“Aren’t you afraid that they’ll go on the warpath? Don’t you care about keeping your heads?”

  “The natives give warnings before they attack, unlike you murderers,” replied Rixing, gritting his teeth. “What protection has the imperial government given us? We ourselves are half savage. We get along with the natives and offer them food, salt, and rice wine each year—not even a tenth of the pound of flesh you demand!”

  Renxian had not expected this development.

  “How about it? Ask Master Ye Atian to give us an answer. For the moment we are not going to work the land.”

  Three days later, Renxian delivered the news that Ye Atian would give up the land. The sum for “compensation” was fixed after a great deal of haggling. Having no silver readily available, each household made out a promissory note to Ye and agreed to pay in fixed installments. Ye Atian ended up with promissory notes worth eighty pieces of silver and became the creditor to all the residents of Fanzai Wood. Eighty taels was a frightful sum of money. Payments were due every six months at an interest rate of 1.5 percent a year. When the agreements were drawn up, the interest rate did not seem inordinate; no one could foresee that the promissory notes would become a chain that would strangle them.

  The people of Fanzai Wood were elated. Peng Aqiang was the only person not satisfied, primarily because the agreement was strictly a private one. Ye Atian had generously drawn up a document agreeing to yield his land patent and allowing them to apply for their own. However, before they obtained their own patent, they had to furnish the money for the taxes Ye was responsible for paying.

  They were unable to obtain a patent under Xu Shihui’s name, so they begged Chen Afa, who had become the headman, to use his name. Still they got nowhere. At that point, Ye Atian became even more generous. He drew up another agreement allowing them to pay the taxes in perpetuity using his name before they obtained their patent, for which he would charge no commission.

  The situation by then was clear and fixed. Peng Aqiang was still ill at ease. He was told not to be overly concerned. After all, the mountains would always be mountains, the rivers would always be rivers. He just had to have more faith in the laws of Heaven and the goodness of men. After all, officials and landlords were people too. They were subject to the laws of Heaven and had consciences to listen to. Would Ye Atian, once he had his hands on their silver and his interest, all without lifting a finger, go against his conscience, denying what he owed? No, that was impossible.

  Peng Aqiang remained nervous and was unable to take part in the general rejoicing. In addition, there were all kinds of problems at home that often left him short-tempered. He was becoming a moody old man.

  Liu Ahan had learned a few farming skills, but he was still a softie, unable to accomplish even half of what Renjie could. He seemed to have lost what value he had had; he was just a superfluous addition to the Peng family. He had no illusions about the situation and worked as hard as he could, but his efforts always fell short of what was required. He was already accustomed to the scorn and abuses of his old in-laws. He was not insensitive to their contempt but bore it nonetheless for the sake of Dengmei and the child she was carrying. He often tried to comfort himself with the fact that the old man and his wife weren’t bad people; they had suffered a great deal, and it had affected them.

  “Ahan, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have to suffer like this,” Dengmei was always saying to him. He wouldn’t let her talk that way. But after hearing her words he could tolerate even greater sufferings and humiliation. He would always do so for her and the love he felt for her, and for the sake of their unborn child.

  No typhoons hit that summer, and the few storms that came did not result in any disasters. The sorghum, millet, and potato crops were especially good that year. Even the seed scattered at random among the tea bushes and the terraced fields all sprouted and by autumn was bursting with golden ears of grain. The old saying that if one survived a disaster, blessings were sure to follow did indeed appear to be true.

  One day as the sun was setting, Renhua, Qinmei, and Desheng reappeared in Fanzai Wood. They were seen coming around the Earth God Temple. Renhua was in the lead; behind him was his son. Twenty yards away stood a hesitant Qinmei. Renhua kept beckoning to her and even pleaded. Finally she stamped her feet as if she had given in, rushed forward, and picked up Desheng.

  The Pengs were in the middle of eating when Renhua, Qinmei, and little Desheng arrived. They were now having potatoes instead of the wild herbs they had survived on for so long.

