Five years later.
The morning sun broke through the layers of mist that clung to the mountain, scattering golden fragments of light between the treetops and leaves onto the ground below.
The Li family had been farming by Moonview Lake for another five years. Sixteen or seventeen years had passed since they found the mirror. The flagstone path on Lijing Mountain had slowly taken on a coat of moss, birds chirped in the branches, and the scene was one of new life.
Old Xu sat slumped beside a moss-covered grave marker, his hunched body matching the cold tombstone as though they belonged together. His withered yellow hand clutched a fistful of dirt.
"Why won't I just die already?"
Old Xu had moved up to Lijing Mountain a few years ago, insisting he would watch over the Li family's graves. Li Xiangping and the others had tried to talk him out of it, but in the end they let him have his way.
Li Xuanxuan had built a small hut for him beside the graves and often brought him things. Old Xu knew tricks — he could weave grass crickets, he could draw. The Li children came running to his hut every few days. Li Xuanfeng had no playmates his age on the mountain, and his father was always busy, so he had grown up playing at Old Xu's side.
Old Xu laughed and played with the children, but in his heart he was waiting to die. Every night as he lay down he thought: "Tomorrow, surely?" But morning came, and the sun rose just as it always did.
Yesterday, Old Xu had shuffled and stumbled into his eightieth year.
"How the hell does a man live to eighty and still not die?"
Old Xu squinted toward the distant slope. In the golden sunlight, a small figure waved from the hillside, his shadow stretched long behind him.
"Xuanfeng's here to see you! Uncle Xu!"
The boy was covered in dirt, his face smudged with mud, hair falling in tangled strands. There was something roguish about him, even a hint of wild defiance. He carried a small wooden bow and had a tiny quiver tied at his waist.
The boy came bounding down the sun-drenched slope, while Old Xu huddled in the shadows, clinging to life. The two stood like opposite poles of the world — birth and death meeting halfway up Lijing Mountain.
"Is that Xuanxuan?"
Old Xu's mind sharpened a little. He raised his head and spoke haltingly.
"Uncle Xu, I'm Li Xuanfeng. My father is Li Xiangping, not Li Changhu."
Li Xuanfeng giggled, untied the cord on his trousers, found a headstone of the right height beside the old man, and started to piss while humming a tune.
He was just about to finish and pull up his pants when Old Xu's eyes flew open. With effort he lifted his walking stick and brought it down with a smack on Li Xuanfeng's backside.
"You little bastard — that's your great-grandfather's grave!"
Li Xuanfeng stumbled, shook himself indignantly, then pulled up his pants and tied the cord. His face was full of defiance.
"He's dead! What's the harm in a little piss? How'd he die?"
"Poisoned."
The exertion had roused Old Xu somewhat. He struggled to sit up and began to speak:
"Many years ago, your Li family wasn't as strong as it is now. There was a big house called the Yuan family. They poisoned your great-grandfather and your second great-uncle. Wanted to take your land."
"Then your grandfather came back with his blade. He killed every last one of the Yuan family, up and down the house. Took their land and gave it away."
Li Xuanfeng braced his small hands on the mossy headstone and sat down on it, grinning wide.
"Good kill!"
Old Xu shot him a look and continued:
"Good? The Yuan family had one child who got away. Twenty-two years later, he came back and killed your eldest uncle."
"Ha?!"
Li Xuanfeng's eyes narrowed. His long child's lashes fluttered as he cursed:
"Grandfather didn't finish the job. Should have killed them all — every man, woman, and child. Then no one could have gotten away."
Old Xu stared at him for a long moment, then said softly:
"You're a bad seed, you are. The Lis have been rotten from birth."
Li Xuanfeng shook his head stubbornly. "Why is it that the Yuans can kill our people, and if we miss one, we just wait for revenge? If we'd killed every last one of them, there'd be no revenge to take. Where's the right and wrong in that?"
Old Xu shook his head too, his voice low:
"When will the vengeance end…"
"When you don't do the job cleanly, that's when it never ends. Wipe out the whole clan, and what vengeance is left?"
Li Xuanfeng spat the words, his young face full of disdain, nothing like a child of seven or eight.
Old Xu coughed twice, self-mocking:
"I've seen too much death. It made me afraid of killing. Not as decisive as a child."
"Uncle Xu."
Li Xuanfeng stood straight beside him and spoke seriously:
"Sheep eat grass, wolves eat sheep. Men eat meat. Demons eat men. Everything in this world eats something else."
"That's what my father says."
He straightened his back, put on a grave expression, and mimicked an old man's voice:
"'Feng'er! This world is a great struggle!'"
Then he burst out laughing, rolling on the ground, making Old Xu laugh too between coughs.
After the laughter faded, Old Xu spoke slowly:
"Once there was a family living at the edge of a village. The father worked the fields diligently. The mother cared for their three children."
"One day, the father saw smoke rising from the next village. He told his youngest son, Xu San, to go up the mountain and gather firewood. Xu San went happily, played until evening, and only came back at dusk."
"But when he got home, Xu San saw blood everywhere. A dozen people sat around his courtyard, setting up a great cauldron. In the pot were his parents. His two older brothers had already been cleaned and stacked into two piles."
"Xu San was terrified. He turned and ran. He hid in the mountains for ten days. Later he heard that the neighboring village had suffered a great drought. The villagers were starving, with nowhere to go. His family lived far from the village, so they became the victims."
Li Xuanfeng listened, entranced, his face cold.
"I would have killed them all."
"But Xu San was a coward. A coward his whole life. He never said a word. He hid in the village his whole life. He hated them. But he hated the giant bird even more. And he hated the immortal!"
Old Xu cried out, his voice breaking. He pulled Li Xuanfeng close and spoke, urgent and low:
"Xu San saw two servants on the mountain, draining a pond. They said… they said… that the giant bird had been lured to Greater Li Mountain to eat people so they could take the Flaming Crow Qi for the young master of the Tang Gold Gate to refine his qi. Xu San heard it clearly. He kept it bottled up for decades, too afraid to speak."
"Xu San… Xu San… ah… dead. All dead."
Old Xu gasped twice, his eyes bloodshot. Bloody froth bubbled from his lips. His head lolled to the side, and the withered yellow hand clutching Li Xuanfeng's trouser leg finally loosened.
Li Xuanfeng stared at him, frozen, for a long time. Then he spoke:
"Xu San. You're dead too."
Warm tears streamed down his face, falling onto Old Xu's cold, stiff corpse. Li Xuanfeng choked on a sob, then threw himself over the old man's body and wailed — until his head spun, until his grief was spent.