Just as Jack finished speaking, a tall man suddenly squeezed out from the crowd.
He wore a long robe of deep purple brocade, its collar embroidered with a golden pumpkin pattern. The stitches were so fine that one could count the direction of the silk threads, and the curve of every pumpkin petal exuded a deliberate refinement.
Yet his face was sharp and narrow, his chin jutting forward. He always held his head high when looking at others, and even the breath from his nostrils seemed to carry an arrogant arc, as if sparing anyone a glance was an act of charity.
The string of golden bells at his waist was hung quite high, jingling with every step. He paused every three paces, his gaze sweeping over the onlookers. His dazzling clothes shimmered with a greasy sheen under the sunlight—clearly a display of his status as the Mayor, for fear that anyone might forget his dignity.
"I am the Mayor of this Pumpkin Town."
He walked up to Jack and looked down his nose at the motley, colorful clothes. The coarse burlap fabric was frayed at the edges, and there were two patches on the shoulder that didn't even match in color. His mouth immediately twisted in disdain.
"You say you can drive away the rats?"
He dragged out the end of his sentence like a slack string, carrying a dismissive tone of "I don't believe you."
It was as if Jack hadn't said he would drive away rats, but that he was going to the sky to pluck the moon.
Jack acted as if he hadn't noticed the man's arrogance. Instead, he gave an exaggerated bow, his waist bending like a bow, and the copper bells on his hat brim jingled wildly, nearly drowning out his voice.
"Mr. Mayor, your leather shoes are polished so brightly they could reflect a man's shadow, and even the curve of the toes shows such sophistication—how could those cheap, grain-stealing, fabric-gnawing rats be worthy of scurrying about your town? They belong in the muddy ditches, far from the sight of a dignified person such as yourself."
The Mayor's expression softened slightly at these words, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out. He raised a hand to adjust the gold embroidery on his lapel.
The fabric was as smooth as water, slipping away the moment his fingertips touched it, yet he forced it into a stiff display of dignity.
"Stop wagging your tongue. If you truly can drive all the rats away, two chests of gold, not a penny less."
He glanced behind him, where two brawny, broad-shouldered men were guarding chests covered with red cloth. The corners of the chests pressed into the ground, causing it to sink slightly; that heavy appearance made it clear they were filled with real gold, enough to make one's head spin.
"You truly are a generous gentleman!"
Jack's eyes sparkled like fallen stars. He suddenly threw open his arms, and the sleeves of his colorful clothes unfurled with a "whoosh." Strips of blue, yellow, and red fabric fluttered in the wind, flapping like butterfly wings.
"This is simply like the sun bringing warm light to the pumpkin patches, or rain bringing sweet dew to the flowers! Your benevolence will make the pumpkins in this town grow even rounder and sweeter!"
The people around them moved back, automatically clearing a space about ten feet Square.
Children clung to their parents' legs, fingers in their mouths, saliva dripping through the gaps. Their eyes were wide and round, and their eyelashes still had shiny sugar crumbs from the candy they had just eaten.
A few old men crouched by the foot of a wall, squinting as they waited to see the outcome—did this colorful-clothed outsider truly have skill, or was he just boasting?
If he really could get rid of the rats, they wouldn't have to listen to that "squeak-squeak" sound at night anymore.
Gwof stood in the crowd, standing on his tiptoes to watch closely.
Jack took a deep breath and brought the ivory-white flute to his lips.
The body of the flute had been polished to a shine, carved with intricate patterns that twisted and turned like some ancient incantation, glowing warmly in the sunlight.
The moment the flute sounded, the entire Square seemed to have its mute button pressed.
The sound was by no means a mortal tune. At first, it was like mountain spring water flowing over jade, so crisp it could wash away the irritations of the heart—even the old dog dozing in the corner pricked up its ears and wagged its tail slightly.
Then it became like a spring breeze blowing through a sea of flowers, carrying a warm sweetness that made one's ears itch. Even the dandelions at the foot of the wall seemed to be coaxed awake, their fluff swaying gently as if keeping time with the beat.
The sounds of wonder in the crowd gradually died down, leaving only sighs of enchantment. Even the babies in arms stopped crying, looking toward the source of the flute with dark, round eyes, their little fists clutching their mothers' lapels. It was as if they were under a spell, forgetting even to yawn.
Gwof also found the flute music beautiful, like a soft hand gently scratching his heart, a ticklish sensation.
Just then, with a "creak," the back door of the Tailor Shop at the west end of town suddenly opened a crack.