  Liangmei was the first to speak. “Hurry, come and have something to eat.”

  Renhua stopped on the threshold and called to his parents.

  Peng Aqiang and his wife sat motionless. Lanmei was holding sallow little Jingmei. Somehow the child gave a feeble cry.

  Qinmei put down Desheng and rushed to her mother-in-law.

  Little Jingmei cried, but she was very weak. Qinmei reached out for her daughter, but Lanmei turned and carried Jingmei away out of her reach.

  Qinmei fell to her knees with a thud.

  Desheng suddenly recognized his grandfather; he shouted his name and ran toward him.

  Peng Aqiang reluctantly reached out and took his grandson in his arms.

  Renhua also knelt.

  Jingmei’s cries grew hoarse and short. Qinmei moved forward, still on her knees, and reached out for Jingmei.

  Peng Aqiang motioned for his wife to give the child to its mother.

  Finally Qinmei had her daughter in her arms. She hugged and kissed her as she swallowed her own sobs and tears ran down her face.

  “Father,” said Renjie, as if to remind the old man.

  The old man was saying something, but his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and said, “Get up. Have something to eat. Hurry up, now.”

  Renhua and his wife had returned home. Their attitude was greatly changed: they were no longer so dissatisfied and full of complaints. They rose early and went to bed late, quietly doing their work like the other people of Fanzai Wood. Renhua never mentioned the days after they left home nor what they did. They said nothing, and no one asked.

  Summer passed and autumn arrived. The days of autumn were long and dry. As autumn gave way to winter, Dengmei gave birth to a baby girl as the sun was fading. The baby was small and pale, like a newborn rabbit. They were anxious because they discovered that the baby’s left foot was shorter than her right, and it always seemed to fall limply to the side as if she couldn’t put her feet together.

  “She must have been touched by a demon when she was in the womb,” said Lanmei.

  “She’s bound to grow up a cripple.”

  “I think you should cut your losses—don’t tie the umbilical cord,” said Peng Aqiang.

  “It has already been tied.”

  “Then don’t feed her.”

  “No!” shouted the young couple, but Ahan occasionally glanced at the old man and his wife. Dengmei’s face was covered with tears, because she remembered how her foster mother had told her how she had been thrown into a pigsty, her umbilical cord not tied.

  Ahan had long been worried about the health of the baby, even before she was born. Renxing’s Zuwang and Renhua’s Jingmei were both extremely weak, and Shunwei and Aling’s baby was stillborn. He had also heard that the babies recently born in the area had been stillborn or crippled, or died shortly after birth. These babies had all been carried during the months of famine. Among poor mountain families, weak or crippled infants, especially girls, did not have their umbilical cords tied or were abandoned in some corner or placed in a nightsoil bucket until they expired. Then they were buried so that the child might seek another incarnation. In that sense, Peng Aqiang’s suggestion was not at all unreasonable; it was the common-sense way out. But once the parents had seen their child and bonded with it, they could not be so hard-hearted.

  “This is our child, Dengmei,” said Ahan, his eyes growing misty.

  “Yes.”

  He held her hand. “It’s not that bad. Her left foot is just a little off. Even if she is a little crippled, I want to bring her up.”

  “I’m afraid, Ahan.” Dengmei hid her face in her bedclothes.

  “Don’t be afraid, I’ll think of a way. Don’t cry.”

  Ahan went to the new vegetable plot to find Peng Aqiang. There the turnips and rapeseed were already a mass of green. The old man was thinning the rapeseed when Ahan told him his intentions.

  “It’s bound to be a cripple. How can we afford to keep it?”

  “A cripple is a person and has a life too. I will raise her no matter what happens.”

  “And how are you going to raise her?” Peng Aqiang had been determined not to lose his temper, but he couldn’t help roaring. “You can’t even pay for your own keep; I never expected you to be so useless.”

  “But it was you who begged me to stay,” said Ahan, also getting angry.

  “At that time you were going to be captain of the guard, but what are you now?”

