Chapter 23: The Thirteen-Day Village (End)
When the rain finally fell, it was already the morning of the thirteenth day. By the time the last drop fell, the sun had not yet set, and a curved rainbow appeared in the sky.
Many years later, whenever the clansmen saw a rainbow, they would remember the day Chen Jian took them to the top of the cliff to see it.
At that moment, the rain had just stopped, and the water in the Caohe River was a bit muddy. Standing on the cliff, they could still hear the roaring water downstream where white waves churned.
The rainbow hung over the lower reaches of the Caohe River like a gate, through which the river seemed to flow to places the tribe had never imagined. Occasionally, a large golden fish would leap from the water, its scales glistening in the sun, as if trying to jump through that colorful door.
At the foot of the mountain, thirteen thatched cottages stood in a neat row. Water, stained light yellow by the thatch, still dripped from the eaves into a drainage ditch that had been dug the night before.
Diyu Qian'er keenly observed that the tribe had spent thirteen days building thirteen houses.
It was just a coincidence, but in the eyes of the tribe, the number thirteen now held a special meaning. It was guidance from their ancestors, a lucky number worth celebrating.
Behind the thirteen cottages stood thirteen mud chimneys, each emitting milky white smoke. Even from the top of the mountain, one could smell the slightly bitter aroma of the burning wood.
In three of the homes—dwellings for the old, children, and breastfeeding women—a kang (a heated platform bed) had been built from mud and covered with sheepskins and hides.
In the remaining houses, for lack of time and mud, there was only a stove. A mud flue snaked across the floor like a long serpent, leading to the chimney behind the house. Above the flue, a simple bed was propped up with wood and rope, covered with grass, fiber cloth, and a few animal furs.
The windows were sealed with two layers of bark fiber. A bundle of mugwort hung upside down from the frame, tied with a strip of cloth dyed red with ocher.
From a stick on the first house to be built hung a fire-glazed, broken earthenware bowl tied with a rope. Whenever the wind blew, the pottery shards clinked together, a sound as crisp as birdsong.
In the open space before the houses stood a very long and wide pergola made of wood and thatched bark. Beneath it were five hearths built from mud slabs, each holding a huge pottery pot. This was where the tribe cooked and ate.
One pottery pot was filled with neatly arranged twigs. The clan knew them as chopsticks; it was said the ancestors in the dream used such things to eat. The clansmen had tried several times, but they found it difficult to pick up food as skillfully as Chen Jian.
At this moment, white steam rose from two of the cauldrons on the hearths, carrying the intoxicating aroma of venison stewed with pepper leaves.
A few wolf cubs played around the stove. A small nest, lined with soft grass, had been built next to the first house. Several of them were napping inside. In a small pottery bowl before the nest were some leftovers, now less than half-full.
One wolf cub chased a little gosling but was scared away by an elder who was staying home, brandishing a stick. The gosling fluttered into a nearby pond.
The pond was a pit left from where the clansmen had dug soil for mud. The day before, a dozen people had spread a layer of clay to seal the bottom and then diverted a small, nearby stream to fill it. That evening, Chen Jian had led them to a marshy area far away and had them dig up some white, arm-thick rhizomes, some of which had already sprouted.
The old grandmother didn't recognize them, but Chen Jian told the tribe they were called lian (lotus root). After the clansmen broke off a piece and tasted its sweet, fragrant, and crisp flavor, another food was added to their diet.
Now, these white rhizomes were planted along the edge of the pond where the water was very shallow. A few shoots had already broken the surface, and several dragonflies rested upon them.
The geese and goslings played in the water, their yellow, webbed feet faintly visible beneath the surface. The fish from the wicker baskets had been released into the pond the previous night and now darted away from the harmless paddling feet or hid among the reeds that had been tossed into the water.
Above the pond was a shared nest for the geese and the dodo birds. The two species, having never met before, now lived together because of the tribe. The sounds of the old people shooing the dodo birds into their nests, mixed with the quacking of the geese, created an atmosphere of indescribable comfort.
One dodo bird wandered far from the houses, onto a path trampled through the green grass. Beside the path stood a tall pine pole. A short branch was tied horizontally across it, and from the branch hung a flag made of white fiber cloth.
The people felt that this new life came from the guidance of their ancestors, so they wanted to draw the ancestor from their dreams on the flag. Only the old grandmother and Chen Jian had ever seen the black-and-white bear, but the old grandmother insisted Chen Jian should be the one to draw it. Using charcoal, he drew a strange symbol on the white cloth.
It was black and white, round and divided. From a distance, it looked like two fish, one black and one white, connected head to tail. The black fish had a white eye, and the white fish had a black one.
Some thought it looked like a whirlpool, like the one that formed in the Caohe River where the clear brook converged with the murky, rain-swollen river. The tribe used their own imagination to understand the Taiji symbol from Chen Jian's previous life, and they found it easy to accept. To them, it was like the paintings the old grandmother made on cave walls—not realistic, but you could feel their meaning. They had already accepted the stories of the black-and-white bear, though no one had ever seen one.
