Chapter 17 – Mount Luoji (Part Two)
by Salted FishNaigu carried Datie on his back as they descended the mountain path. The Dira Clan members followed behind, carrying the body of the young chieftain.
Datie’s foot was injured, likely related to the death of his cat. Not long after leaving the village, he stepped into a wild boar trap set by his own people. His left calf swelled up, rendering him immobile.
Lying on Naigu’s back, he seethed, “My cat is dead, my foot is ruined, and now I have to compensate them with silver!”
“What do you want to do?” Naigu moved nimbly through the forest, cradling Datie’s legs as if he were carrying a treasure. “I’ll handle it for you.”
Datie was silent for a moment before tightening his arms around Naigu’s neck and whispering into his ear, “I want Eluo Xiaogui dead!”
As he said this, he didn’t see Naigu’s face, didn’t see the sly smile that spread across it. “As you wish,” Naigu said, as if he had already planned it. “When we get to the Eluo Clan’s village, find a reason to humiliate me in public. I’ll figure out a way to stay behind.”
Datie tacitly agreed. In the distance, the Eluo Clan’s village came into view. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Just Eluo Xiaogui. Don’t touch the women.”
Naigu knew he was referring to A’ge. His eyes flickered, but he didn’t respond.
The Eluo Clan had no idea about the young chieftain’s trip up the mountain. When they saw the body being carried in, they were terrified, rushing around to knock on the side house’s door. A’ge emerged, saw Datie, and the beast-like Naigu beneath him. Her silver ornaments jingled as she turned away, haughtily gesturing for them to enter.
Naigu knelt by the fire pit. Datie made no move to get up, clearly not treating him as a person, sitting there without a care. Across from them, A’ge lowered her eyes to stare at Naigu, her gaze filled with disdain and mockery.
“Where’s your chieftain?” Datie asked, pulling her attention away from Naigu.
“He smoked too much and is sleeping,” A’ge replied. She was truly beautiful, like a flower. Datie gazed at her eagerly, searching her face and body for any trace of No. 0416. He must be looking for me too, he thought. If she saw the urgency in his eyes, she would understand… But A’ge indifferently averted her gaze, her eyes drifting back to Naigu.
“One ingot of silver for wiping tears,” she said. “But it’ll have to be changed to one ingot of gold since it’s the chieftain’s younger brother who died.”
“Nine taels of gold for stealing the cat,” Datie countered. “My cat is dead, and I’m injured. The silver for tears can offset it.”
As the two negotiated, Naigu began to sway, pretending to be exhausted. His right hand slowly loosened, dropping Datie unceremoniously to the ground.
This was the “incident” they had discussed on the way. Naigu knelt in a panic, kowtowing and begging for forgiveness. Datie pulled out the small whip he usually used to beat dogs from his waist and lashed him viciously. “Get out, you worthless dog! When we get back to the village, I’ll skin you and use your hide for a drum!”
Naigu scrambled away in terror, crawling out of the house on all fours. Covered in whip marks, he hurried along the wall toward a secluded spot. The Eluo Clan paid him no mind—a Wazi was just a dog. Who cared where a dog went?
Having come here several times at night, he was familiar with the terrain. He found a vantage point on the slope, observing the village’s movements from above. Before long, the Dira Clan members left—likely because the negotiations had failed. This was common among the Yi people: “Grievances buried in the earth won’t rot for thirty years; left by the fire pit, they won’t dry for thirty years.”
The Eluo Clan settled back into calm. The young chieftain’s body lay in the courtyard, likely waiting for Eluo Xiaogui to wake from his opium stupor. Naigu waited too. As dusk fell, he kept an eye on A’ge’s house before quietly descending the slope.
The side house was lit by firelight. A’ge sat there, chin in hand, alone. Loneliness had dulled her beauty, her youthful body showing signs of weariness. Then, a sound at the window made her turn. It was Naigu’s face, grinning brightly at her.
She should have screamed or reached for a knife. Instead, she stood up, tiptoed to the door, and slipped outside, circling to the back of the house. Naigu stood bathed in moonlight, silent, reaching out to her.
She despised him—a Wazi, lowly and filthy. Yet he was so handsome, wild and wicked. She took his hand, and the moment she did, he gripped it tightly, pulling her into the woods.