The sound of wood rubbing was exceptionally clear in the silence, like a needle piercing through a calm cloth. It startled several Sparrows into flight, the wind from their wings stirring the withered leaves on the ground.
A grey-black shadow darted out with a "whoosh." It was a plump rat, its round belly dragging along the ground as it ran with a bobbing gait. It carried half a piece of gnawed bread on its back, leaving a trail of crumbs like a scattering of sesame seeds.
Just as it reached the middle of the street, it seemed to be tugged by the flute music. It suddenly stopped, its small head swaying from side to side and its whiskers twitching. Then, it actually ran toward the center of the Square, following the sound. It looked just like a little spectator rushing to a fair, afraid of missing the show.
Immediately after, a second, a third... more dark shadows emerged from every corner.
A string of them scurried out from a hole in the Granary, lining up like a moving black rope, the front of which dragged a piece of burlap.
A pointed head popped out from a crack in the stone wall with a "pfft," dragging a stolen red thread. The thread traced crooked lines on the ground, like someone writing a cryptic script.
Even a wooden bolt on a window gap in someone's house was pushed open with a "clack," and a rat emerged with a rusty copper coin in its mouth. The coin flashed in the sunlight before the rat quickly tucked it back into its mouth, as if afraid someone would steal it.
They were of all sizes. Some dragged stolen threads, others clutched rusty copper coins, but without exception, they were all like iron filings drawn to a magnet, forming a crooked line as they surged toward Jack.
The scene was eerie, yet it possessed an indescribable orderliness—as if someone were secretly shouting commands, and they were marching "one-two-one."
In just a short while, hundreds of rats had gathered in the Square. They were a dense, black mass, yet they were strangely quiet, without even a single squeak. They simply held their heads high, their tiny eyes gleaming with an eerie light, as if they too were "listening" to the flute, completely entranced.
A few bold ones even climbed up the flagpole and crouched on the crossbar, their tails dangling and swaying. They looked like little sentries, dutifully watching over the area.
Jack closed his eyes, and the flute music became increasingly brisk, as if he were conducting a silent dance.
The long notes were clear and bright, like a stream leaping over stones.
The short notes were lively and bouncy, like Sparrows hopping on a branch.
Those rats suddenly moved, actually following the rhythm of the flute and circling in the open space.
The fat ones couldn't keep up and would get a nudge on the rump from the ones behind, stumbling forward.
The thin ones scurried quickly and would even stop to wait for their companions, brushing the others' faces with the tips of their tails. They were like a well-trained little army, even making their turns in perfect unison.
A burst of cheers erupted from the crowd, and some even began to clap.
Children clapped their small hands, shouting "they dance so well," treating the rats like performing actors, their eyes full of excitement.
The Mayor stood where he was, a hint of a smile finally appearing on his face. However, that smile didn't reach his eyes; it was like a layer of oil floating on the surface of water. In his heart, he was grumbling.
Is it this easy? If I had known flute music was this effective, why bother spending two chests of gold? Wouldn't that be a huge loss?
He quietly moved closer to the two brawny men, a calculating look appearing in his eyes.
The flute music continued, like a gentle net cast over the entire town.
And those rats, following Jack's footsteps, slowly began to move toward the outskirts of town.
They lined up, their tail tips occasionally touching, like a string of black beads rolling in a winding line across the ground.
The people followed as well, their footsteps light, as if afraid to disturb this peculiar migration.
Gwof followed too. Liya gripped the corner of his clothes tightly from behind, her small hands turning white from the strain. Her eyes were wide, and she didn't even notice the Ugly Duckling poking its head out from her arms.
Until they reached the riverside. The river water was as green as emerald, and the reed beds along the bank rustled in the wind. The frogs hidden within suddenly fell silent.
Suddenly, a man's cry came from the reeds: "They're jumping into the river!"
Gwof looked over and discovered—
One by one, the rats, lined up and guided by the flute music, jumped into the river with a "plop, plop," like Soldiers receiving an order.
The splashes weren't large, but they drew circles of ripples on the river's surface, like someone had scattered handfuls of broken silver.
The cheerful tune of the flute actually blended with the sounds of the splashing water, becoming a peculiar farewell song that felt both strange and warm to those listening.
Jack's flute music gradually faded, like a receding tide. The final note fell upon the water's surface, rippling out in tiny waves that drifted into the distance.
The crowd was silent; no one spoke. They only watched as those dark shadows swam into the distance, as if being gently taken away by the river. Even the splashes stirred by their tails were quiet.