  “It’s not that I didn’t want the job. At any rate, I’m doing my best.”

  “All right, all right! Rear the child yourself. You can live in the house, but you’ll have to supply your own food.”

  “You mean you’re asking us to leave?”

  “I’m asking you alone to leave.”

  “Let Dengmei leave too.”

  “You’re dreaming, you fool. Let Dengmei leave? Right, then bring me two dozen silver coins. It’s that simple.”

  “You have no heart.”

  Peng Aqiang actually seemed to calm down a bit. “No heart—I have no alternative, Ahan. Apart from the potatoes and greens to fill our stomachs, we have no money. You know that weak and crippled babies, those malnourished in the womb, fall ill all the time. They cost money.”

  Ahan thought for a long time but couldn’t come up with a concrete solution. “Then can Dengmei and the baby stay in Fanzai Wood? I’ll leave and do whatever it takes to make some money to care for them. Will that do?”

  “Where are you going to get money?”

  He thought for a while. “I don’t know, but I have to try. Taiwan is a big island, and there must be a way for someone like me to make money.”

  “I can’t stop you,” said Dengmei after she heard his plan. “You are risking everything for me and the baby, right?”

  He reached out and stroked the baby’s cheek.

  “Your hands are dirty, don’t touch her. If you must go, then I beg you to take care of yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “You must keep out of harm’s way.”

  He again reached out. “I know. I’m not a child.”

  “What are you going to do? What kind of work?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t do that. I beg you not to.” Her face shone with tears. “You know I don’t want you to do that. You must promise me that you won’t.”

  “Okay, I won’t. That’s final.”

  “Ahan, look at me. Why won’t you look at me?”

  He raised his eyes shyly, but without looking her directly in the eye. “What’s the matter?”

  “Look at me when you agree,” said Dengmei. “You mustn’t, not even if it means that the child and I will starve.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” He gently stroked Dengmei’s soft, smooth arm. Softly he cleared his throat, blinked, and said, “Look after our child. I’ll be back soon with some money.”

  The following day, Ahan left his beloved wife and child and set off from Fanzai Wood. Dengmei had begged him over and over again not to do a certain job, one that she never mentioned by name. Dengmei certainly knew what kind of work he would seek. Why was she so sure? He himself had no idea what he was going to do. Did his wife understand him better than he understood himself?

  Was he really ignorant of what Dengmei was referring to? Had he already made up his mind? Hadn’t he had an inkling but refused to acknowledge it? Was he lying to himself? That must be the case, and Dengmei could see it. But why hadn’t she mentioned the job by name? Perhaps she was afraid of giving him a hint if she guessed wrongly. Was that the case? He kept asking himself these questions.

  He was full of uncertainty and felt bitter and bewildered. He felt everyone on the road to Great Lake was staring at him, but they weren’t; they were all indifferent. It was the plants and trees beside the road that were staring; it was heaven and earth, the mountains and rivers that were staring at him. He vaguely heard what sounded like sighs as well as the cheerful sounds of encouragement. He also heard a faint sobbing. It was the child; it was Dengmei. When he thought of his wife, her face and the sound of her voice filled his mind.

  He didn’t want her to worry. He would take care of himself. He would come back a proper husband. He was preoccupied with his thoughts. He had decided to throw in his lot again with the soldiers at South Lake.

  Three Chops was sitting alone drinking rice wine; he was already drunk. Three Chops probably didn’t recognize Ahan, but as soon as he saw him he started mumbling as if he were complaining about something. At the same time, he handed Ahan the bottle of wine and insisted that he have a drink. He didn’t remember Three Chops drinking that way.

  Ahan took the bottle and started gulping down the wine. After pausing a few times to catch his breath, he polished it off. He was drinking on an empty stomach, and when he put the bottle down he could scarcely stand on his own two feet. Everything began to spin. Then someone seemed to lend him a hand. No, he was being carried by someone; then he was tossed on some hard planks. And there he fell asleep.

