Chapter 882 — The Cowherd Drunk by the Riverbank
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 3 of 4
When the mist dispersed, there was a brilliant sunny sky, the sunlight so radiant that the infant in the swaddling clothes shut his eyes and buried his face in the cloth. Blood ran from Aunt Juan'er's mouth. She staggered onward, yet her palm covered the basket, and she hummed a lullaby to soothe the baby to sleep.
"Reeds grow tall, reeds grow long, in the reed marsh we play hide-and-seek.
How many seekers after fame in lofty halls were once cowherds tending their herds.
"Reeds grow tall, reeds grow long, we gaze across hills and streams.
On this side of the reeds is home, on that side the boundless sea.
"Reeds grow tall, reeds grow long, by the reed marsh we weave all day.
Weave them into rolls for my satchel, to sail with me far away.
"Reeds grow tall, reeds grow long, the reed flute's notes so sweet.
"A cowherd answers from afar, and one longs for father and mother..."
...
Shen Mu listened, dazed, wanting to sing along, but in the dream he was still an infant of two or three months and could make no sound. The pursuers came again, gods and demons vicious.
At the source of the Yong River, Aunt Juan'er in her despair saw a woman washing a sword by the water. Shen Mu saw that the sword-washing woman had a familiar face, like the girl who had fed him medicine. Aunt Juan'er begged her for help. The woman drew her sword; the blade flew like a white dragon. One sword toppled a city, its light shining over the Nine Provinces. That was familiar sword-light, a sword art evolved from Shen Mu's own swordsmanship, carrying the spirit and essence of one who guards the common folk in the final days.
"What is his name?"
The sword-washing woman came to Aunt Juan'er's side and looked at the infant in the basket.
"His name is Shen Fengqing."
Aunt Juan'er gazed tenderly at the infant in the basket, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth: "I mean to carry him, to bring him to a safe place, and not let those gods and demons harm him. But I cannot go on. I want to entrust him to you..."
The sword-washing woman shook her head: "My name is Bai Qu'er. I am a remnant of the Supreme Emperor's followers, fleeing the pursuit of my enemies. I have already killed a batch of trackers. Give him to me, and it will only put him in greater danger. I can escort you for a time, but not long."
They went along the river, the brilliant sun hanging in the western sky. Aunt Juan'er hummed the children's song, and the sword-washing woman listened quietly. They walked no one knew how far, and the song suddenly stopped. The sword-washing woman looked at Aunt Juan'er: her breath had ceased, her eyes dull, and like a walking corpse she clutched the basket and walked on over the river's surface. A powerful obsession sustained her, drove her onward, stubbornly carrying this swaddled infant in search of a safe place, to entrust the child to someone who could care for him.
The sword-washing woman stood dazed, and did not take the basket from Aunt Juan'er's arms—she was not one worth entrusting him to. She could only protect this stubborn corpse, protect her as she sought a worthy household to entrust him to. She hummed the children's song the girl had hummed in life.
"Reeds grow tall, reeds grow long, in the reed marsh we play hide-and-seek.
How many seekers after fame in lofty halls were once cowherds tending their herds..."
Aunt Juan'er's corpse followed the song forward, a smile on her face. They went downriver, and the song never ceased.
At last the sky darkened, and darkness drew near.
"...Reeds grow tall, reeds grow long, the reed flute's notes so sweet.
A cowherd answers from afar, and one longs for father and mother."
The sword-washing woman sang this children's song. Darkness and mist surged in, drowning Aunt Juan'er behind her. The sword-washing woman walked into the mist and watched Aunt Juan'er sink into the water, still holding the basket high. The river rushed on, carrying them downstream.
When night falls, do not go out.