Devouring Souls to Defy Heaven

Qingshan Village nestled at the eastern foot of the vast Mangcang Mountains, embraced by a chain of peaks. Before the village flowed a clear, shallow stream that ran down from the mountains, never drying up throughout the year. The village was small, no more than thirty or forty households, whose generations had lived by farming and gathering medicinal herbs. It was remote and isolated; the nearest market town was a full day’s journey across two mountain passes, leaving the outside world largely unrelated to life here. It was deep autumn. The wind had dyed the mountain leaves a brilliant gold, scattering them to carpet the path leading into the village. A thin, wiry youth trudged along the mountain trail toward the village, a bundle of firewood taller than himself strapped to his back. He was about fourteen or fifteen, not tall, his skin tanned dark by the sun. His face was angular, his bearing marked by a composure beyond his years. His clothes were patched everywhere, the cuffs and hem frayed, and one of his straw sandals was worn through, revealing blistered toes. But his back was straight as a ramrod. “Qingyun! You’ve been up the mountain gathering wood again?” Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, an elderly man weaving bamboo baskets looked up, revealing a toothless smile. “Uncle Li.” The youth, Li Qingyun, set down the firewood, wiped the sweat from his brow, and greeted him respectfully. “Grandma’s medicine is almost gone. I gathered some wood on the way back so she doesn’t have to make the trip herself.” “This child, you’re just too sensible.” Uncle Li sighed, pulled two still-warm sweet potatoes from his jacket, and offered them. “Here, just baked. Your grandmother’s health isn’t good, and you’re at an age where you need to eat. Don’t go hungry.” Li Qingyun hesitated for a moment, then accepted them with a deep bow. “Thank you, Uncle Li.” “No need for thanks, we’re neighbors.” Uncle Li waved his hand. “Go on, your grandmother will be waiting.” Li Qingyun acknowledged him, shouldered the firewood again, and quickened his pace. His home was at the easternmost end of the village: a low adobe house with a thatched roof, its wall cracks repeatedly patched with yellow mud, looking as if it might collapse at any moment. The yard held a small vegetable plot with a few seasonal greens, a crooked wattle fence, and two worn stone blocks flanking the entrance. Before he even reached the door, the bitter scent of boiling medicine drifted out. “Grandma, I’m back.” Li Qingyun pushed open the door, stacked the firewood in the yard, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and entered. The house was small, consisting of two rooms. The outer room served as kitchen and dining area, furnished only with a table missing a leg propped up by a stone and two creaky chairs. The inner room was the bedroom, where an earthen kang bed occupied half the space. Though the bedding was old, it was washed clean and folded neatly. A white-haired old woman sat by the stove, decocting medicine. Her back was stooped, her face etched with deep wrinkles. Her eyes were clouded with age yet held a gentle warmth. Her hands were rough, her knuckles deformed by years of labor, but her movements were remarkably tender, as if afraid to disturb the bubbling liquid in the medicine pot. “Qingyun’s back.” The old woman looked up, a kind smile appearing on her face. “Tired? There’s a bowl of sweet potato porridge for you on the stove, still warm.” “Grandma, I’m not hungry.” Li Qingyun walked over and crouched before the stove. “Uncle Li gave me two sweet potatoes. You have one.” “This child, when people give you something, you just accept it. You never know how to politely decline.” Grandmother gave him a feigned scolding look, but the smile in her eyes deepened. “Grandma isn’t hungry. You’re growing; you eat them.” “If Grandma doesn’t eat, I won’t either.” Li Qingyun stubbornly pressed a sweet potato into her hand. Seeing the stubborn gleam in the youth’s eyes, Grandmother’s own eyes reddened slightly. Finally, she accepted the sweet potato, broke it in half, and tucked one piece back into Li Qingyun’s hand. “Then we’ll each have half.” Only then did Li Qingyun take it and begin eating heartily. The sweet potato was very sweet, sweet enough to warm the heart. As she tended the medicine, Grandmother chattered on. “Today, Aunt Zhao from the village came by. She said a merchant has come to town to buy herbs, paying twenty percent more than usual. Tomorrow, I’ll go up the mountain, gather some extra, sell them, and get you enough cloth for a new set of clothes. That padded jacket of yours has been worn for three years now. If you don’t get a new one, you won’t make it through the winter.” “Grandma, you don’t need to make me new clothes.” Li Qingyun put down his sweet potato and spoke earnestly. “Your padded jacket is even more worn than mine. How about we get cloth for you instead?” “Grandma’s old; it doesn’t matter what I wear.” Grandmother waved her hand dismissively. “You’re still young, at an age where you need to look presentable. Besides, next year we’ll be looking for a match for you. If you’re all tattered, what girl will take a second look?” Li Qingyun’s face flushed slightly. “Grandma, I’m only fourteen. Finding a match is still far off.” “Fourteen isn’t too young.” Grandmother laughed. “When your father was fourteen, he was already betrothed to your mother.” At the mention of his parents, a brief silence fell over the room. Li Qingyun lowered his head, hesitated for a moment, then asked softly, “Grandma, what were my parents… really like?”