It felt like eloping. She hiked up her skirt, panting as she ran. The man ahead had a broad back that shielded her from the mountain wind. She covered her mouth, afraid her pounding heart might leap out. Suddenly, he turned and embraced her, pressing her face-down onto a large rock. He lifted her skirt from behind, and with a sharp pain between her legs, blood dripped down.
Naigu knelt beneath Eluo Xiaogui’s window. Through the wall, he could hear faint voices—first A’ge: “…The Dira Clan doesn’t want the Wazi anymore. Let’s keep him…”
Then Xiaogui: “Does the Eluo Clan lack Wazi? Why take theirs?” His voice was soft, with a sticky nasal tone, as if he were either arrogant or still half-asleep. “Go on, send him back to Dira Datie.”
A’ge said something else, hesitant and drawn-out. She wanted to keep Naigu, her humble lover.
Last night, she had been forced by Naigu—at least at first. She cursed and struggled, but as they pressed together, she gradually softened, clinging to Naigu’s arms as tears streamed down her face.
The blood on the rock surprised Naigu. Gripping her waist, he asked, “What’s this about?”
What else could it be? She gritted her teeth, the most beautiful woman on Mount Luoji, and spat like a jealous wife, “He’s never touched me.”
That couldn’t be. Naigu knew Eluo Xiaogui’s character didn’t include such a setting. It had to be No. 0933 refusing. That weakling—was he still thinking about No. 0416? Naigu laughed. His No. 0416 was single-mindedly plotting his death!
The main house’s door opened from the inside, and A’ge stepped out. She walked slowly, wincing in pain. Naigu stood to help her, but she glared at him to stop. “Stay for now,” she said. “I’ll talk to him slowly.”
Naigu nodded, glancing back at the main house, trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Eluo Xiaogui over the high threshold. But the fading light made it impossible to see clearly.
In the days that followed, A’ge busied herself with preparations for the young chieftain’s cremation. At night, she sneaked to the hillside, entwining herself desperately with Naigu. Her youth, her entire love, was poured into this Wazi. Sometimes, the thought alone brought her to tears, and Naigu would gently stroke her face, wiping them away.
“Swine!”
As Naigu squatted in front of the main house twisting hemp rope, someone shouted behind him. He turned to see a pretty girl in a bright two-piece skirt, not yet an adult but already adorned with countless silver ornaments.
Naigu frowned. She stank—a headache-inducing stench. On Mount Luoji, any woman with body odor, no matter how beautiful or highborn, was unwanted.
From Naigu’s wrinkled brow, she sensed his disgust—a Wazi’s disgust. Her face paled instantly. With a stomp of her foot, she turned and left.
Moments later, a group of Han Wazi came running from the direction she’d gone, swarming Naigu. They grabbed his hair, pinched his wrists, tied him up with rope, and dragged him to the village’s central clearing.
“What are you doing?” Naigu was bewildered, roughly shoved onto a pile of drying poppy husks. The husks were fragrant as he knelt head-down. Then—whoosh!—a leather whip lashed across his back.
It burned. He gritted his teeth, fists clenched. The Wazi jeered above him, cracking the whip and yelling, “Remember, it’s the young lady beating you!”
The young lady? That girl from earlier? Naigu peered through the gap between his legs and caught a glimpse of colorful skirt. “Who is she?”
The Wazi giggled. “Meidu, the chieftain’s sister!”
So, Eluo Xiaogui had a short-lived younger brother and a stinky little sister. Naigu scoffed, stretching his back indifferently as they whipped him.
Seeing his defiance, Meidu doubled down. If he didn’t beg for mercy, she wouldn’t stop. After thirty lashes, cold sweat dripped from his forehead, his back soaked. Blood pooled from the crisscrossing wounds, and Naigu began to sway, blinking hard. It was no use—his vision blurred, his ears filled with nothing but deafening noise.
In his daze, he saw a pair of feet—a man’s feet, adorned with tiny bells that jingled softly. He strained to look up. Ah, it was an azalea flower, so red, so vibrant. He reached for it, but the flower seemed to bloom at the edge of the sky, just out of reach.
“…From the Dira Clan?” The azalea spoke, his voice familiar—light, sticky, like a drowsy murmur. Oh. Naigu slowly closed his eyes. It was Eluo Xiaogui.
