Chapter 16 – Mount Luoji (Part One)
by Salted FishThe mountain wind blew from the west as Naigu, carrying his knife, bent forward and climbed the slope.
He had beautiful brown skin, large eyes, and a fierce, eagle-like nose with sharp cheekbones. The hair on his temples was shaved clean, revealing a bluish scalp, while the rest of his long hair was tied into a topknot. A large round earring dangled from his left ear. When he glared in this direction, he looked as valiant as the heavenly soldiers described by the Bimo 1Bimo: priest.
He wasn’t wearing a Chaerwa 2Chaerwa: a cloak or a Pizhan 3Pizhan: a felt undercoat worn beneath the Chaerwa, baring his upper body to show off the bear and boar teeth around his neck. Yet, despite being such a warrior, he had no silver on him—he was a Wazi 4Wazi: A boy, can be used as plural as well (boys). Most likely a servant boy in this context..
On Mount Luoji, the Black Yi spoke, the White Yi listened, and the Wazi were nothing more than livestock.
Wazi Naigu followed the winding mountain path, hacking through the thorny undergrowth that tangled around his legs, heading back to his village. His village was at the mountaintop, belonging to the century-old Dira Clan. He was his master’s best dog and the clan’s sharpest blade.
Suddenly, voices came from upwind. He immediately dropped to the ground, hiding in the withered grass.
This area was the territory of the Eluo Clan, the Dira Clan’s decades-long nemesis. Earlier, he had passed one of the Eluo Clan’s markers—a jujube wood pole with the head of a Dira man hanging from the top.
Naigu peeked over the dirt slope. In the distance, a colorful procession approached, with a yellow umbrella bobbing and swaying in the middle, standing out starkly against the desolate scenery of Mount Luoji.
The laughter of women reached his ears. Under the yellow umbrella was a Black Yi noblewoman in a pleated skirt, surrounded by Wazi, gracefully making her way through the weeds. With every step, the hem of her skirt flared out like a ripple.
They were coming closer. Naigu cautiously pressed himself lower. She was a beauty—large, dark eyes, long lashes, cheeks tinged with an apple-like blush, and that ample bosom, full and supple, swaying slightly on her slender waist with a charm that would make any man gasp.
He guessed who she was. Such beauty could only belong to A’ge, the newlywed wife of the Eluo Clan. She wore a tall, three-tiered silver headdress, its tassels covering her brows, jingling with every movement. Her black blouse was fastened with three large spherical silver buttons, a silver plaque pinned at the collar, and a delicate row of silver plum blossoms embroidered along the neckline. Only the wife of a chieftain could wear such finery.
Like all noble Black Yi women, she held one hand on her waist and the other supporting the heavy silver headdress, swaying like a painting.
Mount Luoji had two great beauties, and she was one of them. The other was her husband, Eluo Xiaogui. Naigu couldn’t help but feel sorry for his master—the two brightest pearls of Mount Luoji both shone on the mountainside.
The women stirred. The yellow umbrella shifted from A’ge’s head as two Amizi 5Amizi: a term for a young woman, can be used as plural as well (young women) helped her up the slope above Naigu. Then they stepped back, leaving A’ge alone as she lifted her thick woolen skirt, baring her thighs, and crouched down, holding the hem.
She was urinating. The sound of trickling water reached Naigu as the urine flowed down the loose soil and roots of the wormwood, threatening to drip onto him. He had no choice but to move slightly. A’ge heard the noise and spotted him.
They were so close, staring at each other in shock. How could there be a man here? A’ge frowned, about to scream, but as the wife of a chieftain, she thought of her dignity, her status—a young newlywed noblewoman shouldn’t be the subject of scandalous rumors.
Naigu didn’t move either. He didn’t want to alert the Eluo Clan’s people. He lay there, next to A’ge’s urine, watching her. Her face flushed. She didn’t even wipe herself, standing up with tightly pursed lips, glaring down at him. But Naigu was so handsome that no woman could truly stay angry at him. She just kept looking at him, then walked away uneasily.
He waited until they were far gone before brushing off the dirt and standing up, quickly crossing through Eluo territory into Dira land. At the border between the two clans stood a stone tablet engraved with a mountain eagle and the legend of the “Three Drops of Blood.”