So, some interpreted the symbol as white for the soul and black for the body, connected to show their fusion. Others thought it represented the world split by Pangu, as Chen Jian had described—half white and half black, just like day and night.
Thus, the charcoal drawing of the Taiji, understood as the ancestor's incarnation as the black-and-white bear, became the tribe's symbol. They all believed the flagpole possessed magical powers, and no one dared to disrespect it.
In the shadow of the tribal flag lay a huge stone slab resting in a wicker basket.
The previous night, by the fire, the tribe had agreed on several new rules, though some seemed pointless to many.
The first proposal—that anyone who killed a fellow clansman would be executed by the tribe—was passed without question. The only confusion was why it needed to be stated at all. It was an unspoken custom; who would harm their own kin? And no one had ever considered what the punishment should be if it did happen.
It was also decided that for tribal discussions, if the majority agreed, the proposal would pass. One could object before the decision was made, but once it passed, anyone who still objected would be given a stone axe, exiled from the tribe, and never allowed to return. This was akin to a death sentence, as a person could not survive alone.
For lesser crimes, the punishment involved the large stone slab in the wicker basket. The offender had to carry it on their back up the cliff. The number of climbs depended on the severity of the mistake. Chen Jian had suggested labor as a punishment, but the clansmen, not yet understanding concepts of private ownership or slavery, rejected it. Labor was something every clansman was expected to do. What kind of punishment was that? Instead, someone had proposed carrying the stone, and the idea was approved.
A ring of goshawk feathers was stuck to the stone, held in place by a circle of rope. The eagle had been shot down by Wolf Skin after it tried to snatch a gosling, so in the tribe's eyes, the eagle was now a symbol of wrongdoing. A person who committed an offense would have to wear these eagle feathers for many days, until the tribe forgave them.
Before, they had relied on primitive morality and custom. Now, they had simple, unwritten laws. These rules retained traces of their old morality but were also something new.
The clansmen did not find these changes too unsettling. The only thing they truly didn't understand was the last structure Chen Jian built in the village.
Chen Jian called it a toilet. Not far from the village, he had dug two pits, separated by a mud wall. One squatted on the edge of the pit, where wooden sticks were driven into the ground as handholds to keep one from falling.
Next to it was a pigsty made of piled branches, built on a slight slope. The little piglets were grunting inside. Usually, they would have been taken out to forage by now, but today it seemed everyone had forgotten, and they had just been thrown some chopped ginkgo leaves. The sloping ground was exceptionally clean after the heavy rain; all the droppings had washed into the pit below, which was covered with a layer of plant ash that neutralized the smell.
It was now a rule that everyone must use the latrine and cover their waste with half a basket of plant ash. Failure to do so meant carrying the stone up the cliff twice.
This was the only rule the clansmen couldn't comprehend, but out of trust in Chen Jian, they passed the proposal. He told them that one day, a white, snow-like powder would be produced there, and with it, he would show them the power of thunder and lightning.
The clansmen had gone to look that very morning, but everything was as usual. There was no white, snow-like powder. They gradually dispersed, concluding it was just one of his jokes.
Now, standing on the mountaintop looking down at their new home, they felt Chen Jian had been right. No one wanted to step in filth near their own house. Although the wolf cubs were very interested in such things, they no longer had the chance to find them.
This was their new home. A scene that was unimaginable thirteen days ago now stood on the rain-washed earth, having appeared as suddenly as mushrooms in a forest. The weeds that would have normally grown wild in front of the houses now looked dazzlingly out of place. Some people were already thinking they would clear them with a stone hoe before their next meal.
The women wanted to plant bright flowers. The day before, Yuqian'er had stained her nails red with the petals of a certain flower, and they all thought it was beautiful. They were beginning to fall in love with flowers that couldn't even be eaten.
On the trampled ground where the earth was exposed, a white mist rose in the warm sunlight, mingling with the white smoke from the chimneys and blanketing the small village.
The clansmen loved the beautiful rainbow, but no one gave it a second glance. All eyes were fixed on their own village, their own home, lost in thought, imagining the future Chen Jian had promised them in a year's time.
After a long while, the sun melted the rainbow and the wind blew away the mist. The black-and-white flag, embodying their hopes and reverence, unfurled and fluttered high.
Tomorrow, they would meet with other tribes.
The clansmen felt they should carry this flag to show others they had the protection of their ancestors. They would wear their hair in braids and buns to show their life was different. They would tell the story of this place, sharing the joy and pride in their hearts.
Those willing to join their tribe would be welcomed, their blood mingling like that of Song and his people.
But if any came with covetous desires, their arrowheads and stone spears would teach them how powerful the tribe had become.
Their blood could mix in the veins of the next generation, or it could stain the points of their spears and arrows.