In the boundless darkness, the azalea bloomed fiercely, its stamens unfurling. There was no wind, only a suffocating sweetness in the air. Naigu frowned, and the thicker his frown, the stronger the scent, like a sudden plunge from a great height. With a jolt, his eyes snapped open.
It was A’ge, holding a pipe, blowing opium smoke into his face. He thumped his forehead, trying to turn over, only to find the flesh on his back torn and unable to bear the bed. “How long was I out?”
A’ge’s eyes were red—whether from exhaustion or tears, he couldn’t tell. “Over a day.”
“Did the chieftain suspect anything?” He meant her coming to the cattle shed to tend to him.
“Who cares?” A’ge set the pipe aside and stood, her round hips swaying beneath her skirt. “I was never his woman. Besides, no one saw.”
Naigu tried to get up, but she held him down. “Don’t worry, I scolded Meidu,” she said, her fingers adorned with large southern red agate rings. She was even more alluring now than before she’d had a man. “No one wants her. She’s got a temper.”
It was the middle of the night, with few stars visible outside. A’ge cradled Naigu’s head, kissing his brows over and over, whispering sweet nothings before slipping away.
The moment she left, Naigu couldn’t stay still. He crawled out of the tattered bedding by the cattle pen and staggered outside. No one guarded Eluo Xiaogui’s main house—just a dog curled up at the entrance. It recognized him, glanced up, and didn’t move.
He entered, closing the door behind him. Xiaogui lay curled by the fire pit, an opium pipe in his arms, asleep. The fire burned brightly, casting flickering light over the curves of his Chaerwa, the soft slope of his unconscious shoulders, and his loosely tied belt—utterly unguarded.
Naigu had imagined what Eluo Xiaogui looked like. Beauties were all the same—big eyes, high nose bridges, charming whether angry or sweet. But this man was different. He had a sickly frailty, wore women’s ankle bells and embroidered narrow clothes, yet lacked any trace of effeminacy. There was something indescribable about him—both soft and hard, both yin and yang.
Naigu mustered his courage and moved closer to him. His face was smooth and round like a Han Chinese, with a plump chin that made one want to pinch it. His neck was slender, his fingers long, and the joints flushed with vitality.
0933, Naigu called him in his heart, admiring him like a prisoner in the dock. But the more he looked, the more flustered he became—flustered as if he had fallen in love with someone. He became aware of this emotion and licked his lips anxiously. It was the emotion of the character “Naigu,” not his own.
He could end him right now, fulfilling Datie’s “wish.” He touched the tightly bound Tianpusa on his head—the man didn’t wake. Then he undid the row of buttons at his collar—still no reaction. Naigu stopped, sensing something was wrong.
“Hey!” he called. Xiaogui didn’t respond.
The opium pipe was still warm, the door shut. Naigu leaned in close to his mouth and sniffed—bitter opium fumes, and when he pressed his nose to Xiaogui’s, there was only the faintest hint of breath. He grabbed him, laid him flat, and straddled him, cupping his face.
He had overdosed!
Naigu tore at his clothes, baring the warm chest beneath. He grasped the pearl-colored flesh, kneading it lightly as if teasing, listening for his heartbeat. It was too weak, as if the next breath might never come. He can’t die now, Naigu thought. If he dies now, my plan falls apart!
“Eluo Xiaogui!” he shouted, prying open his jaw. A red mouth, white teeth, the sweet stench of opium paste. He took a deep breath and bent down, pressing his lips firmly against Xiaogui’s—soft, untouched even by the beautiful A’ge. Naigu couldn’t help but rub against them, desperate, pouring all his vitality into him.
“Cough!” Xiaogui jerked violently but didn’t wake. Whether from the heat or suffocation, his face flushed red. Naigu cradled his slender neck, shaking him uncertainly. “Hey,” he called softly, wanting to slap him but afraid of hurting him. “Can you hear me?”
Slowly, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon for the first time, or like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, Xiaogui opened his eyes—dazed, like a newborn staring up at him.
In life, one gazes into countless eyes, but never like this. Naigu’s throat tightened, spellbound. Xiaogui, however, showed no resistance, wriggling comfortably in his arms and flexing his numb fingers. “Did I smoke myself unconscious?”
