Returning to Longxi (Completed)
The wind in Hexi finally carried a hint of warmth. It wasn't the gentle caress of a spring breeze, but rather a heavy warmth, a mixture of muddy odors, ashes, and lingering traces of blood, brought by the melting snow and softened frozen earth. On the scorched surface of Longshou Plain, the newly turned earth, like ugly sores, stubbornly exposed itself to the sun. The surviving soldiers and civilians of Anji Camp, like ants awakened from hibernation, slowly crawled through the ruins, clearing away the broken walls and constructing makeshift shelters. Silence was the dominant theme of this land; only the muffled thud of shovels digging, the panting of carrying wood and stones, occasionally punctuated by suppressed coughs and the nightmarish sobs of children.
The governor's mansion, or rather, those few temporarily cleared but still relatively intact mud houses, were now filled with a desolate emptiness after the dust had settled. On the desk, the silver seal with a dragon-shaped knob, symbolizing the military and political power of Hexi, lay quietly, its surface stained with dried blood and dirt, its luster dulled. The newly appointed military governor of Hexi—a smooth-faced civil official from the central government, whose eyes held a shrewd calculation—was carefully wrapping it in a piece of bright yellow silk.
"Lord Xiao is noble and righteous, turning the tide and protecting the people. His merits are great for the country! I will certainly report the truth to the emperor and request that Lord Xiao and the Anji Camp be rewarded..." The new military governor's voice was smooth and hollow, like a carefully polished pebble.
Xiao Yuxuan didn't look at him, nor at the wrapped silver seal. He stood by the window, beyond the broken window frame, at the busy yet silent Longshou Plain. His gaze passed over the hunched figures, over the newly turned poisonous soil, over the few stubbornly standing charred wooden beams on the old school site, and finally landed in the distant southwest—the direction of his hometown in Longxi.
The process of relinquishing military power was so simple it was almost hasty. There were no grand ceremonies, no complicated paperwork. He personally removed the tattered Mingguang armor that had accompanied him through countless battles in Hexi. As the cold armor plates rubbed together one last time, making a dull sound, and were finally placed on the table, an immense, almost unbearable weariness, like the cold reefs exposed after the tide receded, instantly engulfed his entire being. It wasn't post-battle exhaustion, but a weariness from the depths of his soul, an emptiness that came only after unloading a tremendous burden, realizing that his spine had already been bent and his heart and soul drained.
He refused the new military governor's feigned attempts to retain him and the so-called "honorable retirement" arrangements. He took only an old set of clothes, a worn-out sword, and his equally silent and scarred home behind him.
---
The official road leading to Longxi wound its way through the mud of early spring. The carriage was rudimentary, its wheels creaking monotonously and heavily as they rolled over the thawed mud. Inside, Xiao Yuxuan sat with his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, as if still enduring unseen pain. Each jolt aggravated the crisscrossing old wounds within him, bringing sharp, needle-like pain. In the dim light, his face appeared even more gaunt, his eyes sunken, his temples streaked with gray, and the old scar that ran diagonally from his brow bone to his jawline resembled a lifeless red snake coiled against his weary complexion.
His wife sat opposite him, clutching a faded, worn-out amulet tightly in her hand. The dark red bloodstains on the amulet pouch had long since dried and turned black—marks left by her constant vigil during Xiao Yuxuan's serious injury years ago. Her gaze was lowered, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rough fabric of the amulet pouch. Her eyes occasionally swept over her husband's furrowed brow and the scarred back of his hands, her gaze filled with unfathomable heartache and lingering worry. Last night, he had woken up again screaming in his sleep, his thin shirt soaked with cold sweat, as if he had just escaped from a battlefield.
Xiao Dingbian and Xiao Mingxin sat in the corner of the carriage. The young man stood ramrod straight, still wearing the "Tiger-Scale" half-armor that Ji Zhai had forged for him, the cold metal plates clinging tightly to his young and taut body. One hand remained firmly on the hilt of the unsharpened ceremonial sword at his waist, his knuckles slightly white from the pressure, as if ready to draw the sword at any moment and face an unseen enemy. His gaze warily swept across the desolate fields and ruined villages flashing past the carriage window, like an arrow still taut on a bowstring from the battlefield.
