Chapter 129: The Woodcutter's Tale

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Song Mu followed Xiao Xiong and the others as they swiftly descended the mountain. At this moment, everyone was channeling their inner literary energy, their footsteps not only quick but also steady enough to traverse the rugged mountain path with ease. Soon, they glimpsed from afar the towering ancient tree that Tao Fengming had mentioned.

Xiao Xiong and the others stopped on a nearby earth mound, then turned their gaze toward Song Mu. After sizing him up for a moment, they seemed to consider it somewhat risky for Song Mu to proceed alone. With a sigh, one of them spoke to a scholar in the group.

“Fu Zefeng, you go with him. Remember, have him ask the questions.”

A scholar of average stature and appearance nodded and stepped forward a couple of paces. He also scrutinized Song Mu briefly before curling his lips and beckoning.

“Let’s go, Junior Brother Song. This is a task the master entrusted to you.”

Song Mu sighed silently, feeling somewhat dazed. How could Tao Fengming be so sure he could complete this mission? Was it because he looked approachable, or simply because they needed someone to carry it out?

The two of them started forward together, no longer exerting their formidable scholar’s agility but walking steadily along the mountain trail. Soon, they reached the ancient camphor tree nestled among the woods.

The camphor’s roots dug deep into the earth, its trunk wide enough to be embraced by four or five people, and its majestic crown spread broadly, casting a vast canopy of green shade.

“Who’s there?”

Before Song Mu and his companion reached the tree, a sharp voice sounded. As they stepped out, they saw an elderly woodcutter rising to his feet beneath the tree, while a young man leaning against the trunk also straightened up. Each drew their firewood knives from their waists, eyes wary as they stared at Song Mu and Fu Zefeng.

“Uncles, we are scholars, merely passing through,” Song Mu quickly spoke, his tone calm and gentle. He slowed his pace and pulled out his official badge from his waist.

The two woodcutters exchanged glances. Though puzzled by the appearance of these distinguished-looking scholars descending the mountain, they relaxed their guard.

“Uncles, we come from the Jiangnan Western Prefecture Academy. Passing through this mountain path, we happened upon you and wanted to ask for directions.”

Song Mu smiled and stepped closer. The woodcutters glanced at each other, then assessed the two men more closely.

Both were covered in dirt. The elderly woodcutter’s hair was disheveled, and the young man’s leg was stained red with blood, bound hastily with torn cloth.

Seeing this, Song Mu frowned slightly. It seemed his master was right—the two had indeed encountered some mishap.

At that moment, the elderly woodcutter looked up and asked,

“Scholars, what brings you here? What road do you seek?”

Relieved that they were willing to talk, Song Mu and Fu Zefeng stopped. Song Mu responded,

“We wish to know where exactly we are now, and whether any demons or monsters have appeared in these mountains.”

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Song Mu’s question made the two men pause before they fixed their gaze back on him.

“This is within the jurisdiction of Shaozhou Prefecture, Yuezhou. The mountain you’re on is called Eagle Mountain. As for your question about demons or monsters…”

The elder pondered a moment, then looked toward the younger woodcutter.

Seeing this, Song Mu stepped forward a few paces, concern evident on his face as he addressed the young man.

“Sir, how did you get hurt? Were you attacked by some creature in the mountains?”

The two remained silent, their eyes flickering nervously. Song Mu didn’t press further but crouched down to inspect the young man’s bloodstained pants. He beckoned Fu Zefeng over.

“Gentlemen…” The elder stumbled at the sight of Song Mu examining his son’s wounds, unsure how to respond. Fu Zefeng stepped forward and, upon seeing the injury, pulled a small bottle from his pocket and handed it to Song Mu.

Song Mu took it, reading the label: “White Medicine.” Turning to the young woodcutter, he said,

“This is a remedy for external wounds. I will apply it now. It might sting, but you must endure it.”

The young man exchanged a startled look with the elder. Song Mu rolled up the shredded pant leg, revealing several deep gashes that seemed to cut to the bone. His face darkened.

Pouring the powder onto the wounds, the young man trembled violently, wailing in pain. Song Mu glanced at Fu Zefeng, who channeled his literary energy into his hands and pressed it down onto the injury.

The pale yellow powder quickly vanished. Meanwhile, the bleeding ceased, and a thick scab formed over the wounds.

Song Mu was impressed. This was something he had learned at the academy—the use of literary energy to aid wound healing—and he hadn’t expected such remarkable effectiveness.

The young woodcutter, now weakly gasping for breath, looked relieved. The elder’s expression changed to one of excitement as the bleeding stopped.

He immediately knelt before Song Mu and Fu Zefeng.

“Thank you both, scholars.”

“Uncle, what are you doing? Stand up,” Song Mu hurried to help him up.

The tension between them eased, and gratitude shone in the elder woodcutter’s eyes.

Finally opening up, he began to answer their questions.

“To be honest, my son’s wounds were caused by a demon monkey in Eagle Mountain.”

“That demon monkey is extremely fierce, attacking anyone it sees. My son tried to protect me and was bitten badly before the monkey fled.”

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“If you hadn’t appeared, we wouldn’t know how we’d have made it back today.”

The elder spoke with deep emotion. Song Mu immediately noticed a detail and asked,

“Uncle, you said there’s a demon monkey in the mountains? It attacks people at will?”

The elder nodded and recounted,

“There used to be a great demon here—a giant eagle, which is why the mountain is called Eagle Mountain. But that great eagle was kind to our villagers, usually just clearing pests like mice and wild boars from the fields, sometimes even guiding lost travelers out of the mountains.”

“To show our gratitude, we built a mountain god temple for it and offered food every year.”

“For over a hundred years, nothing untoward happened.”

Song Mu was enlightened. The dilapidated mountain shrine where they had rested bore this hidden history.

The elder hesitated, seeming puzzled.

“But for some unknown reason, in the past month or two, the great eagle has disappeared. Many beasts in the sacred mountain have become aggressive. Today, we were unlucky enough to encounter the fiercest—the demon monkey.”

“And it’s not just the monkey. All the mountain creatures have grown more ferocious, often invading our fields and destroying crops.”

“This year, we’re likely to go hungry. That’s why we came out, hoping to gather firewood and earn a little money.”

Song Mu’s expression shifted as he glanced at Fu Zefeng, who met his gaze.

The elder looked at his son, now recovering, gave him some water, then turned back to Song Mu and Fu Zefeng.

“All this began after some people came from the southern official road.”

“It’s said the refugees fleeing from the south harmed the great eagle. Without our mountain god, we lost its protection.”

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