Dahe’s departure changed nothing. In spring the birds still sang merrily, and in summer the flowers and grasses still bloomed in profusion. When autumn came, the bamboo leaves before the shrine began to turn yellow. The god of the mountains squatted beneath the bamboo and watched two ants hurry home carrying food. The years in the mountains seemed so quiet and peaceful, as though nothing had changed in a thousand years.
He watched the ants for ages, assigning a number in his mind to every tiny creature entering and leaving the nest. He knew the exact route each one took. At last one little ant lost its way when the wind blew away a dry leaf that had marked its path. It ran about in panic. The mountain god merely crouched and watched until it encountered another ant. They touched antennae and traveled together over their little hills and valleys, finding their way home.
Only after he saw them safely return to the nest did the mountain god stand up. He went back to the shrine, settled comfortably into his usual lounging position, and resumed staring into space from a different spot.
Before long, he waved a sleeve, and the little bamboo truck Dahe had hidden inside the shrine flew out and landed in his hand.
He turned it over and over, studying it until he understood how it was made, though he had no intention of making one himself. He set the truck on the sloping shrine roof and let go. Its little wheels spun nimbly, and it rolled down the roof with a clatter, landing in the pile of bamboo leaves below.
He raised a hand, summoned it back, set it at the top of the roof, and let it roll down again.
He played like this for ages, leaning sideways against the shrine roof with his chin in his hand. He returned to a question that had puzzled him for months. The oddly shaped thing had wheels, so it did look something like a carriage. The open box behind it could certainly hold several people. But without horses to pull it, how was it supposed to move across level ground? That silly Dahe must have forgotten to weave two horses for him.
He lay there lost in thought when a fluffy little black rabbit poked its head out from behind the big rock at the back of the shrine. It was entirely black except for a patch of white on its rump. With its little white bottom in the air, it twitched its nose and crept closer, nibbling at bits of broken grass and fallen bamboo leaves before spitting them out.
By the time the mountain god noticed, the rabbit was gnawing the wooden wheel of the little bamboo truck.
The mountain god cried out and quickly waved the fallen truck back into his hand. The rabbit, which of course could not see him, was startled when the strange toy suddenly shot away. It bounded behind the big rock, then cautiously peeked out again and saw the little truck resting on top of the shrine.
Curious, it hopped onto the low roof, tilted its head, twitched its nose, and once again began grinding its front teeth against the wooden wheel.
The mountain god grabbed the front of the truck and tried to lift it. This time the rabbit refused to let go. Its whole body dangled in midair, wriggling wildly, its four small paws paddling through empty space. It was about to lose its grip and fall.
The mountain god let out a little laugh, made himself visible, and caught both the rabbit and the truck in his arms.
His emerald robe was warm, and the forest’s own familiar presence surrounding him did not frighten the little rabbit at all. Quite at ease in the crook of his arm, it went right on clamping its teeth around the wheel.
The mountain god tugged twice more without success. He raised a hand and conjured a candy in a tiny plastic wrapper. With a great show of reluctance and regret, he tore open the bag and offered the sweet on his palm to tempt the rabbit.
The rabbit turned toward the candy, sniffed it, and, entirely unimpressed, went back to gnawing the wheel.
“Well…” The mountain god was helpless.
He popped the candy into his own mouth and watched with a wry smile as the rabbit slowly reduced one little wooden wheel to splinters, then rubbed its nose against the next and began chewing.
“Well…” Still sucking on the candy and playing with the rabbit’s soft ears, the mountain god muttered indistinctly, “You little beast. Do you know this is my treasure? And you’re just going to chew it up?”
The rabbit redoubled its efforts and chewed up two more wheels, then suddenly pricked its ears and turned them about.
It looked toward the big rock. Its mother had hopped out from the grass, bounded toward the burrow, and soon come out again, turning her ears from side to side as though searching for something.
The little rabbit finally released the truck, sprang out of the god’s arms, and raced after its mother without looking back.
The mountain god merely smiled as he watched them hop away. He looked down and fiddled with the poor ruined truck. Three of its four wheels had been chewed off, and the bamboo-leaf body was badly torn. He touched it with a rueful smile, tucked it into his sleeve, stretched out against the shrine roof, and resumed daydreaming.
