Killing Monks

Being mute is tough.

The mute man wasn't always mute. He had his own home, parents, and laughter.

He was still a child that year, wearing an old jacket sewn by his mother, squatting on the side of the street watching the excitement.

Master Hu staggered over, his plump body wrapped in silk, holding the hand of his equally round son. The two walked one after the other, panting heavily.

The child's eyes are bright; whatever he's thinking just slips out of his mouth:

"They look like two pigs!"

The sound was soft, yet it resonated crisply, and the surroundings fell silent.

Master Hu stopped in his tracks.

That one stop marked the end of the mute man's life.

That night, he was dragged into the backyard of the Hu family's house.

Someone pried open his mouth, and a cold metal object was inserted. With a goug and a cut, before he could even cry out, his tongue was gone.

The taste of blood filled his mouth and rushed to his head. He was in so much pain that he curled up on the ground and convulsed, but he couldn't even finish calling out "Mother".

When his father carried him home, his hands were shaking.

This man, who had been a carpenter all his life, could only hold him and cry, his tears falling onto his neck, both hot and cold.

From then on, no one asked Dad to do chores anymore.

The rice jar at home emptied very quickly, and Dad would squat on the doorstep for half a day at a time.

Sometimes when I look back at him, his eyes are empty and blank, as if he is looking at something else through me.

Finally, one day, Dad said he was going to find work, pushed open the door and walked into the wind, and never came back.

On the third night after Father did not return, Mother hanged herself.

The mute man pushed open the door early in the morning and saw his mother hanging from the beam, her body slightly spinning.

He opened his mouth, but only managed to make a "ho...ho..." sound.

He wanted to die too.

He picked up a piece of broken tile and tried to cut his neck, but a neighbor snatched it away. He fainted from hunger by the river and was then fed thin porridge to keep him alive.

At first he thought it was a good intention.

Later, while he was huddled in the dilapidated temple, he overheard two passersby chatting:

"The Hu family is making an example of him... They let his family be destroyed, but spared his life. They want people to see what happens when they gossip about the Hu family."

The mute man listened without showing any expression.

He simply curled up slowly and buried his face in his knees.

It turns out that even his life was secured by someone else's power.

From then on, he lived like a block of wood.

Don't cry, don't make a fuss, don't struggle.

If someone throws him half a steamed bun, he'll nibble on it. If someone kicks him, he'll roll away.

The light in his eyes, along with his tongue, had long been cut away.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and make a muffled "woo...woo..." sound in my throat.

That was the only sound he could make.

On this day, at the street corner of Huji Town, the mute man was curled up again.

He saw two people from out of town walk by: a young monk and an unbelievably beautiful woman.

It was common for monks to visit brothels, let alone for monks to bring women along.

There are many strange things in this world, but he only knows that outsiders are easily swayed by emotions.

He dragged himself over and stretched out his hands, so dirty that the skin color was unrecognizable.

The monk looked down at him.

There was no disgust or pity in her eyes, she just looked at him calmly, then took out a piece of dry food from her backpack and placed it in his palm.

The mute man nodded hurriedly, making "woo...woo..." sounds.

"So he was mute," the monk said softly.

He took another piece and put it into the mute man's other hand.

Two pieces now.

These two were Guangyuan and Chu Kuangjun.

Chu Kuangjun watched from the side, a half-smile playing on his lips: "Guangyuan, other monks beg for alms, but you're different, giving alms as you go."

Guangyuan watched the mute man's hunched back as he left. His back was hunched, as if he was afraid of being seen, or as if he had gotten used to hunching over like that.

"There are too many suffering people in the world," he said.

"Can you save them all?" Chu Kuangjun asked.

"We'll save as many as we can." Guangyuan turned and walked towards the inn. "We can't just pretend we didn't see anything because we can't save them all."

Chu Kuangjun followed, without saying another word.

At the inn, Guangyuan ordered steamed buns and beef to eat on the road. Qujiang was still far away, so they needed to prepare enough dry food.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of children playing outside the window. He looked up—

Just now, the mute man was stumbling and chasing after several teenagers.

The children waved two pieces of dry rations in their hands, the very ones Guangyuan had just given them. They ran and shouted, their voices high-pitched and bright:

"Mute, mute, how strange—"

"Dumb, dumb, what an idiot—"

The mute man couldn't make a sound; he just opened his mouth and made a series of breathy "ho...ho..." sounds as he reached out to grab something, but missed it time and time again.

He couldn't run fast, and his legs weren't very agile. After chasing for a few steps, he staggered and almost fell.

The waiter shook his head as he wrapped the beef, saying, "Here we go again."

Guangyuan sighed and frowned: "Nobody wants to be born mute."

The waiter lowered his voice and glanced towards the door: "Sir, this mute... he brought this on himself."

"You asked for it?"

"Who told him to offend Master Hu?" The waiter hurriedly wrapped up the last piece of beef, tied it tightly with oil paper, and said no more.

Chu Kuangjun and Guangyuan exchanged a glance.

Guangyuan took out a few pieces of silver and quietly slipped them into his younger brother's hand.

The waiter weighed the silver in his hand, looked around, and then leaned close to Guangyuan's ear to whisper the old story.

Guangyuan remained silent for a long time after hearing this.

He looked out the window.

The mute man had stopped chasing and was squatting on the street corner, hugging his knees and burying his head low.

Those children had long since run off, but their laughter could still be faintly heard.

Chu Kuangjun asked softly, "How is it?"

"Looks like," he said, "I have to get involved in this."

The next day, Huji Town was in an uproar.

Hu Jiuye's fat son had his tongue cut out during the night.

In front of the tea stalls, wine shops, and butcher shops, everyone was whispering, their voices low, but their eyes were gleaming.

"Have you heard? That kid from the Hu family..."

"They say a chivalrous hero has arrived, specifically to seek justice for the mute..."

"Is anyone actually involved in this?"

The mute man huddled in a corner of a dilapidated temple outside the town, his body resting on moldy straw.

He heard footsteps coming and going, and people talking excitedly. At first, he just listened numbly, like listening to the wind and rain.

Until two porters stopped to rest at the temple gate, one of them spat and said clearly:

"That little bastard from the Hu family, his tongue really got cut out!"

The mute man shuddered violently.

It felt like something had hit my chest hard.

He raised his head blankly, his chapped lips slightly parted, but no sound came out.

Those words buzzed in his mind, over and over again!

Tongue. Cut it off.

Bloody paste.

He raised his hand and touched his face. His eye sockets felt cold, then burning hot.

It turns out that place can get wet.

It turns out that after all these years, there was still something leaking out of his body.

He slowly curled up, burying his face deep in his knees, his dirty sleeves covering his head.

My shoulders started to tremble slightly. At first, it was just a slight tremor, but then it became more intense, and my entire back rose and fell with it. But there was no sound, not a sound at all.

The people outside the temple were still talking, and the wind blew in through the broken window, carrying the dampness of autumn.

He remained curled up like that, his shoulders rising and falling silently, like a dilapidated house that was about to fall apart but had finally found some support.

There was no wailing, no sobbing.

Yet it sounded more like crying than any other cry in the world.