The news that a Wazi from the Dira Clan had saved the chieftain spread quickly through the village. The next day, when Naigu went to the courtyard to work, men and women alike stole glances at him from afar. Some skeptically asked, “Why did you go into the house? How did you know the chieftain had smoked too much?”
Naigu played the fool. “The dog was pacing at the door. I saw it and went in.”
“What were you doing out of the cattle shed so late?”
Naigu winced and shrugged. “My back hurt too much. I wanted to find some Qixingcao 1Qixingcao: Lit. Seven-star Grass. A plant used in traditional remedies for wounds and pain relief. to apply.”
The wounds on his back were still raw, flies buzzing around them. People took one look and stopped questioning him.
At noon, under the warm sun, Naigu sat in a pile of hemp grass, chewing roasted flour. An Amizi had given him a few pieces of tuotuo meat 2Tuotuo meat: A Yi ethnic dish of boiled or roasted pork (or lamb) chunks, seasoned with salt, chilies, and wild herbs.. Just as he was about to take a bite, he spotted Xiaogui on the ridge ahead. He dropped the meat, scrambled up, and sprinted after him.
Xiaogui was alone, bareheaded, his Tianpusa exposed to the sunlight, his Chaerwa draped loosely over his shoulders. As Naigu got closer, he could hear the jingling of the ankle bells on his feet—shalala, shalala—a sound that made his heart itch.
Ten steps away, Naigu stopped, trailing him like a shadow. He watched as Xiaogui idly plucked grass blades from the roadside, the silver bracelets on his arms glinting.
B didn’t know what he was doing. This wasn’t his will—it was as if the nonexistent “Naigu” had taken over, restless and agitated. The man was just playing with a blade of grass, yet Naigu stared at those nimble fingers like an idiot, his whole body burning.
A desire surged in his belly—one a Wazi shouldn’t have. A desire for his Black Yi master, so strong it made the muscles in his groin tremble.
Suddenly, Xiaogui frowned and half-turned, his eyelashes fluttering like dragonfly wings. He glanced over his shoulder with annoyance, rolled the grass blade into his mouth, chewed, then spat it out, unimpressed.
Naigu felt as if struck by lightning, frozen in place. His pants suddenly felt too tight. He looked down—it was standing up, shamelessly tenting the fabric.
Xiaogui raised an eyebrow in surprise, then turned and walked away. Naigu, who had never known shame before, flushed with anger, cupping his groin and shuffling after him like a pitiful fool.
Ahead lay the poppy fields, stretching across the slope, their bright red crowns standing tall like spears, swaying gently in the mountain breeze. Xiaogui walked into them—his fields, the Eluo Clan’s treasure trove. Opium oil flowed from the stamens, silver flowed from the stamens, wine, meat, women—all the joys of day and night flowed from the stamens.
Naigu trampled the stalks as he chased after him, the wind rushing past his ears, carrying the sound of his ragged breaths. His hands groped at his groin, rubbing furiously through the fabric. He had never known himself to be so desperate—it was as if he were bewitched. Some stalks were tall, lashing his face as he ran. He endured the pain, wild and reckless, calling out like a man summoning a lost soul: “Stop!”
The jingling bells actually stopped. Xiaogui turned, facing the wind, locking eyes with him across the endless sea of flowers. Naigu was terrified—terrified by the beauty of this confrontation. He swallowed hard and stepped closer, unsure whether Xiaogui’s approaching face or the poisonous poppies were more dazzling. The wind choked him.
Xiaogui stared at his groin. When Naigu was close enough, he murmured, “Dog.”
Naigu scowled, trying to summon some fierceness, but all he managed was to yank at Xiaogui’s collar. The Chaerwa slipped from his shoulders—beneath it, he wore no Pizhan, and his black shirt was unbuttoned. The wind lifted the fabric, revealing the curve of his collarbone.
Naigu quickly embraced him, holding him tight, afraid he’d catch cold. Xiaogui, however, wasn’t grateful. He wriggled free and pushed him away with disdain.
Naigu lowered his head resentfully, resisting the urge to touch him again. Instead, he stared at those bell-adorned ankles, rubbing his own groin for relief. Just then, a love song drifted down from the mountainside:
“Mountain faces mountain, cliff faces cliff,
Water drowns the stones, none can cross!