Legend had it that the ancestor of Mount Luoji was a maiden who, at fifteen, was shaded by the shadow of a divine eagle. Three drops of blood fell from the eagle’s beak—one struck her head, piercing through her nine braids; one struck her upper body, piercing through her nine layers of felt clothing; and one struck her lower body, piercing through her nine layers of skirt folds.
The maiden thus became pregnant and gave birth to two boys: the elder named Dira, the younger Eluo. The two brothers had fought even in the womb, and their descendants were destined to be enemies for generations.
As for Naigu, his ancestors were merely Wazi captured by the Dira Clan from the foot of the mountain. He carried no blood of the black mountain eagle, nor did his name bear the divinely bestowed surname of the Yi people.
Entering the village, Wazi like him were bustling about. They were usually busy, but not like this—frantic, searching everywhere.
“Hey, Naigu!” someone called from behind. He turned to see the chief steward, draped in a Chaerwa and smoking a pipe, pointing downhill. “The chieftain’s cat is missing. Go find it.”
The chieftain’s cat was named Hebao. It had been brought up the mountain three years ago during the Torch Festival’s Duoluohe 6Duoluohe: a group dance performed by women during the Torch Festival. dance, carried in a triangular pouch. The Han merchant who sold it had been paid a tael of gold.
Naigu was starving, having not eaten all day. “Is the chieftain alright?”
Cats were spiritual creatures, carrying fragments of their owner’s soul. If a cat went missing, the owner was said to fall seriously ill. The chief steward tapped his pipe toward the main house. “Resting behind closed doors.”
It was a tall earthen-walled house, the only one in the village with blue tiles. Three dogs of varying sizes guarded the entrance, and smoke curled from the chimney.
“What are you waiting for?” the chief steward urged impatiently. “Go on!”
Naigu had no choice but to turn and head back the way he came, glancing over his shoulder at the chieftain’s house. That man was inside—the initial setting described him as gentle and steady. It was a shame he couldn’t see him yet.
Hebao was a large tabby cat, golden with proud stripes, raised in the village since it was a kitten. It shouldn’t have gone far. Naigu searched the entire Dira territory but found no trace, not even a single meow. Could it have… gone downhill?
Looking up, the moon hung above the treetops. Ahead, past a grove of mulberry trees, lay Eluo territory. His stomach growled. He swallowed saliva to stave off hunger and forced himself onward.
Moonlight filtered through the woods, but the shadows made it hard to see clearly. He drew his long machete from his back, gripping it lightly as he called, “Hebao… Hebao!”
Before long, someone answered from behind one of the trees: “Hey!”
Naigu immediately crouched, tightening his grip on the knife, focusing on the darkness ahead. The other person, like him, carried no torch—clearly, both sides were cautious in this borderland forest.
“Who’s there?” he shouted, not hiding, brandishing his knife as he inched toward the voice. This wasn’t the strategy of an ordinary man—only a warrior accustomed to killing would dare such boldness.
The other clearly hadn’t expected him to advance. Driven by foolish bravado, he stepped out from behind the tree—wide trousers, an Eluo man, with short legs that only reached his knees. A White Bone.
Naigu scanned him, then turned the blade toward him, pushing forward with both hands, ready to strike. Suddenly, from his right, behind him, came the sound of crushed twigs. After years of navigating these woods, he knew instantly—there was more than one!
Without confirming, without even looking, he turned and ran, darting through the trees like an arrow. The Eluo men gave chase—two of them, their footsteps splitting left and right, one closer, the other lagging. Naigu’s mind raced as he veered south toward a series of terraced slopes.
His reckless sprint made the Eluo men underestimate him, mocking him with shepherd’s whistles.
Naigu gradually slowed, letting the faster pursuer catch up. The slopes came into view. He leaped down one after another, four or five in a row. The pursuer grew impatient, jumping down just as recklessly. Then Naigu spun around, raising his blade—thud—warm blood splattered across his face.
