked at an unhurried pace, as though he'd just taken a stroll around his own courtyard.

But those eyes—

Li Houde shuddered.

Three months ago, those eyes had still been green and restrained, like a little beast cornered against a wall, too frightened to cry out even when it was hurt.

Now, those eyes were as still as a pool of dead water.

And he didn't dare imagine what lay beneath its surface.

He took two steps forward, then abruptly stopped himself.

He realized he didn't dare get too close. What was he afraid of? An eighteen-year-old boy?

But he was afraid. His calves cramped, and cold sweat had soaked a patch of his robe across his back.

"The clan leader's here." Li Jinshui stopped three paces away, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the fine weather.

Li Houde opened his mouth, but his throat was as dry as if he'd swallowed sand.

He forced down a mouthful of saliva before managing to squeeze out, "Jinshui... I... I came to see you."

His voice trembled.

Hearing himself speak, he wanted to slap himself.

He'd been clan leader for twenty years, a man of standing in North-Rejecting City. When had he ever trembled like this in front of a junior?

But he couldn't control it.

Li Jinshui smiled.

It was the very same smile he'd worn three months ago—gentle, even a little bashful.

"How thoughtful of you, clan leader," Li Jinshui said. "I'm doing just fine, as you can see."

The noncommittal remark left Li Houde at a loss for words.

His hand clenched and unclenched inside his sleeve, his nails digging into his flesh to steady himself with the pain.

He took a deep breath, trying to force a smile onto his face.

But the smile was as stiff as paper pasted on, and the corners of his mouth hurt from stretching.

"Jinshui, could we... find somewhere to talk?"

Li Jinshui looked at him for two breaths.

During those two breaths, Li Houde felt as if a knife were pressed against his throat. He didn't even dare breathe too hard.

"Sure."

The two of them walked beneath the old locust tree.

The stone table and stools were icy cold. When Li Houde sat down, he only perched on half the stool, his whole body taut as a bowstring drawn to its limit. His hands rested on his knees, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Er Gou stood some distance away, watching them.

Li Houde glanced at Er Gou—a burly soldier with two short axes at his waist and arms thicker than Li Houde's thighs.

He had no doubt that with a single look from Li Jinshui, the man would split him open like firewood.

"Jinshui," he began, his voice as rough as sandpaper scraping stone. "What happened three months ago... I was in the wrong."

Li Jinshui said nothing. He simply looked at him.

"Back then... I had no choice," he continued, his tongue feeling as though it were weighted with lead. "Jinbao finally had a chance to become a constable, and he needed silver to grease the wheels. The clan couldn't come up with that much, so we had no choice but to..."

"Sell me," Li Jinshui finished for him, his tone just as even.

Li Houde's face stiffened. Those three words—"sell me"—struck straight into the place where his guilt ran deepest.

The corners of his mouth twitched. He wanted to smile, but couldn't. In the end, he could only manage a look more pitiful than a cry.

"Yes. I wronged you."

He raised his head and looked at Li Jinshui.

He wanted to see some sign of softening in the other man's eyes, a trace of hesitation, or even a hint of mockery. As long as there was some emotion, there'd be room to bargain.

But he saw nothing.

Those eyes were like two cold black stones, clearly reflecting his sincerity, his humility, even his trembling hands hidden in his sleeves—then remaining unmoved.

He gritted his teeth and continued. "I came today to ask if we could... let the past be the past. We're family, after all. You can't write two Lis with one stroke. You've made something of yourself; you're a squad leader now, and the whole clan is happy for you. If your parents knew this from beyond the grave, they'd..."

"Don't bring up my parents," Li Jinshui cut in.

His voice was still calm, but gooseflesh instantly prickled across Li Houde's back.

He remembered how he'd used the deaths of Li Jinshui's parents as a bargaining chip, as if he were doing the boy a favor. When the couple died, he hadn't even paid for a cheap coffin. Their neighbors had pooled their money to bury them.

And now he was bringing them up? He wanted to slap himself.

He took the cloth pouch from inside his robe, set it on the stone table, and pushed it over.

When his fingers touched the fabric, he felt their tips go numb.

"This is fifty taels of silver," he said. "The clan's compensation to you. Also, the clan will repair your parents' graves and put up a proper stele. From now on, every Qingming Festival, the clan will send people to sweep the graves and pay their respects."

He paused and swallowed. "Jinbao was an ignorant child. You beat him yesterday and taught him a lesson. From here on... from here on, we're still family. If you need anything in the army, the clan will help however it can."

When he finished, he stared fixedly at Li Jinshui's hand.

That hand reached out, picked up the pouch, and weighed it.

Fifty taels. Heavy as lead.

Li Jinshui tucked the pouch into his robe, then looked up at Li Houde.

"Clan leader, I'll take the silver."

Li Houde's heart suddenly eased. He was almost ready to let out a breath of relief. But before he could, he heard the next words:

"But the account between us isn't settled."

Li Houde's face turned deathly white.

It didn't fade little by little. It was as if someone had drained every drop of color from his face at once, leaving behind a bluish gray.

His lips quivered twice, and a vague sound escaped his throat, as if someone had a hand around his neck.