If my brother has love in his heart,
Sing me a tune, throw it across…”
Hearing such a song at such a moment, Naigu lost control. He wasn’t B anymore, nor any officer—just a crude Yi man. He bent at the waist, letting the character’s impulses override his own reason, and began mimicking the motions of lovemaking, thrusting obscenely toward Xiaogui as he danced the Yi people’s flirtatious dance.
Surrounded by poppies, Xiaogui stood aloof, watching his performance with indifference. Naigu tugged at his sleeve, trying to make him sway his hips and join in the lewd dance.
“If you have feet but won’t dance,
No one will want you, no matter how pretty!”
He taunted, grinding against Xiaogui’s leg, then turned his back, shaking his shoulders rhythmically to show off his powerful frame.
Xiaogui watched him with half-lidded eyes, amused. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. “Wazi, what’s your name?”
“Naigu!” Naigu spun around immediately, hands on Xiaogui’s waist, bending his knees and thrusting his hips upward, gazing up at him besottedly. “I ask for nothing—just one dance with you!” 3Dage: A traditional dance of the Yi people. Often performed at weddings.
Xiaogui pursed his lips. There was no one around—not even a bird or a cricket. The song on the mountainside continued. A wet spot darkened Naigu’s pants, soon to dry in the wind, leaving a white stain. The absurdity of the thought excited Xiaogui. Lazily, he raised one arm.
It was a woman’s gesture. Naigu gaped, dumbstruck, as Xiaogui raised his other arm, fluttering them behind him like wings. “Naigu…”
He might have said his name—softly—or perhaps he was just imitating a bird’s call. Then his face drew near, unbearably close, unbearably proud. Their noses almost touched, their lashes nearly tangled. Their lips—Naigu glanced down—were a hair’s breadth apart. One move, and he could taste them.
But Xiaogui pulled away, tilting his head like a bird, first toward Naigu’s left ear, then his right. Naigu, entranced, followed the motion before realizing—Xiaogui was just dancing with him, performing a dance called “Pigeons Fighting for Food.” If he were a woman, he thought, I’d flip him over and strip him bare right now!
He grabbed Xiaogui and held him tight, burying his face in the opium-scented fabric of his clothes, rubbing against him like a starving man. Xiaogui giggled at the tickling sensation, pinching him and calling him “a baby looking for milk.”
Naigu had changed. A’ge noticed. He refused to go to the hillside with her at night and barely spoke to her during the day. He wandered around in a daze, as if his heart belonged to someone else.
“What’s wrong with you?” A’ge stopped Naigu outside the side house at sunset as he headed toward the main house, ordering him to carry a sack of bitter buckwheat inside for her.
After setting the sack down, Naigu brushed off his pants and turned to leave. A’ge shut the door and hugged him from behind. “The most beautiful woman on Mount Luoji adores you! What more do you want?”
Naigu pried her hands away. “Let’s end this,” he said, accidentally hurting her fingers in his haste. “What if you get pregnant? How would I live then?”
“Then we’ll die together!” Ignoring her injured fingers, she clung to him, pressing her full breasts against his back. “Death is better than a life without flavor!”
Naigu laughed darkly and didn’t push her away. “A few nights with a man, and you’re addicted?” He glanced at her over his shoulder, venom in his voice. “Don’t forget—you’re a man!”
A’ge let go, her face pale as she stumbled back. Her beautiful eyes held unexpected shock and the shame of someone who had immersed too deeply in their role. “You… are you the Officer?”
Naigu didn’t answer. “There are plenty of men out there,” he said, pushing open the door. “Just not me.”
As he stepped out, A’ge’s brow twitched. Boldly, she said, “You’re B, aren’t you?”
Naigu froze, his hand on the door. In the dimming light, he turned to her. “The game prohibits discussing real-world information. Didn’t you know?”
A’ge’s pretty face took on a masculine expression. “You are B!” She showed no fear, rubbing her injured fingers as she put distance between them. “You did this on purpose,” she snarled. “Playing me for a fool!”
“You seemed to enjoy it,” Naigu advanced on her. “Clutching me, wrapping your arms around my neck, calling me brother—just now, you even wanted to bear my child, to die with me—”
“Shut up!” A’ge trembled, pointing at him. “I’ll have my father ruin you,” she said shrilly, humiliated by her submission to a man. “Strip you of your rank, your armband, expel you from the Party!”