The body tumbled down. Naigu didn’t hesitate, scrambling back up the slope. By the time he reached the top, the slower pursuer arrived, freezing at the sight of him. By the time he realized the dark stains on Naigu’s face were blood, it was too late. He turned to flee but was hacked down by Naigu’s blade.
The forest fell silent, save for the mournful cry of an owl. Naigu felt around the bodies’ waists, finding a floral bellyband embroidered by a girl. A shame.
Tearing it open, he pulled out a bag of roasted barley flour and wolfed it down ravenously. Then he raised his knife to sever the heads, yanking off their headscarves and gripping the long hair, dripping with blood.
Back at the village, the chief steward sat waiting for him by the chieftain’s wall, tapping his pipe. “The cat?”
Naigu shook his head, tossing the two bloody heads at his feet. “They ambushed me while I was looking for the cat,” he wiped the blood from his face with his elbow. “The Eluo Clan stole it.”
The old steward took a drag from his pipe, saying nothing, then jerked his chin toward the house.
Naigu had pushed open the door of the main house countless times, but for the player, this was the first. The faint creak of the door was familiar yet strange. He closed it behind him and stepped inside.
The fire pit was uncovered, filling the room with warmth. The chieftain sat on the ground wrapped in a Chaerwa, the golden-red flames casting an ancient serenity over his face.
He was dressed entirely in black, the Chaerwa flaring like an eagle’s wings. The Yingxiongjie 7Yingxiongjie: A stylized knot on the turban that symbolizes rank or martial valor. on his turban stood tall and straight, marking his status. Amid all this solemn black, the only splash of color was the coral beads on his left ear, long strands cascading from his shoulder to his chest.
He turned his head, looking calmly at Naigu. His face carried a gentle, amiable air, with wide, long eyes already creased with fine wrinkles. His irises were light, and even without smiling, there was a hint of mirth in them.
Naigu walked toward him, pulling the knife from his back and tossing it aside—a blatant disrespect. The chieftain frowned slightly, as if understanding something.
“Dira Datie,” Naigu called his name, squatting beside him, warming his hands over the fire while studying him with a meaningful gaze. “How do you like the role I picked for you?”
His hands were still stained with blood. He let it drip from Datie’s shoulder onto the back of his hand. Datie faced the flickering firelight, his voice hoarse as he called out, “Offi—”
Before he could finish the word “Officer,” Naigu covered his mouth. “Shh,” he said. “Just like on the Island of Saints, don’t mention anything from reality.”
Datie lowered his eyes, and this small gesture surprised Naigu: “You…” He didn’t know how to describe it. This was undoubtedly his Listener, yet he was so different from No. 0416. “How strange,” he murmured to himself. “You’re completely different ‘inside’ and ‘outside.'”
At that moment, Dira Datie bit his finger—hard. Naigu pried open his mouth and found a small canine tooth to the left of his front teeth. Just a single fang, yet it ignited a fire of excitement within him.
Pushing Datie’s chin down, he pinned him to the ground, straddling him with his bloodstained face looming over him. “Now, I’m the stronger one,” he said, his expression triumphant as he reached under the Chaerwa to tug at the Pizhan beneath. “Just like you, I’m a different person in the game too!”
He kissed him impatiently, the scent of fresh blood still clinging to him. Datie didn’t resist much, but he wasn’t enthusiastic either, maintaining the noble air of a true Black Yi. Only occasionally did he exhale a breath or two, tickling Naigu’s eyebrows.
“Where are the others?” Datie asked.
Naigu paused, studying a small mole on Datie’s neck in the firelight. “None of your business.”
“I’ve never been taken by a man before,” Datie said. “And you’re so rough.”
“Scared?” Naigu teased, toying with the coral beads on Datie’s earlobe before brushing his fingers along the strands of hair peeking out from the edge of his turban. Slowly, he unwound the entire black cloth headwrap.
Beneath the turban was the Tianpusa 8Tianpusa: The Yi believe spirits communicate through hair. Men grow a long lock on the crown of their head, tied into a topknot symbolizing the heavens. Long Tianpusa can reach two meters and must not be touched or played with., tightly coiled and beautiful. For a fleeting moment, Naigu hesitated, but in the end, he couldn’t resist. Trembling, he grasped the noble hair tightly in his hand.