  EIGHT

  •

  The Japanese Arrive

  It was a year of fair weather, and Taiwan’s wet and dry crops saw bumper harvests. The temperature dropped dramatically with the arrival of winter, and by the time the Lantern Festival rolled around in the new year, snow remained on the high peaks. The old people said it was a sure sign that the harvests would be good that year. But on the sixteenth day of the first lunar month, the birthday of the Earth God, bad omens began appearing.

  The first occurred on the night of the god’s birthday; a rooster in South Lake Village started crowing at eight o’clock in the evening. Then all the other roosters in the area took it up, eventually upsetting everyone. The old people said that such a strange event hadn’t occurred in more than two generations.

  Second, the moon rose a dull green color, and for three nights in a row, a comet appeared beside the green moon and remained for half an hour. It was said that the comet was a sign of rightful power being threatened. The bad omens continued: a woman at Great Lake gave birth to a two-headed baby; some people saw a pack of hideous three-legged dogs dig corpses from their graves on Tortoise Mountain, tear them apart, and devour them; rumor had it that nine pregnant women up north had had their babies ripped from their wombs; and down south several young boys had gone missing.

  “The times are changing,” said the old soldier Agou.

  “Is there going to be another flood?” asked Ahan, the memories of the last still vivid in his mind.

  “People are going to die in droves,” said Du Shuihuo.

  “Die? Are the natives going on the warpath, or will it be the plague? Must you be so ominous?”

  “I don’t know how it will happen; all I know is that people are going to die.” Du was showing off his knowledge based on past experience. “These old bones of mine have been through a great deal. Trust me, this time people, no, whole villages will perish.”

  Ahan was on the point of saying something, but he felt too tired to open his mouth. He walked alone under the banyan tree, adjusted his collar, and sat down feeling numb.

  “The situation is unstable: the government might be going to war.”

  Everyone was stunned. “The government going to war?”

  “The defenses here in Taiwan are being strengthened.”

  “Are soldiers being sent to wipe out the natives?” asked one soldier, gesturing as if someone’s head were being chopped off.

  “I’m not sure, but I think they’re going to fight with the savages of the Eastern Sea,” said Three Chops, somewhat unsure of himself. “In any case, it’s a foreign enemy.”

  Savages of the Eastern Sea? Foreign enemies? These were things they knew nothing about.

  As events unfolded, rumors about the savages spread, and people developed an image of them: they were barbarians who lived on the islands to the east. They did not wear shirts and covered their nakedness with leaves; their hair was long and disheveled; they were small in stature but very strong; they were skilled in the use of razor-sharp swords; they were natural-born killers, and it was said that they ate human hearts.

  Everyone was afraid. “Will they invade Taiwan?”

  On the night of the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month of the twentieth year of the Guangxu era (1894), Three Chops arrived with some news: China’s war with the savages of the Eastern Sea had started at the beginning of the month. The savages were also known as the Japanese.

  “Who won?”

  “China, of course! The savages still hide their nakedness with leaves.”

  In the eighth month, rumors continued to fly. It was said the Chinese and the Japanese had fought battles on land and sea, but the outcome was still unclear; China had not been victorious, and the fighting continued. It was also rumored that Liu Yongfu, the Chinese general who had defeated the French, had arrived in Taiwan to recruit men and requisition horses. A force was put together and called the “Black Banner Troops.” Everyone’s hearts began to feel heavy. It looked as if Taiwan was going to war.

  The summer sky was overcast, but there were no typhoons or floods. Autumn was dry, but there were more crows than normal and the gibbons were unusually hungry. The winter was mild, but the crabs refused to leave their crevices and the hornets came out stinging.

  The strangest rumor of all came: China had been defeated. Could the great and mighty Qing dynasty have been defeated by naked savages who ate their food raw? The soldiers laughed and cursed as they argued. In the midst of widespread confusion, the governor of Taiwan was posted elsewhere. Tang Jingsong, who had been in charge of aboriginal affairs, was elevated to the position of governor. The first thing he did upon assuming office was to move part of the troops stationed in the mountains to the coasts.