Naigu lunged at her, pinning her to the sack of buckwheat and gripping her chin. “Fine,” he sneered. “After the test, go to your father. Have him kick me out of the Panopticon!”
He was strong, and A’ge was in pain, but she couldn’t break free. Naigu sneered as he pinched her cheek, glanced at her soft breasts, and didn’t even have the interest to grope them. He stood up and walked out, pushing the door open.
A’ge leaned against the torn sack for a long time, not getting up. Her nose tingled, and her eyes turned red. She wiped her face in frustration. “Fuck,” she cursed self-mockingly, looking at the tears on her hand. “What the hell am I crying for?”
It was completely dark by the time she finally got up. She was about to cover the fire pit and sleep when she suddenly remembered that when she had stopped Naigu earlier, he seemed to be heading toward the main house. What was he going there for?
Peering through the slightly ajar door, she saw the fire in the main house was still burning. Would Xiaogui—someone so proud—let him in?
Tiptoeing outside, she looked around and stealthily made her way to the east wall of the main house. There was an old mulberry tree there, its branches obscuring an old window. She hid among the branches, standing on her toes to peek inside.
The fire pit was blazing, with a large opium pipe propped up beside it. Xiaogui lay on his side, half-drunk and half-awake, smoking. The surrounding smoke was thick and hazy, making it hard to see clearly. From his navel down, he seemed bare—no pants.
A’ge covered her mouth in shock. There was a person crouched between Xiaogui’s legs, his hair tied in a crooked bun, his temples tinged with blue. His bare shoulders bore fresh whip scars—it was the Wazi, Naigu!
His head moved rapidly, as if he had something in his mouth. The sound of wet, slurping noises could be heard. As he sucked, his hands stroked Xiaogui’s thighs, which were spread wide open like a flipped-over frog, tendons straining. The inner thighs and lower abdomen were slick, thoroughly licked clean.
Is Naigu… giving him head? A’ge swallowed hard, her gaze involuntarily drifting to Xiaogui’s face. His expression was dazed, as if he were about to fall asleep—no signs of discomfort, no panting, just a faint flush of heat. Perhaps feeling uneasy, he twisted his waist and let out a soft moan, pressing his foot against Naigu’s face to push him away.
Reluctantly, Naigu let go. What came out was limp, coated in sticky saliva, an absurd shade of pink from tip to base. Clearly, the opium had robbed him of his manhood.
“R-rest for a bit,” Naigu’s voice was still burning with desire as he clung to the soft thing, pressing desperate kisses along Xiaogui’s hipbone. “One more try, it’ll definitely get hard.”
Xiaogui didn’t seem to hear, his legs splayed open indifferently, his nose and mouth chasing the drifting smoke as he shivered in a daze. His addiction was too strong—even if someone killed him now, he might not even feel it. Taking advantage of his state, Naigu crawled up his waist, his own fierce erection now fully exposed—hard and shameless—leaving a trail of lewd marks on Xiaogui’s stomach.
Xiaogui remained lost in his haze. Not daring to disturb him, Naigu gently lifted his shirt and reached inside, pinching one of his nipples. The scene was so depraved and obscene that A’ge had to press her knuckles to her mouth, her face burning as she stole glances. Xiaogui must have been pinched too hard—he coughed slightly. Naigu immediately scrambled back, watching his expression like a nervous guard dog before obediently returning to crouch between his legs.
“Chieftain,” he whispered, pulling the Chaerwa from beneath Xiaogui and folding it into a makeshift cushion for his hips. “Should I keep going?”
“Mmm…” Xiaogui hummed—whether in agreement or just an unconscious murmur, it didn’t matter. Naigu took him back into his mouth, swallowing him deep.
This time, Xiaogui made a sound—short and soft. His voice was already nasal, and this faint moan made Naigu lose control, rubbing himself frantically against the folded Chaerwa. The rough wool fabric scraped his skin, making him tremble as he arched his back, toes curling, thrusting desperately against the ground.
Xiaogui swayed with the motion of his mouth, his lazy eyes slowly opening as he stared dully at the man rutting against him like an animal. Who was he? 0777? Or B?