Datie abruptly closed his eyes, the sense of humiliation coming from his character’s setting. “Didn’t you read the background info? If a White Bone touches a Black Bone’s Tianpusa, they lose two fingers,” he said indignantly. “And you…”
Naigu rubbed it wantonly, shuddering at the taboo thrill of defying hierarchy. “Just a slave,” he murmured, staring hungrily into Datie’s eyes. “Are you going to chop off my head?”
At the top of the Tianpusa was a small silver pin, used to hold the shape in place. Naigu pulled it out, and with a soft whoosh, the hair cascaded down, spilling halfway across Datie’s shoulders in smooth, silken waves.
Naigu gathered the long strands in his hands, kneading them before pressing them to his lips. “So cold and distant,” he mused. “Don’t like being beneath me?” He grinned, whispering, “Would you prefer to be on top?”
Datie slowly pulled his hair back from Naigu’s grasp, his expression carrying a faint, alluring aloofness. He was refusing, yet Naigu’s heart pounded wildly, intoxicated by this cold, beautiful rejection.
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Early the next morning, the Dira Clan’s archers shot signal arrows toward the Eluo territory—twenty of them, carried by the mountain wind, landing in Eluo fields. Each arrow was tied with a black chicken feather, a declaration that the Dira Clan was coming.
By midday, Dira Datie led a group of men down the mountain in a grand procession. Crossing the boundary marker, they were met by the Eluo Clan’s men waiting silently by the roadside, their wide-trousered legs and hate-filled eyes watching them pass.
Naigu walked at the front, his face splattered with freshly spilled chicken blood, the severed White Yi heads from yesterday hanging at his waist like grim trophies. Like a vengeful spirit, he cleared the path for Dira Datie.
From afar, the wails of women could be heard—two of them, mourning their husbands or sons. The Eluo crowd grew thicker, pressing in from all sides. The women’s faces appeared, their gazes lingering on the Dira warriors with a mix of hatred and fear. The men wore neat, narrow trousers, towering and savage.
At the village entrance, the Eluo steward received them, greeting Dira Datie with the respect due to a chieftain—though nothing more. There were no slaughtered sheep, no welcoming feast. “Our chieftain drank heavily last night and hasn’t risen yet,” the steward said. “Please, Chieftain Dira, follow me to the side house.”
The side house—the women’s quarters. Datie said nothing, his coldly composed face slightly raised as he nodded at Naigu.
Naigu continued clearing the way, purging impurities for Datie. Entering the village, he saw Eluo Xiaogui’s grand house, built in a clumsy imitation of Han architecture, its roof adorned with awkwardly styled eaves. A’ge’s house stood to the east, its doors and windows pasted with paper flowers, another Han influence.
The Eluo Clan had fields—fields meant grain, opium crops, a steady flow of silver, bullets, and Wazi captured from the lowlands. Datie glanced at the courtyard full of Han slaves in straw sandals before straightening his back and stepping onto the earthen platform.
A’ge’s door was open for him. She wasn’t dressed in finery, wearing only a headscarf adorned with coral beads. To her left stood a boy of fourteen or fifteen, his Tianpusa not yet tied—Eluo Xiaogui’s younger brother.
By custom, Naigu should have returned the heads to the deceased’s family and waited outside. But he stopped Datie—inside, besides A’ge and the boy, were three Black Yi men, their Yingxiongjie tall and straight, large agate earrings dangling from their ears, bows and knives strapped to their backs. Warriors.
“Don’t worry,” Datie’s gaze softened as he looked at Naigu, speaking quietly. “We’re just here for the cat.”
He entered, followed by a few young men. The door closed behind them. Naigu frowned, turning to face the gathered Eluo Clan members. They stared at him—and the severed heads at his waist. They wouldn’t see them as his trophies. He was just a Wazi, only fit to bear misfortune for his chieftain.
Not far ahead, the Dira men stood in a cluster, looking down on Naigu just the same.
Naigu didn’t care. He observed the village discreetly, straining his ears for the sound of a cat. But the silversmith’s hammering was too loud—he couldn’t hear a thing.