Xiao Mingxin appeared unusually quiet, even somewhat fragile. She was wrapped in a thick, old cloak, her face still pale, devoid of color. That desperate act of forcibly activating "earthly resonance" to tear apart the enemy army and nearly ripped apart her own consciousness had left indelible aftereffects. She often fell into a daze, her clear eyes staring into the void, her fingertips trembling slightly involuntarily. Occasionally, she would suddenly awaken, breathing rapidly, instinctively clutching a long, narrow object tightly wrapped in oilcloth—a fragment of the *Gongzheng Yilu* (Records of the Craftsman). That fragment, like a cold, eerie source of both allure and immense pain, was inextricably linked to her weakened body.
The carriage trudged through the mud for days. The closer they got to Longxi, the more desolate the landscape became. War, oppressive government, and natural disasters, like invisible beasts, were gnawing at this once relatively prosperous land. Abandoned fields were overgrown with withered grass, collapsed houses lay unrepaired, and occasionally a few emaciated farmers could be seen digging at unknown roots in the fields, their eyes numb and empty. The embers of war had never truly been extinguished; they had simply changed form, continuing to burn on the backs of the common people.
As dusk fell, the carriage finally entered a valley surrounded by rolling hills. The air was filled with the smoke of burning straw and a familiar, earthy, humus-scented rural aroma. However, when the carriage rounded a familiar, moss-covered rock and stopped at the entrance to the village they remembered, everyone inside fell silent.
There was no sound of chickens or dogs, no wisps of smoke rising from chimneys. Only a desolate wasteland remained.
The entire village looked as if it had been brutally crushed by a giant, furious hand. The charred ruins stood menacingly in the twilight, a few beams, not yet completely burned, leaning crookedly towards the gray sky like arms of despair. The century-old locust tree at the village entrance, half charred and withered by lightning, stubbornly sprouted a few new green shoots from the other side, trembling in the evening breeze. Wild grasses pushed their way through the broken rubble, swaying wildly in the cold wind, adding to the desolation.
Xiao Yuxuan pushed open the car door, his steps faltering as he stepped onto this familiar land. Each step crunched on the broken bricks and rubble, each step a fragment of memory. He seemed to see again his father carrying a hoe, returning from the fields; his mother sitting under the old locust tree, her gentle smile as she mended clothes; his own agile figure practicing martial arts and spear fighting on the threshing ground as a boy… Those vivid images were now completely covered and shattered by the scorched earth and desolation before him.
Guided by memory, he trudged along the sunny hillside behind the village, where the Xiao family's ancestral graves once stood. His wife followed silently behind him, clutching the amulet tightly. Xiao Dingbian and Xiao Mingxin also got out of the car and silently followed their parents, their gazes sweeping over the shocking ruins. In the boy's eyes was suppressed anger, and in the girl's eyes was deep sorrow.
On the hillside, wild grass grew taller than a person. Several lonely earthen graves were submerged in the grass, most of the tombstones crumbling, the inscriptions blurred by wind and rain. Xiao Yuxuan pushed aside the waist-high withered grass, relying on his hazy memory and a deep-seated connection to his bloodline to painstakingly make out the inscriptions.
Finally, he stopped at the foot of a relatively sheltered earthen slope covered with sparse clumps of wild grass. Before him stood only a small, low grave, almost level with the ground. There was no tombstone, no offering table, only a few stones, smoothed by wind and frost, haphazardly piled on the mound, barely marking its location. The grave was covered with a thick layer of withered grass and fallen leaves, almost invisible unless one looked closely.
This is it. The cenotaphs of my father and mother.
Years ago, his father was murdered by the magistrate while protecting his fields. His mother, to protect him from the clutches of the evil officials, had to use her body to delay their pursuit. By the time he fought off the powerful enemy and returned home exhausted and wounded, everything had changed. The village elders tearfully recounted that his mother had been beaten to death by the magistrate that very night. To cover up their crime, the magistrate burned his mother and house to the ground. Ten days later, a few brave old farmers risked their lives to secretly bury a few pieces of their parents' tattered clothes from the ashes, leaving him this cenotaph.
Years have passed since we parted, and the graves have become so desolate. My parents were unjustly killed, their remains never found, and I couldn't even see them one last time, nor could I personally bury them. I can only stand before this cenotaph, overgrown with weeds, and mourn a wisp of their clothing...
A torrent of grief, deep-seated hatred, and agonizing guilt, like icy lava, instantly breached the dam Xiao Yuxuan had been desperately trying to hold up! His tall frame swayed violently, and a suppressed whimper, like that of a dying beast, escaped his throat. His wife rushed forward and tightly supported his trembling arm.
