Faraway Wanderers - V1C2
Chapter 2
The Fisherman
Meanwhile, Zhou Zishu was wandering with his flask as he headed somewhere. Jiangnan is famed for its waterways, but after crossing a small bridge and looking down, he found the reality a little disappointing. Believing inns might not accept him, he continued along the riverbank outside the city. On the river, small fishing boats also served as ferries for travelers.
It was spring, and all the boats were crowded with sightseers. After much effort, he finally located a fisherman with his boat docked.
This boat with black sails sat among other busy vessels, making it a mystery why it was unoccupied. On the shore, the fisherman was lying on his back, napping with his face shielded by a straw hat, only his gray hair visible. Zhou Zishu sat beside him, waiting for the old man to awaken.
After only a few minutes, the fisherman could no longer sleep. He brusquely pulled the straw hat from his face, glowering at the younger man with intense hostility. “Damn it! Don’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” he cursed.
Zhou Zishu wasn’t offended at all and said, "Hey, old man, interested in doing some business?”
The fisherman cursed once more, saying, “You little shit, is your mouth for speaking or farting? Speak the fuck up if you want to use the boat!”
He stood up, stretching and swatting at his backside. When he saw Zhou Zishu still sitting, his anger flared up again. “Are you stuck to the ground now?”
Zhou Zishu blinked, suddenly realizing why this boat was idle while others were in use.
He stood up and followed the old man. “Do you have anything to eat? I don’t mind leftover rice,” he asked unashamedly during the fisherman’s intense swearing session.
“A damn hungry ghost reincarnated7 too, huh?” the other one spat.
He pulled out a pie with visible teeth marks and threw it at the younger person. Zhou Zishu giggled and took a bite without hesitation as he walked onto the boat.
The fisherman began rowing away. “Fuck you!,” he muttered, glancing at Zhou Zishu with lingering anger.
By this point, Zhou Zishu had become entirely indifferent to all things. He was no stranger to risking death, so the fisherman’s harsh words failed to affect him.
The boat gently moved across the water. On the opposite bank, a young woman called out sweetly, “Selling water chestnuts! Do you want some?” It seemed as if time itself had slowed to match the slow flow of the river. Zhou Zishu thought, even if I die now, it will be worth it.
The idea had crossed his mind before during his climb of the Mountain of Immortals in Penglai. But he remembered he hadn’t explored Jiangnan, and its natural splendor, so he traveled south, and the thought came again at this spot. An unfamiliar emotion welled up inside him. He bit into the dry, tough pie, forcing himself to chew and swallow. He then tilted his head in thought; his journey through Jiangnan was over, yet the three famous and five sacred mountains remained to visit. Giving up here would be a real loss.
Because of that, all thoughts about dying here were dropped.
Suddenly, as if he choked on his own saliva, the fisherman ceased swearing. He bent over, his head tilted in a vague direction, and remained unblinking.
Zhou Zishu was curious, so he leaned out from inside the boat’s deck to watch where the old man was looking.
He observed him closely examining two passersby along the riverbank — the handsome man in gray and the pretty young woman in purple, whom he had met earlier at the tavern. Though the fisherman was aged, he was notably perceptive, and a closer look revealed protruding temples beneath his wild hair, as well as thick, powerful hands and muscular build. It was evident there was more to him than what first appeared.
The pair the old man was watching was certainly not ordinary, as they made him this cautious.
The pretty girl was lively, but she always walked a few meters behind the man, never crossing her boundary.
Zhou Zishu quickly realized that this girl was either a maid or maybe a concubine. She had a touch of mischief and a beauty he admired, but since she was already committed to someone else, he ceased pondering and diverted his gaze, refocusing on the dry, tough pie.
It was, after all, jianghu; ambiguity was one of its defining features. While the royal court served as an arena for fame and power struggles, jianghu represented a conflict between good and evil. Some failed to grasp this distinction and took the label of wandering hero too literally, even to their deaths.
But how would all of this matter to him, an endlessly hungry homeless man?
Zhou Zishu, feeling a bit bored after the fisherman stopped cursing, teased him, “Hey, old man, this pie tastes a bit bland. I don’t mind whether it’s made with bad or fine salt, but you should have added some."
The other got furious again, “How are you still talking shit with that much food stuffed in your mouth? You greedy little shit, gonna starve you for three days, see how you will complain then…”
The moment he opened his mouth, his words poured out in a never-ending stream. Zhou Zishu smiled, eating his pie with more vigor, feeling a little shameless.
Crossing the river only required a few coins, but Zhou Zishu still tossed a silver piece at the fisherman. The fisherman neither felt grateful nor unworthy; he took it and walked off, looking like an unsatisfied debt collector. As soon as they reached the other side, he eagerly wanted to kick the young man out of the boat, shouting, “Get lost, get lost! Don’t waste my time; I have important business."
Zhou Zishu finished the pie at a relaxed pace, stretching before leaving the deck. He responded while still chewing, "Are you in such a hurry to reincarnate or something?"
The fisherman’s eyes widened as if he wanted to curse the brat’s entire family and ancestors; however, he suppressed his anger upon remembering something and grumblingly sailed away.
It was fortunate that this fisherman's act was merely a cover for his actual business; if he were truly a fisherman, he would be very poor. Staring at the boat sailing further away from sight, Zhou Zishu deliberately muttered a regard of absolute literary excellence, “Fuck you, too.”
Throughout most of his life, he associated with the refined yet corrupt segment of society; they only recited Confucius and related sayings, never uttering a rude word. He felt an immense sense of relief after finally blurting out that curse, as if years of pent-up frustration were suddenly released.