Inside, an argument broke out, voices rising and falling, though not yet heated. Naigu’s knife was on his back. He was already thinking—if things turned violent, how would he draw his blade? How would he force the door open? How would he push Datie to safety? How would he cut down those three warriors one by one?
BANG! The door was kicked open from inside. Datie emerged. The Dira men immediately closed ranks, while the Eluo men blocked their path. The two groups tangled in their Chaerwa, a clan feud on the verge of erupting.
“Eluo A’ge,” Datie’s voice cut through the crowd, and like a receding tide, silence fell. “Denies stealing Dira Datie’s cat.” He tilted his chin up proudly, the red coral on his left ear glinting in the sunlight. “And refuses to compensate for the loss.” Slowly descending the steps, he was restrained, composed, exuding the elegance of an eagle perched on a branch. “Mount Luoji has only one cat, and my soul hangs upon it. You can’t hide it!”
Not a single voice rose in protest. The Eluo men instinctively hunched their backs, shrinking away. Naigu moved to follow, but suddenly, a kick struck the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. He whipped his head around—a beautiful face, large eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight, a small dimple on the left cheek. A’ge.
She recognized him. While everyone else’s eyes were fixed on Dira Datie, hers were locked onto Naigu, filled with a willful shyness—she had taken a dislike to him.
Naigu glared back. It wasn’t like he’d meant to spy on her while she pissed. Since she was a woman, he bared his teeth in a snarl but held back.
The Dira men returned to their village. Naigu stayed close to Datie the entire way, afraid that losing the fragment of his soul tied to the cat might bring him harm. He guarded this golden body with meticulous care, not even allowing the wind to disturb him.
Back at the mountaintop, Datie went straight to the main house. Naigu followed, closing the door behind them and stirring the ashes in the fire pit to revive the flames. Warmth spread as Datie sat by the fire. Alone now, a trace of anger surfaced. “Tomorrow, go to the Eluo Clan and kill a few men for me.”
Naigu crouched beside him, fussing over the coral beads on Datie’s ear like an old nursemaid, dusting off his Chaerwa. “The cat’s with them, isn’t it?”
Datie looked annoyed. “From the way they spoke, no doubt.” He brushed Naigu’s hand away. “Stealing a cat is a grave crime on any mountain. If they dared to do it, they shouldn’t blame me for being ruthless.”
Naigu wisely stopped touching him, shifting his gaze to Datie’s feet—the only part of him exposed beneath the heavy Chaerwa, bare and dust-covered. “Too bad we didn’t see Eluo Xiaogui today.”
He reached out to grab them, but Datie seemed to anticipate the move, swiftly tucking his feet under the Chaerwa. “Why do you want to see him?” he asked disdainfully. “Because he’s beautiful?”
Naigu couldn’t stand this man—sometimes so cold, sometimes so… He pounced on him, recklessly yanking at the Chaerwa, spreading it flat on the ground, then the Pizhan—two thick layers. He pulled off his own pants, straddling Datie’s waist bare-assed. “You’ve lost your wife, and I’m unattached. We’re a perfect match!”
Datie remained as indifferent as ever, barely bothering to resist. “Don’t go too far.”
A vague command, but Naigu understood. “Don’t worry, I won’t go in,” he said, carefully loosening Datie’s tightly tied belt and pushing up his thin black shirt. “Not until you’re willing.”
Datie lazily rested his head on his arm, tilting it toward the fire, devastatingly alluring. Naigu stared at him, unable to stop his mouth from going dry. This was a feast, yet he seemed incapable of indulging. “When you’re willing, I’ll have you begging for me!”
He spread Datie out on the black Chaerwa. Datie was actually quite thin—the kind of lean that came with age, clean and spare. Between his legs lay a soft, pale mound, seemingly neglected.
Naigu stared at it, slowly parting Datie’s thighs. As he pulled, the muscles of his buttocks formed a full, firm shape—perfectly toned.
“Have you ever really been with a woman?” Naigu asked, his throat bobbing. “How many times did you do it?” He seemed to want Datie to say something shameless.
“I had one,” Datie said, legs spread, his navel rising and falling with each breath. “A plump girl. Got her pregnant the first time. She died in childbirth. Didn’t you know?”