"Jinshui... you..." His voice no longer sounded human. It was thin and shrill, like a rat with its tail pinned beneath someone's foot.

Li Jinshui looked at him, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upward.

The smile was still gentle.

But in Li Houde's eyes, it was as if he could see Li Houshan pinned to the door that morning—eyes unable to close in death, mouth agape.

A thought suddenly exploded in his mind: Had the twenty-seven people from the collateral branch died with this same smile on their faces?

His stomach lurched, and sour bile surged up his throat.

He desperately forced it down, but tears welled up despite himself. It wasn't sorrow, but pure, primal terror—the kind of terror that left prey limp, pissing and shitting themselves as a predator sank its teeth into their throats.

"Clan leader, do you know why I made you stand for four hours?"

Li Houde's mouth hung open, but he couldn't speak. His lower lip shook violently, setting his jaw, cheeks, and whole face to twitching.

"Because I wanted to see how long you could stand," Li Jinshui said. "You stood for four hours. That showed some sincerity. But do you know what I did on my first day at Death Squad Camp? I carried thirteen corpses, then crawled back to the barracks, too exhausted to even cry."

Li Houde's pupils contracted sharply.

Carrying corpses—he remembered selling Li Jinshui to Death Squad Camp. The boy had looked back at him, hatred nowhere in his eyes; there had only been something Li Houde couldn't understand.

Now he understood. The boy hadn't accepted his fate. He'd swallowed his hatred and saved it for later.

"Back then, I thought, if I could make it out alive, I'd come back and thank you."

"Thank you"—the three words fell as lightly as a feather, but Li Houde felt an ice pick pierce his ear and stab straight into his heart.

His body began to tremble uncontrollably from head to toe, as if he were stricken with ague.

He wanted to say something—to beg, to explain, or simply to kneel. Yes, kneel.

He jumped to his feet, his knees giving way so suddenly that he nearly fell to them.

But Li Jinshui stood too, looking down at him.

That angle, that backlight, reminded Li Houde of Li Houshan pinned to the door—his head tilted back as he looked up at someone towering over him, until a blade pierced his chest.

"Family... family..." Li Houde finally managed to force out, his voice so broken it was barely recognizable. "Jinshui... the collateral branch... those twenty-seven people... you had nothing to do with it, right?"

He'd asked the question almost without thinking. The moment it left his mouth, he regretted it.

Li Jinshui looked at him without answering. He only looked at him.

Those few breaths of silence were more terrifying than any answer.

Li Houde's tears finally fell.

He was sixty years old, yet in front of a group of soldiers, he wept like a child.

Snot and tears smeared his face. His lips trembled as he let out a string of muffled sobs.

"I took the silver. It was what you owed me. But you owe me more than silver."

Li Jinshui's voice was soft, as if he were soothing a child to sleep.

"Clan leader, go back and live well. Once I'm done with this, I'll come see you."

He turned and walked toward the camp.

After a few steps, he glanced back.

Li Houde was still there—though at some point, he'd collapsed back onto the stone stool. His hunched figure looked like an old garment someone had thrown away.

His face was buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving. The sobs coming from him were so faint they could barely be heard.

It was the cry of a man utterly broken.

It wasn't a wail or a cry of grief. It was despair seeping from the very marrow of a man who'd believed he could control everything, only to discover that he was nothing.

Li Jinshui looked away and kept walking.

"Squad leader!" Er Gou caught up, his face brimming with excitement. "You were incredible! That old man went white as a sheet! What did you mean by that? Are you really going back to deal with them?"

Li Jinshui didn't answer. He only said, "Go to Logistics Battalion."

Meanwhile, beneath the old locust tree.

Li Houde didn't know how long he'd been sitting there. He felt as if someone had pulled his soul out of him, leaving behind an empty shell that might scatter with the wind.

He raised his head and saw the setting sun burning the horizon a deep red. The color was like blood.

The blood shed by the twenty-seven people from the collateral branch was probably the same color.

A thought suddenly struck him—Li Jinshui had said, "You owe me more than silver." What else did he owe him, besides silver?

He owed him a life.

Li Jinshui's parents had died, and he hadn't helped; Li Jinshui had gone hungry, and he hadn't given him even half a bowl of porridge; Li Jinshui had been sold to Death Squad Camp, and he'd been the mastermind.

Li Houde lurched to his feet, but his legs gave way and he fell back down. He gripped the stone table, his nails scraping across its surface with a shrill sound, like a dying man clawing at a coffin lid.

He thought of Madam Wang, Li Jinbao, his second and third uncles, and those children waiting at home.

He thought of the twenty-seven people from the collateral branch—not one of them spared.

He had to go back. He had to tell everyone to lower their heads as far as they could, gather enough silver, and kneel until their knees broke. Whatever it took, they had to make Li Jinshui let go of this grudge.

Otherwise, the twenty-seven people who'd been killed this morning would be them tonight.

He staggered away. After a few steps, he suddenly bent over and vomited the last of the sour bile in his stomach.

When he'd finished, he straightened and wiped his mouth, leaving a wet streak across his face—impossible to tell whether it was sweat, tears, or vomit.

The setting sun stretched his shadow long, long across the ground, like a crumpled paper doll.