Chapter 314 — Between Father and Son
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 2 of 4
"Qin Hanzhen, Shen Fengqing, I will come back for you father and son! " The Star Lord's strange, rasping voice grew ever fainter; then with a thunderous boom the treasure ship rocked violently, and it was plain she had fled the vessel. Twang.
A humming tremor reached him. Shen Mu opened his eyes on the sly.
The sword light that had filled heaven and earth was gone; the Sorrowless Sword now stood planted before him, its hilt still trembling without cease. Beneath the sword lay a pool of divine blood, shedding a divine glow like morning haze, dreadful to behold.
Shen Mu turned around. The face of the one in the tree had emerged from the trunk, the wood receding from it, but he still kept his eyes tightly shut, unwilling to open them. To open his eyes and see him would trigger the pact with Tu Bo; Tu Bo would take his soul, and then Sorrowless Village would be exposed, and all his kin would be destroyed for it.
Shen Mu stood stunned.
Was it that he would never be able to open his eyes and look at him? "Am I called Shen Fengqing?
" Shen Mu looked at the one in the tree and said in a low voice: "The Li Zheng gave me a name, 'Mu' — Shen Mu, meaning a cowherd boy surnamed Shen.
" He leaned against the tree, close beside the one within it, and said quietly: "From that day on I have gone by Shen Mu. Only now do I know the name my parents chose for me, Fengqing.
. .
it feels a little strange.
Are you.
. .
my father? " The one in the tree kept his eyes shut, but a branch grew out of the tree trunk, and tender leaves sprouted from the branch, gently stroking Shen Mu's hair. Shen Mu leaned there in silence while a hundred flavours surged through his heart.
No one had ever touched him like this. The Pill Master would not; he disliked children, and when boiling his medicines he would press little Shen Mu into the vat with one hand or lift him by the leg and toss him in.
The Blind Old Man would not either; even when Shen Mu displayed his finest staff work, the Blind Old Man would only tap the ground with his bamboo staff and nod, showing approval but no fondness.
Granny Zhu had never raised a child — she was forever washing and changing swaddling; and when Shen Mu grew old enough to help her, cutting and sewing clothes, Granny Zhu would usually offer no more than a word or two of praise. The sternest of all, Master Huo, had never been one to praise.
When he saw Shen Mu, he would always think of his own dead sons and daughters, and his face would darken; he hardly ever smiled. The Deaf Old Man found him annoying, annoying in every way; when he painted he would always drive Shen Mu out, and even when he taught Shen Mu to read, write, and paint, he struck his palm more often than he praised him.
The Silent Craftsman was always wicked, playing all sorts of tricks on him for amusement. The Lame Old Man, on the contrary, often took him along to steal things — or stole his things; the Lame Old Man had a child's heart and treated him as a playmate.
As for the Li Zheng, the Li Zheng had no hands or feet and was also a gloomy old man; though he smiled often, he always seemed weighed down with cares. No one had ever stroked his head like that, not even a cold twig or leaf.
It was a feeling he had never known. Shen Mu tilted his head, looking slantwise at the sky so that the tears in his eyes would not blind him. He had always wanted to act like an adult; the grown-ups in the village were his models, and he learned how they carried themselves, how they handled things.
Yet in that moment he felt he was still a small child, one used to nestling at his parents' side.