“Father…Mother…Son…I am unfilial…” Xiao Yuxuan’s voice was broken and hoarse, each word like a blood clot being forcibly ripped from his heart and lungs. He slowly and with great difficulty bent his knees, kneeling heavily on the cold ground covered with gravel and withered grass. His forehead pressed hard against the cold earth, the scent of grass and decaying leaves filling his nostrils, like the smell of the great fire that had consumed everything years ago. The old wounds crisscrossing his body protested sharply in his kneeling position, but he seemed oblivious. Only the uncontrollable, violent trembling of his shoulders betrayed the turbulent emotions churning within him. The vulnerability, anger, and boundless regret that had been wrapped in layers of iron and blood, power and responsibility, finally found an outlet at this moment.
He seemed to see again his father's wrinkled face arguing with the judge, his defiant eyes as the stick struck him; he seemed to hear his mother's murmured words of reassurance as she tried to protect him from harm, her cries abruptly cut short by the dull thud of the falling sticks; he seemed to feel the scorching heat of the burning house... and he himself, helplessly crying and desperately trying to escape, was oblivious to all of this, failing even a fraction of his duty as a son!
His wife knelt silently beside him, gently placing the faded amulet on the rough stone in front of the grave. She clasped her hands together and prayed silently, tears streaming down her weathered face.
Xiao Dingbian and Xiao Mingxin also knelt down. The boy's lips were tightly pressed together, his teeth clenched, and his eyes burned with fierce anger as he stared intently at the low grave, as if trying to etch the image of his unseen grandparents' tragic deaths into his very bones. His hand gripped the sword hilt, his knuckles cracking, making the unsharpened ceremonial sword feel as heavy as a thousand pounds. The girl, on the other hand, quietly lowered her head, her pale fingers clutching the edge of her cloak, her body trembling slightly, tears welling up in her clear eyes, silently sliding down and dripping onto the soil beneath her.
Xiao Yuxuan knelt for a long time, as if trying to convey through this cold earth all the years of guilt, longing, deep-seated hatred, and unspeakable weariness to his parents who lay buried beneath the earth. As dusk settled, only the howling wind blew across the desolate hillside, like a lingering elegy, or like the cold shouts of the judicial officers of yesteryear.
After a long while, he slowly raised his head, his forehead covered in a mixture of dirt, grass clippings, and tears. He took a deep breath, the cold air, mingled with the twilight, filling his lungs and bringing a brief, almost numb clarity. He stretched out his calloused and scarred hands and began, with extreme slowness and care, to clear the withered grass, fallen leaves, and pebbles from the grave. His movements were gentle, almost pious, as if afraid to disturb the sleeping souls, or perhaps to make up for the regret of not being able to personally collect his parents' remains.
Seeing this, Xiao Dingbian and Xiao Mingxin silently joined in. The young man, with his calloused hands and an almost violent focus, relentlessly pulled out the stubborn thorns, as if those thorns were the very same thorns that had once wielded the clubs of the legal officials. The young woman, with her slender fingers and a deep sorrow, gently brushed away the dust and moss from the stones, as if wiping away the bloodstains left by a loved one.
As he cleared the area directly in front of the grave, Xiao Yuxuan's hand suddenly stopped. He brushed aside a thick layer of half-rotten leaves, and his fingertips touched a hard, cold object buried in the soil. The shape of that thing... didn't seem to be an ordinary stone.
A thought struck him, and he tightened his fingers, carefully digging into the surrounding soil. The soil was hard, mixed with gravel. He dug slowly and meticulously, as if excavating a long-buried secret stained with blood and tears. His wife and children beside him also stopped what they were doing, watching intently.
Finally, the object revealed most of its true form.
It was a ruler.
A ruler that is entirely black, neither gold nor wood, and cold and heavy to the touch.
Its shape is simple and unadorned, with strong lines and rounded edges, clearly showing signs of age and use. The ruler has no ornate decorations, only fine, natural wood grain resembling star trails, which gleams with a restrained, ethereal light in the twilight. Deeply engraved on the ruler's surface is a single character—
"install"
The characters were square and vigorous, each stroke exuding a heavy sense of power, as if carved by a knife and axe, deeply embedded in the ruler. The engravings were filled with years of accumulated soil and dark red, long since dried and solidified…blood! The characters and bloodstains merged into one, as if the character “安” itself was a vow forged in blood and iron!
Mohist ruler!