He pressed a hand to Naigu’s head, nails scraping his scalp. Naigu grabbed his wrist, gripping it tightly as if afraid he’d escape, and let out a low growl.
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Datie sat by A’ge’s fire pit, his right hand resting on his bent knee. He shifted slightly. “Someone said they saw my Wazi in your family’s fields,” he said, glancing at her. “Named Naigu.”
A’ge’s eyes narrowed from behind her jingling silver ornaments. “Never heard of him. Don’t know.”
There wasn’t a trace of No. 0416 in her. Datie grew impatient. “Where’s your chieftain?”
“He doesn’t get up until the sun’s high,” A’ge replied, sipping her tea before chuckling. “You came at the wrong time.”
Datie didn’t want to beat around the bush. He signaled his men to wait outside. A’ge, understanding, dismissed her own people and shut the door, leaving the two of them alone.
“You…” Datie leaned closer. “You really don’t recognize me?”
A’ge set down her tea, eyeing him strangely before suddenly understanding. “Naigu told you?” She propped her chin on her hand, curious. “Who did he say I am?”
Datie stared at her blankly. She definitely wasn’t No. 0416. “You’re…” It couldn’t be one of the officers, so she had to be either The Convert disguised as The Thief or—”0777?”
A’ge took another sip of tea. “Are you 0416 or 0933?”
They were exchanging real identities, yet the system didn’t flag it. Clearly, the beta version had flaws. “0416,” Datie murmured. “Who else do you know?”
A’ge shook her head. “You don’t look the part at all,” she said, scanning him from head to toe. “Impressive.” Then she pointed toward the main house. “Then that Eluo Xiaogui must be 0933.”
Datie’s eyes widened in shock. He had once ordered Naigu to kill Eluo Xiaogui! A’ge smirked suggestively, curling her little finger. “Naigu seems very interested in him. Might’ve already made a move…”
Datie slammed his fist onto the fire pit, sending up a cloud of ash. A’ge flinched. “What’s the big deal?” she sneered jealously. “You were possessive back in the Panopticon, and now you’re still this jealous on Mount Luoji?”
Datie stood, shaking out his heavy Chaerwa, and kicked the door open with a roar. “Dira Clan! The Eluo Clan has stolen and hidden my Wazi! Find him for me!”
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Naigu had gone up the mountain to gather firewood. As he was about to descend, he saw a group of people running down the slope—recognizable as the Dira Clan by their trousers. Each carried something colorful slung over their shoulders—like the hems of women’s skirts. He hid behind a tree and spotted the familiar silver ornaments on one of the women—Meidu!
Had the Dira Clan come down to raid? His first thought was Xiaogui. He dropped the firewood and sprinted toward the village, but after a few steps, he remembered Meidu was Xiaogui’s sister. He turned back, rushing ahead of the group.
The men were startled, but recognizing Naigu, none dared to act. The leader hoisted the woman on his shoulder. “Naigu, the chieftain went to fight the Eluo Clan for you. See? We grabbed a few women.”
Naigu ignored him, pointing at Meidu. The leader immediately understood. “Hey, give him the stinky one!”
Meidu was set down, terrified, her forehead streaked with snot and tears. Naigu grabbed her, yanking off her silver ornaments. She resisted, slapping him like he was a dog. The sharp smack enraged the Dira Clan men, who grabbed her headscarf from behind, ready to beat her. Naigu shoved the trinkets into their arms and told them to leave.
Her headscarf was gone, her silver stripped away. Meidu was left in a dirty skirt and her unbearable body odor. But Naigu didn’t carry her like a pig—he treated her like a girl, hoisting her onto his back and carrying her home against the wind.
“Stinking Wazi!” Meidu cursed defiantly, squirming. Naigu pinched her thigh hard, and she quieted down, slowly wrapping her thin arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.
“Stay back, you stink,” Naigu said, holding his breath.
Given Meidu’s temper, she should’ve thrown a tantrum or cursed. But she obediently tucked in her arms and muttered, “The Bimo said it’ll get better once I have a man.”
“Oho,” Naigu laughed mockingly. “You’re not even grown yet, and already thinking about men!”
Uncharacteristically, Meidu pressed warmly against his back and didn’t retort.