Thousands of kilometers away, beyond countless mountains and rivers, Dahe was also staring into space.
Before him stood an imposing vending machine, its colorful bottles lined up inside, impossible to pry out no matter how he tried.
He had forgotten to fill his water bottle with boiled water that morning and had driven all day without a single drink. Desperately thirsty, he scratched his head and ears in frustration as he faced the huge machine, pressing the one-yuan coin in his hand uselessly against a raised square panel on its right side.
He had seen city people slap their wallets against that spot before.
A few high-school students with backpacks approached from a distance. Seeing what he was doing, they burst out laughing. Then they came over and said, “Hey, that’s not how you do it! You have to tap a transit card. Have you got one?”
“If you don’t, go to the machine up ahead,” they explained. “That one takes banknotes.”
With their help, Dahe finally bought a bottle of orange juice. He thanked them in awkward Mandarin and returned to his vehicle. But when he thought about the price, he could hardly bring himself to drink it.
Apart from Xiuxiu’s demands and candy for the mountain god, he never spent money on luxurious drinks or snacks. For months he had eaten all his meals at the construction site or bought cheap boxed lunches, wearing the same few faded outfits. He had no other expenses and saved nearly all his pay.
In midsummer, his younger brother had arranged for someone in town to telephone Xiuxiu’s eldest uncle’s friend, who passed the news along to Dahe: his brother had brought glory to the family by entering a vocational college in the provincial capital, and needed money for tuition and other fees. Dahe immediately sent home the two thousand yuan he had saved. With the family’s savings and money Third Uncle borrowed from various people, they finally scraped together enough for tuition and initial living expenses. The subsequent living costs and the next semester’s tuition would depend on Dahe again.
The city of steel and concrete was brilliantly lit even at midnight, never sleeping. A few workers on duty sat on battered stools outside the dormitory playing cards. Dahe sat on his bed facing the open doorway, using the dim yellow light from outside to weave a palm-sized swallowtail butterfly from blades of grass. There was no bamboo near the construction site, so he had to use another material.
The workers were used to his quiet, unsociable ways and paid him no attention. He sat alone, working intently for a long time, then paused and looked toward the half-empty bottle of orange juice on the nearby cabinet.
He picked it up and took a sip. It still seemed cloyingly sweet and rather strange, but a sweetness like that ought to please the mountain god.
He laid the half-finished butterfly beside his pillow and curled up to sleep. He closed his eyes amid the shrill noise outside and felt as though everything around him were a dream: the towering buildings, unfamiliar accents, crowded roads, and brightly lit nights. Everything moved at a dizzying pace, like the stirring, triumphant battle songs that had once blared from the radio in his childhood.
He kept his eyes closed for a long time. At last, beyond the noise and confusion, he heard the mountain thousands of miles away: birds and cicadas singing, the wind rustling through bamboo, the spring water gently lapping at stones, and an emerald robe brushing past his ear.
At last, in that dreamlike reality, he fell deeply asleep.
Autumn passed into winter. Fallen leaves blanketed the mountains, then a thin layer of snow settled over them. The sparse white covering could not hide the withered black and yellow beneath. The mountain god stood before his shrine and watched the last leaf on a bamboo stalk spin down to the ground.
He yawned in utter boredom, turned toward the big rock behind the shrine, swept away the snow with his sleeve, lay down, and stared into space.
The little black rabbit, now half-grown, appeared again, peeking out before hopping forward. Wrapped in its thick fur, it rolled in the snow, left a trail of little pits as it bounced past the rock, then sprang onto the shrine roof and back down.
The mountain god had long since hidden all the little bamboo creations inside the shrine, so he calmly watched the rabbit leap up and down, the white patch on its tiny rump bobbing this way and that.
Only when it began chewing the red cloth on his clay statue’s head did he suddenly wake from his daydream. Half amused and half exasperated, he appeared before it, picked it up, and gave it a vigorous cuddle. The rabbit sniffed him with its little red nose, its black fur thoroughly ruffled, then began gnawing his emerald robe.