Xiao Yuxuan trembled violently! It was as if he had been struck by a silent thunderbolt! He stared intently at the cold ruler in his hand, at the blood-stained character "An"! Countless fragments of memories, which had long been blurred, exploded like ice cubes thrown into boiling water, appearing clearly before his eyes at this moment!
My father's hands, calloused and large-knuckled yet exceptionally skillful, could always conjure intricate models in the fields, on a simple wooden table, using ordinary wooden strips, common stones, or even a handful of mud—irrigation ditches, labor-saving seed drills, sturdy livestock sheds… He was taciturn, but his eyes always held the focused concentration unique to craftsmen and a hint of… barely perceptible worry. As a child, Xiao Yuxuan only thought of his father as a skillful farmer.
And then there was the faint smell of gunpowder and engine oil that my father sometimes had when he came home late at night…
And then there's the solemn, thoughtful expression he often wore when he looked at the small ditch behind the village that frequently overflowed and destroyed the fields, and the words he often uttered: "If the water doesn't cause disaster, the ditch isn't repaired, the officials aren't benevolent, how can the fields be safe?"
And then there was his dying breath, his tight grip on his mother's hand, his gaze passing over her shoulder, fixed on his bewildered self, his silently moving lips—at that moment, the shape of those lips was crystal clear in Xiao Yuxuan's mind: "Protect... Tian... An..."
Those overlooked details, those long-buried doubts, were ignited at this moment by the cold ruler and the blood-red character "安" (An).
My father… he was no ordinary farmer! He was a Mohist! A former leader of the Suspended Blade Organization, or at least a core figure in the Rift Formation Sect! He hid in this remote mountain village in Longxi, not to escape, but to practice the Mohist principles of "universal love" and "non-aggression," protecting this land and its people in his own way! What he measured with his ruler was not fields, but the hearts of people! What he built was not a model, but the hope for the survival of the people! The character "安" (peace/safety) he carved was not a prayer, but the path he had practiced throughout his life! He resisted the court officials' forced seizure of land, not for himself, but to protect the soil upon which the entire village depended for survival, to protect that meager hope of "peace"! In the end, he was framed by cruel officials and died a brutal death under the beatings!
An indescribable torrent, a mixture of immense shock, profound grief, deep-seated hatred, and belated enlightenment, violently assaulted Xiao Yuxuan's heart! His hand, gripping the ruler, trembled violently, his knuckles white from the force. The cold metallic touch penetrated his palm, reaching the very depths of his soul. His father's blood, his mother's tears, his own hatred, and this blood-stained ruler… everything pointed to the same source—the aloof and cruel Legalist regime that treated ordinary people like dirt! The Legalists were nothing more than the sharpest claws on that vast and ruthless machine of the state!
The wife also saw the ruler and the inscription. She slowly reached out, her cold fingers gently tracing the blood-stained, age-old engraving of the character "安" (peace/safety) on the ruler. Her gaze moved from the ruler to her husband's violently trembling profile, then to the low cenotaph, her eyes filled with endless sorrow and a kind of... fatalistic understanding.
She spoke softly, her voice low yet booming like thunder in Xiao Yuxuan's ears:
“This thing…this ‘peace’…is what your father sought his whole life, and it is also the source of his…misfortune.”
"Anji!"
"Anji!"
The "Peace" his father carved with his life, and the "Peace and Prosperity" that Xiao Yuxuan roared out amidst the ruins of Longshouyuan and countless flames, at this moment, transcended the boundaries of life and death, and the distance of time and space, and resounded together! His father's struggle was to protect the "Peace" of the fields; his struggle was to protect the "Peace and Prosperity" of the people in the region. The goals were different, but the will was the same! And both struggles inevitably crashed into the same cold, high wall—the shackles of Legalism!
It's not a coincidence.
It's about inheritance!
Two generations of Mohists, in different ways, on the same chaotic and scorched earth, pursued and practiced the same ideal with blood and life—peace and stability for the people and the nation! This pursuit was destined to be accompanied by a life-and-death struggle with the cold laws and the oppressive power represented by the cruel official Yan Yang!
Xiao Yuxuan abruptly closed his eyes, scalding tears mixed with overwhelming hatred gushing uncontrollably from his tightly closed eyes, splashing onto the cold ruler and the rough stones in front of the grave. His tall body trembled violently, and a suppressed sob, like that of a wounded beast, escaped his throat. Deep within that sob was a silent roar of boundless rage.