This was a mood-killer. Naigu lifted Datie’s legs higher, exposing the hidden pucker between his cheeks. Like the rest of him, it had an untouched innocence. Naigu pressed his middle and index fingers to either side, kneading lewdly until the tight ring relaxed. He pressed his thumb against it, not forcefully, but insistently, marking it like a brand.
Amid the crackling firewood, Datie let out a soft gasp—so brief it was hard to tell if it was real. But Naigu saw. Saw the soft, pale flesh between his legs darken, flushing red as it stiffened.
“No way…” Naigu grabbed it in surprise, and with just a few strokes, it was fully erect in his hand. “You… you’ve been played with back here before?”
Datie craned his neck to look down, then shut his eyes in frustration. It was No. 0416—he’d done this to him. “I don’t know. It feels strange,” he murmured, lips pressed together in shyness. “Maybe because I haven’t had a woman…”
No woman, so his asshole became sensitive? Naigu didn’t buy it. One hand fondled him while the other annoyingly pinched his buttocks. Datie grabbed his wrist, torn between pleasure and resistance, his fingers tracing light and heavy patterns on Naigu’s skin. Unable to take it anymore, Naigu took Datie’s barely used length into his mouth.
His face was still smeared with blood, making the act seem even more savage and terrifying. Even so, Datie clenched his thighs, the insides rubbing roughly against Naigu’s shaved, bluish temples—prickly, tingling, maddening.
By the time the moon reached its zenith, Naigu descended from the Dira territory alone, armed with just a knife, passing through the mulberry grove into Eluo land.
He took treacherous paths, circling wide, inching closer to the village. The cooking fires in the village had long since died out, the entire mountainside asleep. His face and arms were smeared with soot, making him drift through the night like a wisp of smoke, slipping past the sentries.
Avoiding the dogs, he crept along the backs of the houses, searching for his target—since he’d taken the risk to come, he’d kill the best.
The status of a household could be discerned from the house itself and the items hanging under its eaves. Large houses belonged to the Black Yi, while those with many pelts and ox skulls on their walls were the homes of Black Yi warriors.
He picked one at random, standing beneath the window to peer inside. By the covered fire pit, a man and woman were entwined, grunting as they coupled, while a few children slept nearby, wrapped in Chaerwa.
Tap, tap. Naigu knocked on the window. The couple froze, eyes wide as they stared in his direction. Naigu’s face was too dark to make out clearly at first, so he grinned, flashing white teeth in greeting. “Hey.”
The man scrambled up, not even bothering with his Pizhan as he bolted out the door. Naigu darted away, the man chasing the rustling sound of grass up the slope behind the house. The slope led into the woods. The moment the man stepped into the trees, before he could even spot a figure, a sharp pain shot through his left ankle. He cried out, collapsing to his knees, reaching down to feel—his Achilles tendon had been severed.
Then, from the grass right behind him—so close—Naigu stood up, long knife in hand, grabbing the man’s other foot. Without a word, he slashed that tendon too.
The man tried to fight back, but he couldn’t stand, flailing uselessly with his fists. Naigu didn’t bother engaging. He grabbed the man’s hair and drew the knife across his throat—just high enough. Then he kicked the body down the slope.
The man would bleed out slowly. Naigu didn’t leave immediately, instead crossing his arms to wait. Sure enough, the man crawled back using his arms, his ruined throat unable to scream, banging on the nearest door. A thin man emerged, shouting as he rushed inside to grab a bow, following the bloody trail left on the ground.
Naigu liked archers. Archers usually weren’t skilled in close combat. Chewing on a blade of grass, he hid behind a tree, watching the man enter the woods—cautious, careful, yet passing right by him in the dark.
“Hey.” Naigu called out. The man spun around, only to take a brutal punch to the face the moment he turned. His upper lip split open, a mess of blood and flesh.
At this distance, a bow was practically useless. Naigu grabbed the man by the throat, thumb pressing against his windpipe. The man froze, like a stray dog, letting himself be dragged up the slope.