The mountain god let it do as it pleased. The robe couldn’t be damaged anyway. He held the rabbit and daydreamed a little longer, then suddenly smiled at it. “Silly rabbit, do you know New Year’s coming?”
Dahe finally came home for New Year carrying a large backpack, after two days and nights on a packed train, more than half a day crammed into a bus, and another half day walking mountain paths. He arrived with stubble on his chin and the stink of sweat all over him.
His sister happened to be coming out to use the latrine in the middle of the night. The sudden appearance of a huge dark figure frightened her into screaming, and the village dog they had recently acquired began barking furiously in the courtyard.
Eventually his sister shouted the dog into silence and brought Dahe inside. Their home had only a few rooms. Although his sister had grown into a young girl, she still had to share a bedroom with her brothers. Their younger brother lay sprawled on the other bed, snoring so loudly that even thunder could not have woken him.
“He sleeps like a pig! Leave him!” his sister said cheerfully. “Brother, what did you bring me?”
Dahe took out a parcel of local specialties, bought on the recommendation of an older worker at the construction site. His sister tore it open excitedly, but the delicately made peach-slice cakes in their fancy wrapping dampened her enthusiasm. Still, the fact that they were special cakes from a big city gave her some comfort.
Elio’s Notes: Peach-slice cakes (桃片糕, taopian gao) are thinly sliced Chinese rice-and-nut confections, not slices of peach-flavored cake. They’re a regional specialty especially associated with Chongqing.
“All you brought was food. Didn’t you even think to buy me a dress?” she complained as she resigned herself to the gift.
“Ah…” Dahe was speechless for a moment before admitting honestly, “I bought a dress for Xiuxiu.”
“Oho! Well, well! Goodness me!” His sister shrieked with jealousy. Even that failed to wake their thunderously snoring brother.
Dahe scratched his head in confusion. “When I left last year, she asked me to bring her one. Did you want one too? You never said. I’ll buy you one next year.”
“Hmph!” his sister said, indignantly putting away the peach-slice cakes.
Although still annoyed, she was curious and wanted to pester Dahe with questions about the outside world. But he had no interest in describing that complicated, crowded place. After putting away a few things, he picked up a small bag and prepared to go up the mountain.
“Don’t go! It’s pitch-black outside! A wolf will bite you!” His sister was exasperated that he still hadn’t learned his lesson.
Dahe paid no attention and went out, still smelling of sweat.
The path was slippery after the early-spring snow. Nobody had walked it for a year, and dead plants now covered some sections. Dahe hurried uphill in the darkness, negotiating the obstacles along the way. He went too fast and, after so long without much physical exertion, actually found himself short of breath. In the big city, work was divided among specialists: he mainly drove construction materials to the site, while others handled the lifting and carrying.
Panting, he reached the dark shrine. Everything in the eerie night looked exactly as he remembered. Suddenly his eyes felt hot and swollen.
“Mountain God,” he called between breaths. “Mountain God…”
“I missed you,” he told the depths of the mountain, still panting. “I missed you.”
The forest remained silent as death. There was no moon, only heavy darkness. As always, no answer came.
Yet he felt as though he had finally returned to the home he dreamed of day and night. He felt neither fear nor dread, only peace and happiness. He sat cross-legged on the ground and, feeling his way in the darkness, took the things from his bag and set them on the altar one by one.
Several packets of candy, a bottle of orange juice, and a few butterflies woven from grass into different shapes.
“You have to twist it open like this to drink it,” he told the empty darkness, then unscrewed the orange-juice bottle for the mountain god.
Exhausted, he went to the big rock behind the shrine. He had hardly slept at all during the days of travel and was terribly tired. He shook out an old padded jacket he had brought especially for this, wrapped it around himself, lay down, and curled up to sleep.
Just like that, so simply and peacefully, he began snoring softly a little while later.
Darkness and silence stretched endlessly through the night. At last, from that boundless emptiness, the figure of the mountain god appeared.
He sat beside the rock and raised one side of his emerald robe, covering Dahe gently and without a sound.
In his other hand he held the opened bottle of orange juice. He turned it about and studied it for some time, then took a sip, blinked in the darkness, and found it a little too sweet.
But he liked it.