Dusk completely enveloped the desolate hillside. Only the Mo family ruler, soaked with tears, still radiated a calm and cold luster in the gloom. The blood-red character "安" (peace) on the ruler was like an inextinguishable star in the night, and also like a wound that would never heal.
a long time.
Xiao Yuxuan slowly opened his eyes. The tears in his eyes had been evaporated by the flames of hatred, leaving only a calm and resolute demeanor born from enduring countless hardships and gaining a profound understanding of the source. Deep within that resolute demeanor lay a cold, unyielding will for revenge. He carefully wiped the dirt and tear stains off the ruler with his sleeve, as if polishing the most precious relic in the world, or as if wiping a sword of vengeance about to be drawn.
He stood up, his gaze fixed on the distant northeast—the direction of Longshou Plain, and also towards Jincheng. Then he looked down at the cold ruler in his hand and the desolate cenotaph.
"Father, Mother." His voice regained its calmness, carrying a power that pierced through the sandstorm, cold as iron, "This place is too desolate, too lonely. Your son will take you... to a new place."
He turned to his wife and children, his eyes as firm as a rock: "Move the spirits. To Longshou Plain. To the edge of Guiyuan... that reborn willow grove." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the young yet resolute faces of his children, and said, word by word, "Also... to the place closest to the shackles of the Legalist school! Your grandparents must see with their own eyes... how their blood debts will be repaid! See how the word 'peace' of our Xiao family... will be etched into this scorched earth!"
---
The edge of Longshouyuan Ghost Plain.
Hundreds of newly planted "reborn willows" stand tenaciously in the chilly early spring winds. Their supple branches, though slender, already show hints of new green, like hope struggling to emerge from the depths of the earth. Beside the willow grove, a simple joint burial tomb has been erected. There is no lavish tombstone, only a piece of bluestone from Longshou Plain, with its natural texture, upon which two names are carved side by side with vigorous strokes: Xiao Yuanshan, Liu Shi.
Beside the tomb, the black Mohist ruler lay silently. Its body was cold, and the character "安" (peace/safety), soaked in blood and time, imbued with the brutality of the legal officials and boundless hatred, silently told the story of a Mohist's lifelong pursuit and perseverance, and the beginning of a family's deep-seated blood feud, under the cold moonlight.
Xiao Yuxuan personally scooped up a handful of moist soil mixed with freshly turned earth and the fine roots of the reborn willow, and gently sprinkled it onto the ruler. The soil covered the cold metal, and also covered the heavy character "An".
“Father, Mother,” his voice was low and steady, like the gleam of a blade in the cold night, “Anji School… will be rebuilt. The irrigation canal… will be repaired. The fire channel of the Cleansing Wall… will eventually be lit. The ‘peace’ on this land… your son, and Dingbian and Mingxin, will continue on this path.” His gaze turned towards Jincheng, deep as a cold pool, “The debts of the legal officials, the shackles of Yan Yang… your son, will also… settle them cleanly, one by one!”
The wife silently and gently placed the faded amulet next to the ruler that was half-covered by mud.
Xiao Dingbian and Xiao Mingxin stepped forward, each scooping up a handful of soil. The young man's movements were steady, his eyes sharp as knives, as if he were holding not soil, but a vow of revenge. The girl's movements, however, carried a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. When her pale fingers touched the cold soil, a flash of pain crossed her eyes, which then transformed into an even deeper resolve.
Clumps of earth fell, gradually burying the ruler and the amulet, building a new grave. The freshly turned soil, full of life, blended with the newly sprouted willow grove on the edge of the Ghost Plain under the moonlight. The night breeze rustled through the willow branches, making a soft whisper, like gentle murmurs, or a silent cry.
Xiao Yuxuan gazed one last time at the newly erected grave, his eyes seemingly piercing through the soil to see the slumbering ruler and the eternal, blood-soaked character for "peace." Then, he slowly turned away, never to look back. The moonlight cast a long shadow of his back on the scorched earth of Ghost Plain, like a massive, unsheathed, ink-black ruler ready for battle.
The cool moonlight, like mercury spilling onto the ground, flowed quietly over the new graves on the edge of Ghost Plain, over the reborn willow grove that stubbornly swayed its new green shoots in the cold wind, and over the silent figures of Xiao Yuxuan's family of four as they walked on.
Behind him lies the final resting place of the ink-stained soul, where blood debts lie buried deep.
Ahead lies scorched earth awaiting spring, the flames of hatred still burning.
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