Chapter 09: The Descent

Before the first light of dawn breaks the horizon, Yi awakens in the stillness of the temple's sleeping quarters. In the quiet predawn hours, he moves with purpose, careful not to disturb the slumbering monks around him. The chill of the early morning air caresses his cheeks and he can feel himself begin to flush.
Gathering his belongings, Yi feels a mix of anticipation and solemnity. Outside in the couryard, he methodically straps the baskets, stacked one inside the other, onto his back. The walking stick feels reassuring in his hand and gives him balance.
Inside his bag, Yi already has those few treasures that he brought with him to the temple, the journal, and the scroll. Yi carefully packs seven lotus seed zongzi Brother Shi made for him, their sticky rice and filling wrapped in bamboo leaves, a few pieces of fruit from the garden, and a large porcelain gourd woven with a strong rope around it for carrying water. He also takes one fire starter, slipping the match-like stick out and blowing on it gently to ensure it ignites properly, and his only bowl and pair of chopsticks. He also places a thick stack of red paper, precut to create the talismans, and his calligraphy brush, ink stone and ink into the bag. Lastly, he rolls his blanket and secures it to his pack. He shouldn't be gone for more than three days.
Stepping out into the cool, early morning air, Yi takes a deep breath. The temple, shrouded in the soft hues of dawn, exudes a tranquil beauty. He looks up at the peak of the towering mountain that he must now descend, its slopes a patchwork of shadows and dim light. This mountain, once his protector and boundary, now stands as his first challenge.
In the early morning light, Yi traverses the first li around the temple's perimeter, a path well-trod and familiar from his months of residency. The monks had diligently kept this part of the footpath clear, a small luxury amidst the wilderness. As he walks, leaves drift lazily from the trees, dancing on the gentle breeze that weaves through the outstretched branches of these towering sentinels. The forest, in its seasonal transformation, paints a serene picture around him.
But as Yi ventures further, away from the areas frequented by the monks, the path presents new challenges under the brightening sky. Shadows cast by the rising sun play tricks on his eyes. The trail, less maintained here, becomes a labyrinth of uneven stones and unpredictable terrain. Yi, used to the temple's smooth floors, finds himself constantly adjusting his footing, sometimes leaning against a tree or a rock for support as the path narrows and the earth shifts under his sandals. He moves with caution, mindful of the loose rocks and unexpected dips, but his attention is occasionally caught by the rustling behind him in the woods or a quick shadow darting across the path. He falters, catches himself, and then creeps even slower down the angular side of the great mountain.
As the day brightens, the path's complexities become more pronounced. Yi navigates steep inclines and abrupt turns, relying heavily on his walking stick for balance. The baskets on his back, though empty, add an unfamiliar bulk, shifting with each of his movements and demanding his constant attention. His bag, slung across his body and holding only a few personal possessions, still requires a steady hand to prevent its contents from spilling.
The forest around him stirs to life, a symphony of natural sounds that he had barely noticed when he first arrived at the temple. Now, Yi discerns a myriad of noises, from the rustle of leaves to distant calls of unseen animals. Among these sounds, something catches his attention – a distant, unidentifiable, yet familiar, crying that stirs his curiosity.
After several hours of descent, Yi reaches the base of the mountain. On more level ground now, he heads toward the first major landmark of his journey: the juncture where the mountain path meets the main footpath. This intersection, not far from where he descended, is marked by an ancient, gnarled tree – a familiar and comforting sight. The tree's sprawling branches have stood witness to countless travelers at this crossroads.
Yi pauses at the junction, setting down his baskets for a brief rest. He drinks from his porcelain gourd, savoring the cool, refreshing water. The late morning light reveals a well-trodden route winding through the foothills, leading into the valley below. Overhead, cumulus clouds gather, their irregular shadows playing on the ground and hinting at a possible storm brewing. Yi watches the sky, hoping to reach the village before any bad weather sets in.
