Chapter Fifty-Two: An Incident in the Wilderness

After a brief rest at the village entrance, Master Xun called everyone to set out once more. The wheels of the carriages creaked as the procession continued toward the prefectural city.

It was the hour when the sun blazed fiercely overhead, making it hard for Song Mu to remain seated inside the carriage. He simply disembarked, rolled up his robe, and strolled along with the others, his steps swaying lazily. From time to time, they passed a farmer or woodcutter on the road, exchanging polite greetings.

The common folk, seeing the scholarly attire of the group, quickly realized this was a party heading to the imperial examination. They treated them with due respect, and as they passed through villages, children would follow behind in boisterous curiosity, while village elders came forth to inquire if they needed any assistance.

Master Xun declined their offers one by one, urging the group to quicken their pace. At last, before sunset, they reached a small town's post station.

This town was called Qiantian. Modest in size, its posthouse stood by the roadside, managed by an elderly couple and their son and daughter-in-law.

Master Xun presented his scholar's credential and handed over silver for board and lodging. The couple hurriedly ushered everyone inside, and the dozens of travelers soon filled the posthouse to capacity.

Song Mu helped settle the carriages in the courtyard with the old driver, then carried his bedding to one of the guest rooms in the outlying wing.

“Kong, tonight we shall be bedfellows, it seems,” Song Mu quipped.

Kong Zong, taking the bedding, laughed. “No harm in that! Such an experience is rather novel. Only, I hope I don’t snore and disturb your rest, Song.”

They arranged their bedding with several other students, spreading their mats on one long sleeping platform. It stretched six or seven meters and could accommodate a dozen men. Simple though it was, to have shelter from wind and rain while traveling was a blessing, and the owners had kept the place admirably clean, so no one complained.

“Gentlemen, do forgive the humble arrangements. The kitchen is preparing supper. After the meal, there will be hot water for soaking your feet and refreshing yourselves,” announced the posthouse owner, a man in his sixties, dressed in coarse but clean cloth.

As he spoke, his grandson came in carrying two oil lamps, which he set upon the table.

Song Mu cupped his hands in thanks. “Thank you, sir, for your hospitality. We are grateful for your kindness.”

“Think nothing of it! If you need anything, just tell this old man. I’ll do whatever I can to help,” the old man replied, showing particular respect and care for these scholars.

When the old man left, Song Mu helped tidy up the bedding, then stepped out into the courtyard. The scholars were washing up after a day’s journey in the heat, all drenched in sweat. Fortunately, with only men about, none were self-conscious.

Song Mu wandered beyond the courtyard. Beside the posthouse stood a small bamboo grove, and the evening breeze carried a fresh, grassy scent. He surveyed the town beyond the fields; smoke curled from chimneys, and the setting sun bathed the newly planted rice paddies in a golden glow.

Such rustic scenes brought peace to the heart.

But soon, the tranquility was broken by a group of men emerging from the town.

“Huang, you home?” the leader, clad in rough clothes, called toward the posthouse. The others echoed him, holding tools but showing no malice. Song Mu saw no reason for alarm.

They noticed Song Mu’s scholarly attire and the influx of other scholars, and their hurried expressions softened. They cupped their hands in greeting before heading into the side yard, where conversation soon drifted over.

“Huang, what have you decided? Shall we go up the mountain tonight to check things out?”

“Wu, I fear not tonight. So many scholars have arrived—my parents will be overwhelmed. Let’s wait a few days,” Huang replied.

“That won’t do! I could have my wife come help. We’ve planned this for ages—if we miss our chance, who knows if we’ll get another?” Wu insisted.

“Exactly, Huang! That demon beast has hurt several of us already. The other day, Granny Song went to pick herbs in the mountains and was injured by it. She still can’t walk properly,” another chimed in.

Song Mu’s brow arched as he listened. These men planned to hunt a demon beast?

His interest piqued, he approached the yard. The strong man who resembled the old innkeeper was chopping pork bones.

“Brothers, tonight really isn’t possible. The scholars are our guests, here for the examination—we mustn’t neglect them,” Huang said.

“It’s not so troublesome. Just help us set the traps—you’re the best at it for miles around,” Wu pressed. “There’ll be generous rewards if it works out, Huang. Don’t refuse.”

Huang hesitated, glancing inside. The old innkeeper emerged, wiping his hands on his apron, and nodded.

“Go ahead. That demon beast has troubled the village long enough—the sooner it’s dealt with, the better. There’s enough help here for the chores,” he said.

The men broke into smiles. Wu then produced a slender strip of white paper and handed it to Huang.

“Take this, Huang. I got it from Mr. Meng in town. The demon beast seems more cunning lately—this will keep us safe,” Wu said.

Song Mu, standing by the gate, saw the paper and recognized it at once—a poem written with literary power, capable of being activated for protection. He had one himself, written by Master Xun, though his was more potent.

Every village and township was guarded by resident scholars—mostly old licentiates or students—who kept the demon-quelling essays written annually by the county’s instructors to protect the people.

“Why has it come to this? Has the thing grown so fearsome?” Huang frowned at the paper.

Wu quickly replied, “Who knows? The other day, Hunter Liu from Guoxi Village ran into it too. He said the demon beast was acting strange, luring him to a stone wall he’d never seen before, intricately carved, with evil spirits hidden inside. His dog was eaten right there.”

“We must be careful,” he added.

Huang nodded, but at that moment Song Mu stepped forward and addressed them.

“Good men, may I ask about this stone wall you mentioned?”

Surprised by the sudden question, the men turned to see the scholar before them and hurriedly saluted.

“Sir, we only heard the tale ourselves.”

“It’s the work of the demon beast?” Song Mu pressed. They exchanged uneasy glances, until Wu spoke again.

“It must be. Hunter Liu said the beast ran so fast, covering dozens of meters in a flash, darting through the mountains, nearly losing him. At last, it stopped before a stone wall. Liu saw the beast slip inside, and his hound rushed in after it. Soon, there was a yelp, and blood poured out from the spot where the dog vanished. When Liu pulled the leash, he dragged out a skeleton.”

“That’s not all. Liu said when he looked at the stone wall, he saw goddesses floating above it, nearly entranced. If his other dog hadn’t bitten his trousers and held him back, he would have been next.”

“How strange and sinister!” the others exclaimed.

Song Mu listened, frowning, then raised his head. “Do you know where this stone wall is located?”