4: Chapter 4 The Mountain Guide's Copper Kettle Problem

After the train's whistle faded completely into the valley, the last lingering echo was crumbled by the wind into the waves of rice in the terraced fields.

The surroundings of the platform suddenly went quiet, leaving only the "woo-woo" sound of the wind passing through the gaps in the tracks, like someone hiding in the shadows playing an old ocarina.

Chen Jie leaned against the faded station sign—the red paint on the board had peeled away, leaving only sporadic specks, and the strokes of the characters for "Qingxi Station" were chipped. Rubbing his fingertips across the wooden surface, he could feel the fine grooves gnawed by years of wind and rain.

His gaze crossed the gravel-strewn roadbed and landed on the shrubbery in the distance: three gray wild rabbits were standing with their ears perked up, gnawing on wild peas. Their front paws moved quickly and lightly as they raked at the pods, their pink noses twitching from time to time as they sniffed the air vigilantly.

Hearing footsteps on the tracks, they "whooshed" into the hazelnut grove, their tails like fluffy gray balls, colliding with low-hanging branches and causing fruit to fall with a rustle. A few greenish-brown hazelnuts hit the stones, making a light "tap-tap" sound.

"The rabbits in this place are even sharper than the ones in the city; they run so fast that the camera can't even catch them."

Zhao Kai held up his phone to film, the screen still frozen on the blurry afterimage of the fleeing wild rabbits. Just as he wanted to adjust the angle, he was startled by a pheasant that suddenly flew up from the grass.

The pheasant's plumage was dazzlingly colorful, its red crest like a small flame, dragging its long tail feathers as it swept across the layered terraced fields. The sound of its flapping wings startled the stone frogs on the ridges, causing them to jump "splash, splash" into the water—those stone frogs, with their green backs and yellow spots, usually blended in with the moss while perched on the rocks. Now, they dived into the shallow stream in a panic, the ripples they stirred up churning the sunset reflected on the water into fragments of gold, which slowly spread with the waves and gradually gathered into new spots of light.

Chen Jie's gaze didn't follow the pheasant; instead, he was drawn to the grove of wild jujube trees at the edge of the terraced fields.

A few crooked-necked wild jujube trees grew in the rock crevices, their branches gnarled and twisted, hanging with many half-red, half-green fruits that swayed gently in the wind like small lanterns adorning the branches.

From a hollow in one of the trees, a furry head poked out—it was a brown-gray squirrel, happily gnawing on a pinecone. The "creak-creak" sound of its tiny teeth cracking the shell was exceptionally clear in the quiet mountains.

Its pine-needle-like tail stood up vigilantly. Seeing Chen Jie looking over, its bright black eyes darted around, and it "zipped" to a higher branch. A piece of pinecone shell it hadn't held onto properly fell to the ground with a "snap," rolling into a stone crevice and startling out a few shiny black beetles.

The beetles scrambled onto the moss-mottled stones, their six thin legs paddling rapidly, and in the blink of an eye, they disappeared deep into the crevices.

"Don't be afraid, city kids. The creatures in our mountains are quite intelligent; if you don't provoke them, they won't bother you."

Uncle Liu emerged from the mountain path carrying a bamboo basket, the straps digging into his bronze-colored shoulders and leaving two shallow marks.

A cluster of wild grapes hung from the edge of the basket, the purple, glistening fruits swaying, attracting two long-tailed tits that landed on the rim to peck at them, their little heads bobbing up and down, unafraid of people.

Uncle Liu waved his hand gently, but the birds didn't fly away; they just hopped into the nearby thatch grass, chirping away as if chatting with him.

Inside the bamboo basket were a few sprigs of schisandra, the purple-black fruits glistening with morning dew, which attracted a round hedgehog crawling out from a pile of withered leaves.

It sniffed the edge of the basket with its pointed nose. Perhaps thinking the schisandra was too sour, it curled into a ball of prickles and rolled down the slope to the side of Chen Jie's canvas tool bag. When it stopped, it swayed slightly, as if checking to ensure it was safe.

"Uncle Liu, why isn't this hedgehog afraid of people?"

Chen Jie bent down, wanting to touch the prickly "little ball," but just as his fingers reached halfway, Zhao Kai grabbed his arm: "Watch out for the quills! Hedgehogs in city zoos hide far away; the ones in these mountains are definitely wilder. Don't let it bite you!"

Uncle Liu laughed so hard his pipe shook, and the ember from the bowl fell to the ground, causing the dry grass to make a "sizzle" sound: "Our hedgehogs here grew up drinking mountain spring water and eating wild fruits; they are very spiritual and know who is a good person and who is a bad one."

As he spoke, he unhooked the copper pot hanging from his waist and placed it on the nearby bluestone slab. The dull "thud" of the pot bottom hitting the stone startled the hedgehog, causing it to "poof" and flare its prickles, revealing its snow-white belly underneath. The round appearance made both Chen Jie and Zhao Kai laugh.

The copper pot looked like it had seen some years; the spout was crooked, as if it had been struck by something hard. The copper rust on its body was embedded with flecks of deep green, looking as if moss from the stream had stained it over the years, exuding an untamed aura of the mountains and forests.