The Eluo men would be on him soon. Naigu knew this, so he pinned the man in a patch of wormwood, carving seven or eight shallow cuts into him before coldly demanding, “Where’s the cat?”
“The cat came on its own!” the archer wailed, pitiful from the torture.
Naigu punched him. “Stop yelling,” he repeated. “Where is it?”
The archer choked on his own blood, coughing. “The young chieftain… cough… has it,” he gasped, each word agony for his split lip. “Never had a cat before. Didn’t want to give it back.”
Just then, rapid footsteps sounded from downhill—only one person, by the sound of it. Naigu immediately grabbed the bow and arrows nearby, rising to meet them. With a flick of his long knife, he sent the archer tumbling headfirst into the grass.
He hadn’t gone far when a large figure appeared ahead—one of the three warriors from A’ge’s house that day. Spotting Naigu, the man charged forward, cursing. Naigu didn’t move, didn’t flee, standing there like a fool. The man, seeing he was just a Wazi, naturally underestimated him.
Naigu’s hands were behind his back. The moonlight was poor, and the big man didn’t notice. Only when he was almost upon him did Naigu reveal his hands—a bow in one, an arrow in the other. He nocked it, drew, and released in one fluid motion.
In theory, Wazi didn’t know how to shoot. Naigu wasn’t particularly skilled either, but at this distance, skill didn’t matter. In the blink of an eye, the arrow pierced the big man’s skull. Staggering, he still tried to fight, swinging his fists weakly before collapsing onto Naigu and sliding to the ground.
Picking up his knife, Naigu saw torches flickering to life on the mountainside. He scoffed, turning to head home.
This kind of retaliatory harassment lasted three days. The Eluo men grew wary, making further attacks difficult. By the time Naigu returned to Datie’s house, the eastern sky was lightening. Sitting by the fire pit, bandaging a wound on his arm, the slightest sound roused Datie, who mumbled, “How many?”
“One,” Naigu said, slipping a hand into Datie’s Chaerwa, warm and cozy. “Got lucky.”
Datie turned over irritably. “Don’t go again. We’re even now.”
Naigu, still in his pants and reeking of blood, crawled into bed beside him. Datie was naked, his Tianpusa loose, long hair tangled around him. Leaning in, Naigu caught a whiff of azalea.
He hugged Datie from behind. Datie squirmed away, kicking weakly. “Get off.”
“Just for a bit,” Naigu murmured, gently gathering Datie’s disheveled hair, combing it with his fingers before holding it in his palm. “Dawn’s coming. Want a kiss?”
Datie pretended not to hear, but being held so shamelessly by Naigu made sleep impossible. He was afraid—afraid Naigu would get carried away, afraid he’d discover the truth.
A large hand rubbed his belly, mischievously poking at his navel. Datie shivered, resisting until warm breath tickled his ear: “Come on, just one kiss.”
His hair was tugged back—gently, but inescapably. Reluctantly, he turned, eyes half-lidded and drowsy. The sight only aroused Naigu further.
“Open your mouth,” he murmured, pulling the Chaerwa over their heads. One hand cradled Datie’s neck, the other tilting his chin up carefully. “Breathe.”
Datie didn’t. He didn’t know how long a kiss could last—but in the dark, Naigu descended, wet and slow, swallowing him whole. So deliberate, so unhurried. The sound of their lips was obscenely loud, making Datie flush, frowning as Naigu pressed him down.
“Mmm… nngh…” Breath running short, Datie twisted his neck to escape, but Naigu wouldn’t let him. His hands didn’t wander, just cradled Datie’s face, devouring his mouth relentlessly. No. 0416 had never been like this—he was fierce, dominant, but never this torturously slow. “Hngh, let… let me go…” A strange, muffled whimper escaped him, weak and sticky. He couldn’t help it—anyone teased like this would beg.
Naigu released him, instead grabbing his hand, fingers interlacing tightly. Only then did Datie realize—he’d been kissing back, lost in it, restless. Naigu was so strong, even his arousal was intimidating, pressing against Datie’s hip through thin fabric, rocking against him like riding a horse.
