Burial Ground

“Sharpening scissors, oh!”

In the sprawling outskirts of the capital city, countless villages, both large and small, dotted the landscape, and this particular cry echoed through them daily.

Even approaching the zenith of noon, with the scorching sun beating down mercilessly, there were still those who toiled under its glare, carving out a livelihood.

For them, the searing, unbearable pain of the sun was a far lesser sorrow than the gnawing emptiness of their wives’ and children’s bellies.

“Hey there, honored sir, do you need your blades sharpened? My skill is absolutely top-notch! I’ve sharpened all the tools in these surrounding villages, and even gentlemen from the capital seek me out. I guarantee your satisfaction!”

A man, appearing relatively young, scurried towards Yún Mù, promptly launching into a sales pitch.

In his estimation, though the young boy before him was clad in tattered garments, the subtle ‘sheen’ of the fabric itself hinted at a material far beyond their means.

Within his worldview, even the dog of an aristocratic family belonged to that family, and would undoubtedly possess more wealth than any of them, mere country folk. Thus, he was determined not to let this opportunity for profit slip away.

“Young man, are you truly not considering it?”

Yún Mù halted, his gaze lifting to the man before him, whose face was stretched into a fawning smile. Though taller, the man bent low, striving to appear smaller than Yún Mù.

“Calluses?”

“Precisely, sharpening scissors. Honored sir, would you perhaps wish to…”

‘Ha, this feels promising.’

He rubbed his hands together, a flicker of joy igniting within him.

“If the calluses were ground away… wouldn’t all these years of labor have been in vain?”

“Ah? Honored sir, what on earth are you saying? How could scissors ‘labor’…”

His gaze fell upon Yún Mù’s raised right palm, observing the thick layer of calluses etched into the withered hand. He paused, slightly stunned, before releasing a long sigh.

“You… ah…! I took you for a gentleman, but you’re just a fool. What a waste of time.”

With that, he shook his head and departed, leaving the boy who remained utterly bewildered. A helpless expression settled upon the man’s face.

“Most likely another unfortunate soul, I reckon.”

Then, the cry of “Sharpening scissors!” resumed, echoing repeatedly, slowly receding from near to far until it vanished entirely.

‘So it wasn’t *that* kind of callus after all…’

Yún Mù withdrew his hand, glancing up at the sun’s position. He tightened his grip on the candied hawthorns nestled in his embrace and continued walking towards a more distant, desolate area.

His pace quickened with each step, yet every movement brought a searing, limping pain that originated from the soles of his feet, piercing him to the bone.

‘A little faster… otherwise, I won’t make it back in time, and that wouldn’t be good if it implicated Miss.’

He repeatedly murmured ‘faster,’ yet his steps grew heavier with each utterance.

“Ha… ha…”

Finally, gasping for breath, he halted before a patch of woods.

Wiping the sweat from his face, Yún Mù cast his gaze into the somewhat dim depths of the jungle, his eyes resolute.

‘Let’s go…’

A rustling, scratching sound arose as thorny weeds chafed against his clothes, impeding his progress.

Even worse, some thorns pierced directly through the thin fabric, embedding themselves in his flesh. With a painful tug, they broke off from their roots, leaving their home to remain with the boy.

After roughly half an incense stick’s burning time (TL Note: Approximately 15-30 minutes, a traditional Chinese unit of time measurement.), a sliver of bright light finally appeared before Yún Mù.

‘Almost there…’

The boy spoke, bolstering his own spirits, his heart pounding rapidly. Yet, his steps grew smaller and smaller, until with a soft thud, he collapsed at the edge of the clearing.

Beneath his feet lay a trailing vine, laden with thorns.

‘Ugh… that wasn’t here last time…’

He struggled to his feet, carefully extracting his foot. His trousers, once a deep black, were now stained with numerous patches of dark crimson.

However, the boy paid these details no mind. He simply walked slowly forward, gradually entering the area bathed in light.

“Drip…”

“…Drip.”

A clear spring in the forest trickled onto a stone, flowing along its grooves and onto the path, where it stained the ground beneath his feet with concentric circles of crimson.

“Master, I’ve come to visit you.”

Before Yún Mù stood a small, moss-covered stone tablet. Upon its surface, three characters, ‘Lín Xīzhī,’ were carved crookedly, alongside an incomplete character for ‘tomb’.

The boy’s master was named Lín, and the inscription on this stone tablet had been carved by him unintentionally.

Lín Xīzhī’s Tomb – Lín Xīzhī zhi Mù (TL Note: ‘zhi’ is a classical Chinese particle indicating possession, similar to ‘of’ or ‘-s’).