The village was in chaos—broken baskets, fire pit stones, half-dyed cloth scattered on the ground. A bloodied water buffalo, which the Dira Clan had tried to take but failed, stood nearby. Mothers who had lost their daughters wept in each other’s arms. There was blood everywhere—severed limbs of Wazi, the corpses of guard dogs.
Naigu carried Meidu through this scene. Up ahead, shouts and clashes could be heard. Dira Clan members, their hands and faces covered in blood, rushed past him, fleeing.
Naigu headed straight for Xiaogui’s main house. On the way, he spotted him by the silversmith’s furnace—clearly just woken up, his headscarf not yet tied, his Tianpusa provocatively tousled. He wore no Chaerwa or Pizhan, his collar open, half his face smeared with blood as he chased people down with a freshly sharpened sickle.
Off the opium pipe, he was a different person. His arm swung the sickle with the grace of a dancer—each motion reminding Naigu of that day in the poppy fields when he had fluttered his arms like a pigeon. His strikes were ruthless, aimed at the most vulnerable spots, each slash leaving a spray of blood. His eyes, wide and fierce like a wrathful deity, struck terror with a single glance.
The Eluo Clan men followed him, the path littered with Dira Clan corpses. Those still alive crawled toward Naigu, their bloody hands reaching for his feet—only for Xiaogui’s sickle to plunge into their backs, dragging them away.
Naigu stood frozen. Meidu cheered on his back, “Kill them all, Brother!”
Those who could run had fled; those who couldn’t were dead. The feud between the Dira and Eluo Clans had escalated. Xiaogui prowled, searching for more targets, his eyes bloodshot. As he passed Naigu, dragging his sickle, he clapped him on the shoulder like a brother.
The stench of blood was overwhelming. Naigu frowned—the spot where Xiaogui had touched him burned hotter than where Meidu pressed against his back. Blinking sweat from his lashes, he felt his pants tighten again.
After combing the entire village, Xiaogui tossed the sickle aside and entered the house. Inside, Naigu had already prepared water and soaked a piece of foreign cotton cloth obtained from the Han people below the mountain, kneeling in wait.
Xiaogui didn’t even bother kicking the door shut. He stripped off his bloodied clothes, his body glowing under the sunset like fire. Passersby stared inside. Naigu shot up and slammed the door shut.
Once the door was closed, he grabbed Xiaogui from behind, pressing against him. Xiaogui found it amusing, pushing him away like a dog. Naigu panted raggedly, stammering, “Ch-Chieftain… Chieftain!”
“You’re poking me!” Xiaogui kicked him.
“Let me have you just once,” Naigu begged, his rough hands cupping Xiaogui’s face as his erection rubbed against Xiaogui’s waist like a randy calf. “Just once!”
Xiaogui laughed, as if it were absurd. “A single drop of Black Yi blood is worth nine taels of gold,” he said, shaking out his Tianpusa, his long black hair cascading down. “Is your life worth that much?”
“I won’t make you bleed,” Naigu pleaded, dropping to his knees and embracing him. “I’ll lick you until you’re wet, then go in slowly…”
“Get lost.” Xiaogui’s dismissal wasn’t even a refusal—just contempt, a Black Yi master’s command to a lowly Wazi.
Seeing no hope, Naigu yanked down his pants, gripping Xiaogui and thrusting between his thighs from behind, rutting wildly while standing.
It was absurd—a chieftain, standing in the middle of the house, being taken from behind by a slave from an enemy clan. Xiaogui looked down, watching Naigu’s length sliding in and out between his thighs, his own member flopping pathetically against his stomach.
Naigu’s hands first gripped his armpits, then shamelessly cupped his chest, kneading and squeezing. He tried to kiss him, leaning in from the left, but Xiaogui turned his face away. When he tried the right, Xiaogui turned again. Enraged, Naigu growled, gripping Xiaogui’s shoulders to face him—but the sight of those flushed nipples stunned him.
Xiaogui’s nipples were small—Naigu had noticed when he groped him earlier—but the areolas were large, faint ovals like those of a nursing woman, making him look obscene. Naigu stared dumbly before lunging forward, sucking greedily at his chest. When he tried to reach for his lips again, Xiaogui kneed him in the stomach, sending him sprawling onto his back.
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