Chen Jie crouched down, pulled a small flashlight from his tool bag, and pressed the switch. The beam swept over the crooked spout, revealing a reddish-brown mass stuck inside—looking closer, it seemed to be the feathers of some kind of bird, the roots tangled with tiny water plants and wet mud, clogging the depths of the spout in a sticky mess.

"Uncle Liu, is the spout blocked by something?"

He fished out a pair of long, slender tweezers from his tool bag and carefully reached into the spout, pulling out the mass of feathers bit by bit. He discovered that the roots of the feathers were also tangled with a few strands of animal fur. "I'm afraid some water bird took the spout as a nest, bringing feathers and grass to line it, and ended up blocking the spout."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a soft howl, "aw-woo," came from the direction of the ravine. The sound was so distant, as if it had drifted from the clouds, circling in the valley before slowly dissipating.

Uncle Liu looked up at the hillside, squinting as he pointed to the cloud-shrouded peak: "That's the call of the wild goats in the mountains. They love to graze on moss and medicinal herbs on the cliffs. Their ability to find their way is even better than the most capable guide; they know exactly where the good grass is and where to take shelter from the rain—they know it all like the back of their hand."

Chen Jie looked in the direction he pointed and indeed saw a few gray specks moving on the distant rock face. Their figures were agile, and the sound of their hooves treading on gravel drifted down with the wind. He could faintly smell the distinct, fresh, fishy scent of the mountain rocks, mixed with the refreshing fragrance of grass and trees, which was exceptionally invigorating.

Zhao Kai moved closer to Chen Jie, his voice lowered a bit, tinged with nervousness: "Uncle Liu, there aren't any wolves in these mountains, right? I saw in a documentary that there are wolf packs in mountain areas, and they howl at night..."

"Wolves? They were scared off by our bells all over the mountain long ago!"

Uncle Liu pointed to the bamboo poles stuck by the terraced fields; the tops of those poles were hung with rusty copper bells that rang with a clear "ding-a-ling" whenever the wind blew, carrying far through the mountains. "In the past, mountain folks were afraid of wild beasts ruining the crops, so they hung these all over the mountain. Wolves, wild boars—when they heard the bells, they knew people were around and didn't dare to come close. Now that there are fewer crops, the bells have become a scenic feature, and tourists love to take pictures of them."

As he spoke, he reached out to unscrew the lid of the copper pot, wanting to pour some water to drink, but only a few drops of murky water dripped from the spout, mixed with tiny bits of animal fur and silt.

"A while ago, I was washing the pot by the stream. Just as I put the spout into the water, a muntjac darted out from the forest and hit the spout. I heard a 'crack' right then and there, and the spout got crooked. Ever since, it's always been clogged when I pour water."

Chen Jie fished a small bottle of machine oil from his tool bag, poured a little into the copper pot, tightened the lid, and held the copper pot in both hands, shaking it gently. He could hear a faint "shhh-shhh" sound coming from inside.

"It's the copper rust and silt inside that have clumped together, clogging it up tight."

He took a soft cloth from his bag, wrapped it around the head of a small hammer, and began to tap gently against the crooked spout. "It's just like the old tree roots in these mountains; they've been soaked in water for so long that they've stuck to the stones. You have to tap slowly, loosen it slowly—you can't rush it."

In the distant stream, a splash suddenly erupted as a silvery fish leapt out of the water, probably hunting for flying insects. The sound of it landing startled a flock of egrets resting in the reeds, causing them to take flight, their snow-white wings flapping against the air with a "whoosh-whoosh" sound that drowned out the last lingering echo of the distant train, echoing in the valley for a long time.

Uncle Liu squatted by the pile of stones nearby to add firewood and start a fire. Dry pine branches and thatch were piled on the ground. He struck a match and lit it, the flames "crackling" and the dancing firelight reflecting on his face, illuminating the smile within his wrinkles.

A few fireflies were attracted by the firelight and danced around the flames, rising and falling, casting the shadow of the copper pot on the ground, flickering, like some mysterious symbol.

"Young man, if you can fix this pot, I'll take you to see the old grandfather clock in the village ancestral hall tonight."

Uncle Liu threw a piece of pine resin into the fire, and thick smoke rose "whoosh," carrying the bitter, pungent scent of turpentine. It startled the nightjar resting in the tree, which "cawed," flapped its wings, and flew to a more distant branch. "That clock has been around for quite some years; it's an object from the Republic of China era. The gears might even still have worm-eaten marks from decades ago—it's much more precious than the exhibits in city museums. These are authentic, old items that haven't been refurbished in the slightest."

Chen Jie's fingertips gently rubbed against the notch in the copper pot lid. The copper rust there rubbed off onto his hand, carrying a damp chill like a pebble just fished out of the stream, making his fingertips feel cool.

As he continued to tap the spout with the hammer, listening to Uncle Liu tell stories of the mountains, he suddenly felt that what was hidden in this old, worn-out copper pot might not just be clogged feathers and silt—perhaps it also held the untold secrets of these mountains and forests: the morning when the water bird lined its nest in the spout, the afternoon when the muntjac collided with the copper pot, and the countless mountain paths Uncle Liu had walked while carrying it.

The wind swept across the terraced fields, carrying the fragrance of rice and the faint howl of wild goats in the distance, blowing the tranquility of the night to become even more profound. Only the sound of the dancing firelight, the light tapping on the copper pot, and the movements of the creatures in the mountains flowed slowly through this silence.