Carving in his sorrow, his vision blurred by tears, the character ‘之’ (zhi) inadvertently became ‘之之’ (zhizhi). By the time he regained his composure, the character for ‘tomb’ had already begun with its first stroke, resembling ‘一’ (yī, meaning ‘one’).

At that moment, the boy thought, ‘Since it’s already wrong, then so be it.’ He then etched an even longer stroke, resembling ‘一’, effectively completing the inscription as simply ‘Lín Xīzhī’.

“Master, there have been no banquets at home recently, and your disciple has no money for wine,” Yún Mù stated, standing before the tablet. He pulled out the candied hawthorns from his embrace, most of which were now crushed. “But I’ve brought what you loved to eat. I hope you won’t blame me.”

He carefully selected the only four remaining intact hawthorn berries, placing the shapeless crumbs onto a piece of cloth torn from his sleeve.

With a soft thud, he knelt, solemnly arranging three candied hawthorns. He then scattered all the crumbs from the cloth before the grave, bowing his head three times with resounding thumps.

“Master, are you faring well in the afterlife? Have you perhaps met my father and mother? If you have, do they… get along with you?” Yún Mù’s voice was rough, the tombstone blurring before his tear-filled eyes. “If you see them… could you, could you please, for your disciple… take this…” His words caught in a sob, unable to continue. He then bowed his head six more times with heavy thumps. “Three berries: one for you, and one for each of my parents… My parents passed far away, and their tombstones are not suitable to be built here, so I can only entrust them to you… If, if you cannot find them, then please, eat them all…”

The boy’s voice trembled. Lifting his head, he suddenly felt a soft warmth against his cheek; delicate, fine, pale pink fur gently brushed across his eyelids.

“It’s you… as expected… you’ve come again.”

Yún Mù sat upright, gazing at the small pink fox that had appeared at some unknown moment, yet its presence felt entirely anticipated. A faint, tender smile touched the corners of his lips.

He raised his sleeve, intending to wipe away the tears on his face, but only smeared them further, making his face dirtier. Eventually, he simply gave up on the pretense of superficial cleanliness.

This pink fox was one he had inadvertently rescued several years prior when he first came to this place. The boy had initially only intended to drink a few sips of spring water before departing, but then he witnessed her fall into the water. In a daze, he had already plunged in after her.

Though the current was swift, he fortunately possessed some underlying strength, and after expending a monumental effort, he managed to pull her to safety.

Thereafter, every time he visited this place to pay respects to his Master, the little fox would coincidentally appear.

“This is a candied hawthorn I brought for you, though it’s not much, just one. I hope you won’t mind.”

Bringing an extra portion of food had become a habit Yún Mù cultivated ever since.

As he spoke, he placed the last clean, uncrushed berry before the little fox. However, the small creature merely circled him twice, whimpering softly before pushing the candied hawthorn back.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it? Or… are you unable to eat such things…?”

The little fox lifted its gaze to the boy, its beautiful, enchanting eyes blinking, seemingly filled with confusion, yet more so with a profound clarity.

Yún Mù scratched his head, feeling a touch of embarrassment. He raised his hand, pushing the berry back towards the fox, then retrieved the few candied hawthorns that had fallen to the ground and collected a good deal of dust from his embrace, stuffing them all into his mouth.

“See, you still have plenty here.”

His eyes crinkled into crescents as he chewed heartily, the smile on his face inexplicably deepening.

Soon, whether it was due to having gone too long without such a treat or the mischievous ‘chánchóng’ (TL Note: A Chinese slang term referring to a craving or intense desire for food, literally ‘greedy worm’) at work, he devoured them.

The boy gulped down the few berries, even forgetting to spit out the seeds.

“Cough, cough… cough, cough…!”

After a few coughs, he offered another radiant smile.

“Remember to eat it. I have to go now. If we meet again next time…” Yún Mù paused, something occurring to him, and he amended, “Ah… never mind… let’s not meet again next time. My mother dislikes animals, and my father has hunted many small beasts. It wouldn’t be good if you were accidentally harmed.”

Having spoken, he rose and offered another long, respectful bow to the tombstone. Then, waving his hand and saying, “I’m off,” he limped back into the forest.

After the boy’s figure had completely vanished from sight, the little fox, which had been silent until then, suddenly let out a few soft whimpers.

Following this, a woman clad in luxurious silks and brocades emerged from the woods.

She bent down, picked up the pink fox, and then retrieved the candied hawthorn. After taking a gentle bite, she offered the remaining half to the fox’s mouth, speaking softly.

“Do not fret. By my reckoning, that day should be fast approaching. When it arrives—I shall personally take him away.”