Under the gnarled tree, Yi's thoughts drift to his mother, recalling the last time they stood together at this very spot. It had been a full day's journey from his village to here, in the opposite direction of the neighboring village he now heads to. He remembers her sad smile, her encouragement despite the pain it caused her. She had supported his decision to follow the Way of Dao, even amidst their poverty and the villagers' gossip. He remembered watching her return down the path back home, alone. His sister had already been married and living with her new husband a few months. There was no one else to be by her side for the journey back.
Determined, Yi resolves to prove that his path was worthwhile – to bring corn to his mother, share his experiences, and demonstrate all he has learned. He imagines showing her the scroll, telling her about his newfound skills in self-defense. Rising from his rest, Yi steps discreetly off the path for a moment, whispering a warning to any nearby spirits. Then, with renewed purpose, he continues along the path towards the neighboring village, mindful of the need to arrive before nightfall.
Continuing his journey, Yi leaves the juncture behind. The path now leads him into a deepening valley, where the scenery transforms dramatically. The gentle slopes of the mountain give way to steeper cliffs, their imposing forms casting long shadows across his path. The forest here is denser, a lush canopy of green overhead, with sunlight filtering through in dappled patterns on the forest floor.
As he descends further, the terrain becomes increasingly rugged. Yi navigates carefully, his walking stick providing much-needed support on the uneven ground. The baskets on his back sway with each careful step he takes, a constant reminder of his purpose. He adjusts the straps occasionally, ensuring the load remains balanced.
The air in the valley is cooler, a refreshing change from the warmth of the sunlit path above. The sounds of the forest are more pronounced here, a chorus of rustling leaves, distant bird calls, and the occasional scurry of small animals in the underbrush. Yi's senses are heightened, attuned to the natural symphony around him.
As he progresses, the faint but unmistakable sound of rushing water begins to fill the air, growing steadily louder with each step. The river, his next major landmark, is near. Its presence is comforting, a sign that he is drawing closer to his destination – the village that is cradled by it in the mist. He was excited to see it for the first time, what it must be like to be surrounded on three sides by the immensity of the rushing water.
Amidst the natural sounds of the forest and the approaching river, Yi hears it again – the mysterious crying noise that had briefly caught his attention earlier. This time, it's clearer, more distinct. It seems to be coming from somewhere ahead, perhaps closer to the river. The sound is unsettling, a stark contrast to the otherwise serene environment. Yi pauses, trying to discern the direction of the crying, a mix of curiosity and concern stirring within him.
He stands still for a moment, listening intently. The crying continues, a plaintive and sorrowful sound that echoes softly through the trees. Yi feels a tug of empathy, wondering about the source of such distress. With a cautious sense of resolve, he decides to investigate the sound as he makes his way towards the river. What was it? One moment it sounded as if it were an old woman, the next almost like a babies cry.
As Yi veers off the beaten path, drawn by the mysterious cries and the increasingly audible rush of the river, he stumbles upon an unexpected sight. It's the vivid vermillion of her clothing that first captures his attention, a stark contrast against the muted hues of the forest floor. There, amidst the undergrowth, she sits huddled, her body tightly curled into itself, as if seeking refuge in her own embrace. Her long black hair cascades over her arms and legs, shrouding her like a veil of sorrow.
Yi's heart races, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him – curiosity tinged with excitement, yet overshadowed by a growing sense of apprehension. A barrage of questions floods his mind. Who is this girl, alone and forlorn in the depths of the forest? Is she injured? Why is she engulfed in such profound grief? And what strange twist of fate has brought her to this secluded place?
Another cry, raw and heart-wrenching, pierces the stillness of the forest. It emanates from the girl, her sobs echoing unreservedly in the open air. Yi finds himself momentarily paralyzed, captivated by the surreal tableau before him. After a moment of stunned silence, he musters his resolve, clears his throat, and ventures a tentative, "Hello?"
The sound of his voice cuts through her despair. Abruptly, the crying ceases. An unsettling silence falls. Yi, standing a mere few meters away, holds his breath, his gaze fixed on the mysterious figure before him. The girl slowly unravels her limbs, letting her arms fall to her sides, and lifts her head to meet his gaze. Their eyes lock, and in that instant, a connection is forged in the heart of the wilderness.