xymnovel Chapter 7 The Hardships of Life
Chapter 7 The Hardships of Life
Nestled in the gentle embrace of the mountain peaks as they transition into the plains outside Yuanzhou City lies a small village called Sanlipu. The village is about thirty li from the city and three li from the Cihua Temple at the foot of the mountain, hence its name. It is truly a paradise on earth, with exceptionally beautiful scenery. The majestic, verdant mountain peaks, like a giant screen, embrace the village, blocking the harsh northerly winds while gathering the essence of nature's beauty through rain and dew.
On the road leading from Sanlipu Village to Fengding Mountain, there is a famous temple—Cihua Temple. Built against the mountain, with its blue bricks and gray tiles, the temple appears solemn and dignified against the backdrop of green hills and cypresses.
During the Yuan Dynasty, Buddhism flourished. In every street and alley, in every village, whether high-ranking officials or ordinary poor people, Buddhism was highly revered. The wisps of incense seemed to comfort countless souls weary from the struggles of the world. The Cihua Temple was also filled with the sounds of morning bells and evening drums, and the chanting of sutras, attracting countless believers to come and worship devoutly.
Not far to the east of Cihua Temple, a mountain spring converges into a waterfall, cascading down and carving a deep pool in a mountain hollow. The water is crystal clear and named "Cihua Pool." Pilgrims visiting the temple often play and frolic here. The pool overflows, transforming into a crystal-clear stream that meanders like a ribbon, flowing gently past the village and nourishing the fields and houses on both banks. Willows sway gently along the stream, and fragrant grasses grow lushly. Village women wash clothes, and children play in the water, creating a vivid pastoral scene.
At the eastern end of the village, not far from the stream, lived a family surnamed Fang. Their simple tiled houses were surrounded by a bamboo fence, and the courtyard was kept clean and tidy, reflecting the diligence of its owners. The head of the household, Old Man Fang, and his wife, Madam Fang Wang, were honest and hardworking farmers who had spent their lives tending their few acres of meager land, planting in spring and harvesting in autumn, living frugally. They had two sons: the elder, Fang Xiaohe, and the younger, Fang Yingyu.
Fang Xiaohe, the eldest son, displayed extraordinary talent for reading from a young age. Unlike his peers who climbed trees to steal birds' nests or fished in the river, he preferred to stay in his dimly lit little house, engrossed in borrowed books by the faint light filtering through the window. His family was poor and couldn't afford many books, but he treasured every fragment, every handwritten copy by a neighboring scholar, reading it repeatedly. His memory was astonishing; while it might be an exaggeration to say he could memorize something after just one reading, he could memorize thousands of words after only three or five repetitions. Even more remarkable was that he didn't just memorize by rote; he often showed insight into the principles and meanings of classical texts. Although his writing still retained a rustic simplicity, it was already structurally sound and substantial, earning him a small reputation among scholars in the surrounding villages. At this time, Fang Xiaohe was already married to a woman surnamed Chen and had a five-year-old daughter named Fang Ke, a clever and obedient girl, the apple of her grandparents' eye.
Unlike his brother, who buried himself in books, Fang Yingyu was like a sapling growing freely towards the mountains and fields from a young age. He had little interest in the classical texts and Confucian classics; the lessons his teachers taught went in one ear and out the other, his mind already wandering to the vast world beyond the village. He loved listening to the village elders tell stories of chivalrous knights and heroes of bygone dynasties, his eyes shining as he listened, wishing he could personally experience those battles and chivalrous deeds. From a young age, he would pester the village elders who knew a few martial arts moves, eager to learn by imitating their techniques. Every day before dawn, while his brother Fang Xiaohe was still reading aloud, he would already be at the open space by the stream or on the hillside behind the village, practicing his martial arts with a firm stance. Every move he made exuded a fierce energy and unwavering determination.
However, despite his extraordinary enthusiasm and superior talent, his experience was limited, and he had only learned some common village skills. These skills were sufficient to deal with ordinary villagers in one-on-one combat, but they proved insufficient against truly skilled opponents. Nevertheless, Fang Yingyu never gave up, firmly believing that "even the toughest iron can be forged into fine steel." He believed that with persistent effort, he would one day master martial arts, roam the martial world, and experience the joys and sorrows of life.
Although the two brothers had very different interests, they shared a deep bond. Besides his studies, Fang Xiaohe would patiently explain principles of conduct to his younger brother, hoping he would understand that those who practice martial arts should be even more righteous. Fang Yingyu, in turn, would take his older brother outdoors to stretch his muscles when he was tired from studying.
Beneath this seemingly tranquil surface, undercurrents were surging. At that time, the government was rife with corruption, and corrupt officials ran rampant, ruthlessly exploiting the people. Exorbitant taxes and levies were countless, causing immense suffering to the common people. Most of their harvests were stolen, leaving them hungry and filled with resentment. The Fang family was no exception, and their lives were extremely difficult.
In the twilight of late spring, the setting sun, like blood, dyed the thatched roofs of Sanlipu Village a dark red. Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, several ragged old men sat in a circle, their cloudy eyes reflecting the afterglow, yet unable to see into the darkness in their hearts.
"I heard the Prefect is going to levy another 'suppression tax'," Old Zhao said, drawing circles on the ground with his withered fingers. "He says it's to wipe out the bandits in the north, but who doesn't know where all that money ends up?"
Old Wang coughed twice and spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm: "My three acres of barren land yielded less than two bushels of grain last year, but I still have to pay one bushel of tax. My wife is so hungry she's just skin and bones. Yesterday she went to the back mountain to dig for wild vegetables and broke her leg, but we don't even have money to call a doctor."
Fang Yingyu squatted not far away, sharpening his hunting knife, the blade making a "ch-ch" sound on the whetstone. He was sixteen years old, already taller than his peers, and his shoulders were broader than those of the average farm boy due to years of martial arts training. As he listened to the old men's conversation, his movements gradually slowed down.
"Yingyu," Old Zhao turned to look at him, "your father went to town to pay taxes today, has he come back yet?"
Fang Yingyu shook his head and continued sharpening the knife. The sunlight reflecting off the blade stung his eyes, just like the harsh realities he couldn't change.
When it was completely dark, Old Man Fang returned home, his back hunched. Under the oil lamp, his face looked even more ashen than usual, his eyes sunken, as if his life force had been drained away. Fang Yingyu's mother silently brought her a bowl of watery wild vegetable porridge, so thin it reflected her image, but Old Man Fang pushed it to Fang Yingyu, who was sitting in the corner.
"Have you paid it all?" Fang's mother asked softly.
Old Fang nodded and pulled an empty cloth bag from his pocket: "Even the copper coins I saved up last year have been used up. The yamen runners said they'll be collecting 'training fees' again next month."
Fang Yingyu's family struggled to survive in these difficult times. Frequent droughts and floods caused crop failures, making their livelihood even more precarious. They worried daily about how to make ends meet, as if groping in the dark with no glimmer of hope in sight.