They said they were going to castrate him and kill his brother if his parents did not bring them his weight in gold. He manically paced back and forth in the stables, pondering what to do next. Had he been younger, he would have raced to his parents with tears of confusion streaming down his face. But the night forced him to abandon childish naiveté. He stared coldly at the beaten, limp, and lifeless body of his servant - which still reeked from contents of a smashed jug of rice wine. Once fear passed through indifference into rage, he was going to act.
They had beaten him unconscious, smuggled him into their mountain lair, and tossed the rice bag filled with the child into a rusty cage. Returning to the wagons, they unloaded them. The enormity of their score was revealed. Piled in the middle of a room was a variety of swag: fine rugs, vases, jade pieces, silks, and jugs of rice wine. In a spirit of celebration, wine flowed festively. The first bowls were not served to one of the three bandits; it was presented to their deceased parents. In spite of their unsavory vocation, they believed in the proper performance of ritual. And showing appreciation for their good fortune, they burnt incense and poured wine onto the tribute plates of their mother and father. After a brief observance, staid respectfulness gave way to hedonistic elation as they divvied up their plunder, all the while descending further into the throes of intoxication.
Once anger arrived he decided to go. His parents had taken their horses on a trip to Guangzhou, the finest horses had been stolen, and he was left with the oldest one in the stable. After procuring a cleaver lying aimlessly on a table in the Lychee Orchard, he grabbed a torch, patiently lit it, and proceeded into the night.
In a collective state of inebriation, the bandit brothers rolled around in large swaths of silk, giddy about the prospects of more plunder. During the course of their revelling, the key to the rusty iron cage dropped onto the floor. Intoxicated and overjoyed by the events of the night, each began to wonder aloud about what the future had in store. The eldest brother was going to open a restaurant – for he loved food; the middle brother wanted an opium den – for wine was not his only opiate; and the youngest dreamed of marrying their beautiful cousin – whom he dreamed about every lonely night. The orphaned men, as individuals and as brothers, believed that the unfathomable was soon to be realized.
After riding at a deliberate pace for a short time, he stopped to plan his next step. While sitting in front of a make shift fire, he noticed that the old horse was agitated by a smell on the ground. He went in for a closer look, dipped his finger into the soil, took in a breath, and instantly recognized the scent of rice wine. However, while stooped over the spot, flames from the torch stealthily licked at his right hand. The heat overwhelmed his youthful flesh and the torch crashed onto the earth. Surprisingly, it did not extinguish. Rather, it ignited a trail of fire. Upon discovering this newly lit path, he retrieved the torch with the help of a loose tree branch, got on his horse, and rode frantically, as expediently as the creature could go, to as far as the trail of flames would lead.
After countless trips to the wagon filled with plundered wine, the bandit brothers retrieved the largest jug. They noticed that it was light for its size. Following a casual inspection, a slight crack on the container was discovered. They shared in a hearty laugh and thought no more about it. With one last voluminous gulp, each would succumb to the drink. The youngest brother fell onto a pile of rugs, mumbling the name of his beautiful cousin. The middle brother fell asleep beside his younger sibling, hugging his sheathed sword. And the eldest of the three chided the others until even he succumbed to the iniquitous effects of their revelry, falling asleep beside his parents' shrine.
The flames lead him to the base of a mountain. He looked up and saw two lanterns illuminating the entranceway to an abandoned temple. While leading the horse carefully on a short trek up the mountain, fear reemerged. A miraculous trail of flames lead him somewhere, but would it lead him to a proud and foolish end? It was an unfamiliar situation, unfolding in a strange place. The events of the night shattered the certainties once thought to be inalienable. But now, he was compelled to step into the unknown - inexperienced, frightened, angry, and unsure of how he ended up leading a withered old horse up a mountain in pursuit of certain disaster.
He stepped through the entranceway, cautiously examined the surrounding area, and slowly stepped into the compound. He moved ahead and arrived at a dilapidated courtyard. Erring towards caution, he observed the nearby area for light, catching a glimmer emanating from one of the rooms. He tied his horse and slowly approached the door. Listening attentively as he moved towards the room, he tried to catch the slightest noise in order to situate himself in alien surroundings. All he could hear was a low rumbling sound, a snore. He kneeled outside the room, licked the tip of his forefinger, poked a hole in the rice paper panel, and peered in. In an instant, he recognized them in the image of bandits fast asleep surrounded by flickering oil lamps, empty rice wine jugs, and an assortment of plunder. And at that moment, fear gave way to anger. Bursting into the room, he ran towards the rugs, pulled out his cleaver, swiftly slit the throat of the middle brother, and callously ripped the sword from a weakening, lifeless grip. He saw life rapidly drain from the body and remorse emerged to briefly drown out his anger.
With blood dripping onto his quivering fists, he noticed the youngest bandit stirring from his slumber. In a moment of desperation, he pounced and slashed the sword across the gullet of the awakening thief. His head rolled and settled in time to see a bloody sword soaked in his blood and quietly moaned the name of his beloved one last time. The eldest brother picked up on the commotion, opened his eyes, in time to see his brother’s sword thrusted into his neck. And as his head crashed onto the ground, his eyes gazed up at his parents - together at last.
Holding a bloody sword in one hand and a now crimson-stained cleaver in the other, he stood over the three lifeless bodies. All he could hear was the bloodcurdling threat the middle brother made earlier in the night. A vertiginous confusion overwhelmed the boy, as he slashed wildly at the remains. Having expended his tantrum, he regained control, somewhat cognizant of what needed to be done. He dropped the sword and the cleaver and walked back into the courtyard, returning to wagon of wine that led him to this damnable place. After pushing cart after cart into the room, he emptied the remaining jugs over and around the bodies of the bandits. He retrieved the vases, jade pieces, and rolls of silk unstained by blood and entrails, placed them onto the wagon, wheeled it back into the courtyard, and returned to finish the task. But just as he was about to toss an oil lamp onto the wine-soaked bodies, he remembered his brother. Finding a crude looking key lying on the floor beside a swath of stained silk, he procured it and went in search. After some time, he found the rusty cage in an adjacent room, pulled his still-unconscious brother out, and carried him out to the wagon.
The only memory the younger sibling had of the night was the tremendous sight of flames and billowing smoke emanating from the side of a mountain. He distinctively recalled a stream of smoke spiraling around the peak up towards the celestial sky. The abandoned structure collapsed, sending ashes and dust high into the heavens. As they rode home atop the finest horse in his parent's stable, he held tightly onto his older brother, who gazed unflinchingly at the distance to come.