He didn’t want this. Datie knew it clearly. He didn’t want this man. He wanted No. 0416—The Convert, No. 0416. Only No. 0416… Naigu stopped abruptly, throwing off the Chaerwa. Fresh air and the pale light of dawn streamed in through the window as he propped himself up, looking down. “Hey, you came already?”
Datie stared at the ceiling, panting, mind in chaos. Unconsciously, he glanced where Naigu indicated, barely making it out before feeling the wetness on his stomach.
This was worse than last time—worse than having his thighs spread and his asshole massaged. Weakly propping himself up, he met Naigu’s gaze. For a moment, he couldn’t hide the hatred in his eyes.
Naigu noticed but mistook it for the frustration and helplessness of No. 0416 being conquered. Smugly licking his lips, he said, “We’ll take it slow. No rush.”
This guy knew the storyline like a god, aware of what would happen next. He knew the ending, so he was calm. “Who’s No. 0933?” Datie finally couldn’t resist asking. “From the Eluo Clan?”
Naigu studied him, gaze measured. “Still hung up on him, huh?” Unexpectedly, he smiled. “You’ve met him,” he admitted, as if it didn’t matter. “It’s Eluo A’ge.”
Datie gaped, struggling to recall the woman sitting across from him that day—headscarf, coral beads, silver plaque. He couldn’t remember her face, only her eyes shadowed beneath the scarf, unreadable. “A woman?”
“A woman,” Naigu repeated. “Still like her?”
Datie mimicked No. 0416’s smirk, feigning indifference. “What does gender matter? If I can have them, I’ll take anyone.”
“Then…” Naigu slowly leaned down, forcing Datie onto his back, lips brushing his as he murmured, “I’ll have to keep a close eye on you…”
“Chieftain!” Someone shouted outside—the chief steward, by the sound of it. “The Eluo Clan’s young chieftain is coming up the mountain!”
Datie pushed Naigu away, sitting up to tie his hair. “How many men with him?”
“The messenger said he’s alone,” the chief steward pressed against the door, voice urgent. “Said he’s carrying a knife—might be here for blood vengeance!”
Vengeance shouldn’t have fallen to him. Puzzled, Datie pulled on his shirt, tied his Tianpusa, and wrapped his turban. Once dressed, he pushed open the door to find a crowd gathered outside, armed with knives and bows, all eyes on him.
“He’s just a child,” Datie said, wrapped in his black Chaerwa, coral beads swaying with each step down the stairs. His Yingxiongjie was tied handsomely today, standing tall and striking.
Behind him was Naigu, his face still caked in dried blood, splotchy and cracked, like a poorly painted mask. “Don’t act rashly,” Datie ordered. “He’s still the chieftain’s brother.”
Before long, the young chieftain arrived—a boy in Han silk shoes and Yi earrings, his Tianpusa draped over the left side of his face, resting on his chest, standing proudly.
“I’m the one who took the cat!” he shouted, brandishing a bloodstained knife. “I killed it on the way here!”
The Dira men erupted. That cat carried their chieftain’s soul! They surged forward, only to be held back by the chief steward’s men. Seeing they wouldn’t attack, the boy added, “Prepare to die, Dira Datie!”
This was too much, yet Datie remained calm. “Why are you here, child?” he asked, letting the mountain wind fill his Chaerwa like a mountain, like an eagle about to take flight. “Alone, to throw your life away?”
“I’m a warrior of the Eluo Clan,” the boy muttered, raising his knife as if to charge. Eyes glistening, he roared, “My clansmen died because of me! My family is shamed because of me! I’ll end this!”
Everyone stepped back, bracing for an attack. But the boy didn’t charge. Instead, blood gushed forth, soaking the ground beneath him.
The cord holding his earring, along with his slender neck, had been slit by his own knife. The agate bead rolled to Datie’s feet as the young body collapsed softly into the pool of blood.
The young chieftain was dead.
The village fell silent. Then, chaos erupted. This was siggei 9Siggei: Among the Yi, when disputes arise, if one party feels wronged or their pride wounded, they may commit suicide to force the other party to take responsibility for their death. This is called “siggeiing someone.” Siggei can have severe consequences.! The Eluo Clan’s young chieftain had siggeied himself before the Dira Clan!
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