To his surprise, he found cursing to be surprisingly liberating. He was all smiles, whispering again, “Eat shit, scoundrel, rotten wood, tortoise egg, bastard[1]! I got my money, and he couldn’t even do his job properly.”
After pondering the words, he felt they tasted even sweeter, which greatly lifted his mood. Feeling content, he strolled along the riverbank.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Zhou Zishu traveled all day and reached the city outskirts by night. He found a pond, scrubbed himself thoroughly with sand to wash away the dirt from head to toes, as he could no longer tolerate his own smell. Using moss to dry himself and a piece of wood to pull back and keep his long hair from his face, he tried to look at least somewhat human. Afterward, he searched for a place to sleep. A few hundred meters further, he came across an abandoned, dilapidated shrine. He made a bed from hay and rested at the foot of the Buddha statue.During the night, he felt entirely at ease and could have slept peacefully until morning, except for the nearby footsteps and human noises. Three silhouettes appeared at the shrine’s door, their presence carrying the apparent smell of blood, prompting Zhou Zishu to open his eyes and frown.
The injured person was wearing a hat and was supported by a teenage boy with some basic kungfu skills, though his energy was still unstable. He was short of breath, helping the injured with great effort like a sick bull. The last person was an old woman dressed as a servant, staggering behind them while holding a bag.
The young man entered the shrine cautiously, his gaze scanning the area like a wary animal. He didn’t see Zhou Zishu, who was concealed in the shadow of the statue, his breath barely stirring the air. Softly, he turned to the man with the hat and said, “Uncle Li, let’s hide here for a while, your wound…”
He didn’t finish his sentence because the person he was speaking to struggled to free himself from his help, attempting to stand and offering a greeting directed at Zhou Zishu, saying, "Ah... This friend..."
He paused after lifting his head. Zhou Zishu immediately recognized that this was the fisherman he had encountered earlier. His back bore a sword wound, staining his whole body with crimson. The old man sat upright and exclaimed, “It’s you!”
The fisherman laughed bitterly and muttered, “Damn it, of course it’s the beggar brat...”
He stumbled forward before completing his movement, and the young boy quickly reached out to support him with his arms. However, since the boy was also exhausted, they both fell to the ground, with the boy sobbing, “Uncle Li..."
The fisherman suddenly spasmed. Zhou Zishu instinctively approached to check the injury, observing a peculiar purple tint mingling with the usual redness of blood, which caused his lips to turn deathly pale. He frowned.
The old man gently tried to smile and lowly said, “It’s not as if you were dishonoring your ancestors, boy. Could you please stop crying? I’m not dead yet...”
The woman wiped her tears and sighed, "Old Li, what would our young master do if something happened to you?”
He looked at her, struggling to breathe, and told the trembling boy, “I... am just someone with no future... but I owed your father a long time ago. Besides my own life, I have nothing else to repay this debt.” He coughed and spasmed again, then added, “Young man, remember this carefully...”
He didn’t get the chance to tell the boy what to prioritize, as louder footsteps approached outside the shrine. A man dressed in black entered, not bothering to conceal his face, which bore a scar from a knife wound. When he saw the three cornered like rats, his mouth twisted into a smile. “You did well, considering you managed to escape this far.”
The boy bit his lips and drew the sword at his hip, rushing at the man in black. “I’m gonna kill you!” he yelled.
His remarkable momentum was sadly not backed by sufficient skill; despite his promising appearance, his execution was awkward and revealed his inexperience. He was effortlessly disarmed with a quick flick of the hand before landing a hit, and was pushed back several meters after a stomach blow.
The boy then rose to his feet, his face smeared with dirt. Fearlessly, he shouted and charged once more without any weapons.
The fisherman tried to stand, but he was so badly injured that he immediately fell back.
The enemy smiled coldly and said, “Look at this rabbit trying to bite.” He dodged the attack, his fingers curling with the intent to claw the boy’s back. Under the moonlight, those fingers looked less like flesh and blood and more like faintly glowing blue claws, poised to deliver a deadly strike.
Initially, Zhou Zishu hesitated to involve himself in this, but he felt a certain connection to the fisherman, having been ‘on the same boat’ with him. The boy was too young to face death at such an age. He held a small rock in his hand, but before he could throw it, a sudden whistle sounded. The man in black flinched and dropped to the ground, causing the boy to stumble midair since he hadn’t thrown anything.
Where the man in black had just been, a concealed weapon shaped like a lotus lay.
They heard a gentle female voice say, “Who would bully elders and children so daringly late at night in the middle of nowhere?”
Zhou Zishu was startled because the voice was very familiar. He retracted the small rock and went back to his makeshift bed to observe what was happening silently.
The man in black’s expression twitched, gaze throbbing. Zhou Zishu thought it was because of the scar acting up. His face froze, looking a little funny despite the viciousness. He spoke angrily, “Show yourself, you whore!”
The young lady showed up at the door, smiling. Zhou Zishu recognized her as the purple-clad woman who had threatened to poison him earlier. What a day he was having, encountering so many familiar faces already.
The girl’s master was absent; she tilted her head, leaning on the door with an innocent look, lightly scratching her face with a finger. "Old shameless bastard, how dare you come here to attack elders and children, not sparing even one who’s at death’s door?”
Being called ‘one who’s at death’s door’, the fisherman, having been swearing up and down vigorously just hours before, collapsed in silence.
[1] See top menu ‘Ancient China: Insults, Profanity’.
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