Chapter Forty-Six: Drizzling Rains of the Tomb-Sweeping Festival

The sky at the border had changed, and changed swiftly.

Not long after Tian Xingjian departed, a rain cloud drifted in from the north. In the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, the heavens grew dark, heavy clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled incessantly.

Zhong Ming opened the wooden door, gazing into the distance at the approaching storm.

"It's going to rain..."

No sooner had he spoken than a peal of thunder exploded overhead, a silver flash illuminating Zhong Ming's face. Raindrops, large as beans, fell from the sky, thrumming ceaselessly on the blue tiles, their crisp sound clear.

The brightly feathered rooster, called Iron General, had already fled to its shelter, watching the curtain of rain and crooning in low tones. Its obsidian eyes glimmered with a keen intelligence, a spark inscrutable to ordinary folk.

Zhong Ming stretched his hand outside, and rainwater quickly pooled in his palm. He meant to inhale the earthy fragrance of this first spring shower, but instead, the droplets carried a foul, fishy stench, and wisps of black vapor swirled within.

He frowned slightly and promptly flung the rainwater onto the ground. When it touched his skin, a visceral revulsion surged within him, an instinctive resistance and disgust.

Who knew whence this rain cloud had come, perhaps transformed from stagnant water in some fetid marsh.

Shaking his head, Zhong Ming turned back indoors. He disliked the rain, its fetid odor reminiscent of rotting corpses. Years ago, when wars raged endlessly, such strange rains fell often, but they had become rare in recent years. He wondered what was amiss this year for such a rain to return.

The stench inevitably brought to mind those grim days—mountains of corpses, rivers of blood, the air thick with decay, gaunt youths scavenging for food amid the heaps of bodies.

Rubbing his brow, Zhong Ming sighed.

Just as his thoughts wandered, a horse burst from the rain, its rider shouting loudly. As the horse reached the small courtyard, Zhong Ming recognized the newcomer—Liang Yu, who had hurried from the city.

Liang Yu was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging tightly to his body, drenched by the rain.

He led his black horse into the courtyard, rushed indoors, cursing as he went: "This damned weather, changes faster than a June day—rains without warning!"

Hearing Liang Yu's complaints, Zhong Ming chuckled and called out, "Isn't it the Qingming Festival? The ancestors' day of mourning—heaven itself grieves!"

Across the yard, Liang Yu slapped his wet clothes with a loud smack and replied, "Let heaven cry for itself, just don't drag me into it. Now I'm covered in this foul rain... Damn, it's worse than my own feet!"

His curses drew laughter from Zhong Ming, who, after a moment, asked, "Hei Zi, why aren't you staying at the Commandant's residence? What brings you back in this heavy rain?"

Recently, Liang Yu had been doing well at the Commandant's residence, with Sun Longhu looking after him and his close ties to Zhong Ming ensuring some courtesy from the fine-scaled cavalry. Finding a place to sleep wouldn't be a problem; Yang Yanlang certainly wouldn't refuse.

Liang Yu, perhaps busy changing clothes, took a while to respond: "The Commandant's residence is empty, doors locked, nowhere to stay! Oh, Ming, Commandant Yang asked me to tell you—they received an urgent summons today and are heading to Suiyun Mountain to patrol the border. Tomorrow's ritual, neither Master Yang nor Longhu will be able to attend."

Yang Yanlang was headed to Suiyun Mountain, and in a hurry?

Zhong Ming furrowed his brow, sensing something strange. Suiyun Mountain lay beyond the border town, deep in the frontier. Though called the border, it was really a no-man's land—a stretch of mountains, beyond which lay the territory of Southern Han.

The border town was the last fortress of New Tang, its final line of defense.

Though the three kingdoms had signed their treaty, it was but a façade; beneath the surface, the empires still plotted and sparred, minor skirmishes not uncommon.

As long as no army of ten thousand crossed the border, people turned a blind eye, whether immortals, officials, or commoners. Hard-won peace—no one wished to tear it apart.

With the Immortal Court above and the Imperial Court in the middle, why send a mere hundred riders to patrol the vast Suiyun Mountains, stretching thousands of li?

Zhong Ming pondered long, unable to make sense of it. Ever since Mister Guo said the border would change, everything seemed odd to him.

Those who knew the news fled, those steadfast and capable were sent away; now the border resembled a treasure trove with its gates flung wide, attracting all manner of strange folk.

Liang Yu, hearing no reply, pressed, "Ming, did you hear me? I said Master Yang and Longhu..."

His shout broke Zhong Ming's reverie. He hastily replied, "I heard, hurry up and change into dry clothes, don't catch cold!"

Liang Yu's hearty laughter echoed from the courtyard. "Ming, don't joke! I'm strong as a young bull now—no sickness can touch me, not even lightning!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than thunder rumbled overhead, making Liang Yu shrink his neck. Zhong Ming laughed till his stomach hurt, teasing, "Don't boast, or the Thunder God might strike you down!"

The two bantered across the courtyard for a while, until Liang Yu, tired, called out his intention to sleep.

Zhong Ming, with nothing else to do, lit the oil lamp, drew out the manual of "Three Gales," and began to study its techniques word by word. There was a saying: "Read a book a hundred times, its meaning will reveal itself." With this mindset, the young man patiently worked to master the manual.

Rain fell through the night, never ceasing, until even the oil lamp in Zhong Ming's courtyard was extinguished, but the rain pressed on.

By midnight, the downpour had dwindled to a gentle drizzle, and by dawn the spring rain finally ceased.

Spring rain, precious as oil, should have nourished the fields, yet Zhong Ming bore no fondness for it, for Liang Yu had fallen ill after being caught in its shower.

Early that morning, as Zhong Ming slept with the manual as his pillow, he was awakened by persistent knocking.

He donned his robes and opened the door, only to find Iron General pecking at the threshold. Zhong Ming scowled, waving his sleeve, "Lazy thing, go find worms in the grass, don't disturb people at dawn."

But Iron General did not leave. Instead, it fluttered to Zhong Ming's feet, clucking endlessly.

Today, Iron General acted unusually—unafraid of Zhong Ming's rebuke, persistently fluttering as if something strange was afoot.

Zhong Ming was puzzled, sensing the rooster had something to say, so he followed its fluttering to the courtyard, where it perched on the low wall and clucked at him.

He followed Iron General over the wall into Liang Yu's courtyard and learned the cause.

Liang Yu's house was far messier than Zhong Ming's, crowded with rescued cabinets and tables, leaving little room to walk. On the solid wood bed, Liang Yu gasped violently.

Iron General fluttered to the bedside, pecking lightly at Liang Yu's face and clucking oddly.

Alarmed, Zhong Ming hurried over. Liang Yu's complexion startled him—his dark face now pale with a flush, white as rice paper. When Zhong Ming touched his face, it was icy cold, save for his burning forehead.

Had he caught a chill, or contracted malaria?

Zhong Ming quickly shook Liang Yu's shoulder, calling, "Hei Zi, Hei Zi, wake up..."

But Liang Yu did not respond, only gasped for breath, as if breathing through both mouth and nose was the only way to survive—any less air and he would suffocate.

This was troublesome; Liang Yu's illness seemed more severe than a common cold, in urgent need of treatment.

Medicine in this era was primitive. Most endured ordinary chills, only seeking remedies from the city's Jishi Hall if they could not recover, and even then the slow-acting herbal medicine was all the old physician could offer. For anything more challenging, he was helpless.

After some thought, Zhong Ming boiled a pot of hot porridge and prepared soup to feed Liang Yu, but his instinctive gasping meant he coughed and spat out anything that entered his mouth.

With no other option, Zhong Ming could only grit his teeth, cover Liang Yu with blankets, and prepare to fetch the old physician from the city to treat him.

Returning to his own courtyard, Zhong Ming saddled his horse and rode toward the city.

But as he left, he sensed something odd about the village. Something was amiss.

Quiet—too quiet.

Though the sky was still overcast and morning light scarce, it should have been sunrise. Normally, families in Muddy Village would be up preparing breakfast, filling the air with noise.

So Zhong Ming, instead of hurrying to the city, rode slowly past two courtyards, listening for any sign of life.

Reaching the village center, he confirmed that everyone was still asleep. Frowning, he called out to the neighboring courtyard, "Little Fish, are you awake?"

Little Fish was industrious, a fellow native of Muddy Village and well acquainted with Zhong Ming. Usually, anyone in the village would drop what they were doing and come out to ask, "Mr. Zhong, what can I do for you?"

But today was different. Zhong Ming called several times, but no one responded.

A sense of dread gripped him. It seemed that last night's rain had indeed changed the border, and now the consequences had come crashing down upon his own head—squarely and without mercy.

"Stop shouting. They're all sick; no one can answer you."

As Zhong Ming gripped the reins and pondered, Hu the hunter emerged from the far end of the village. His shaggy beard was disheveled, clearly just risen, arms folded as he regarded Zhong Ming.

Seeing Hu, Zhong Ming's eye twitched, recalling the warnings of Yang Yanlang and Guo Dexing to stay clear of Li the carpenter and Hu the hunter.

But with no better plan, Zhong Ming dismounted and asked, "Hu the hunter, how do you know they're all sick?"

Hu beckoned him over. "I just checked the village—most are gasping for breath, struck by some strange illness. Only a few remain lucid. I meant to visit your house, and here you are."

Zhong Ming clicked his tongue. "I just saw Liang Yu fall ill—must be this strange disease you mentioned."

"If you're still awake, come with me."

He beckoned Zhong Ming, turned, and walked away.

Zhong Ming hesitated for a moment, but seeing that everyone was sick and recalling his uncle's warnings, he could only grit his teeth and follow Hu the hunter.