Chapter One: The Rogue Youth

In the village of Lower Sand, there lived a boy named Sha Le’er, once known far and wide as an incorrigible rascal. Yet, who could truly blame him? When he was just eight years old, his parents divorced. His father left home, remarried a woman rumored to be somewhat pretty, and from then on, severed all ties—never returning home, never sending a single penny. It was as if Sha Le’er had never existed in his world. His mother, too, remarried, joining a poor family with her new husband, working away from home, bearing a son and a daughter, rarely returning, and when she did, never coming to see her firstborn.

Fortunately, he still had his kindly grandfather. From the age of eight, the two lived together, relying on one another. But when Sha Le’er turned fourteen, his grandfather fell ill and passed away, leaving the boy all alone in their dilapidated courtyard, left to fend for himself.

After his grandfather’s death, Sha Le’er was plunged into grief. He would often take his yellow dog to his grandfather’s grave, weeping and speaking to the one who had raised him. But youth is resilient; time soon soothed his sorrow, and he found joy again, living a life that, by his standards, was not without pleasure.

He never returned to school after his grandfather died. At fourteen, surviving in this world wasn’t so hard. His grandfather had left him ample grain, three hundred and fifty-two yuan, a pig, a cow, fifteen chickens, and twenty-three ducks. In the three and a half acres of paddy, the rice grew lushly; the five acres of dry land were divided between an orchard and a vegetable garden—dozens of chestnut trees stood in the orchard, and the vegetable patch was filled with various greens. Sha Le’er was not exactly lazy; though unsupervised, he wandered the fields and paddies daily. He wasn’t yet a skilled farmer, but he learned by imitation. The rice might not have been perfect, but it wasn’t neglected, and the vegetables, green and red, were always enough for his needs.

To call him a rascal was no exaggeration. If anyone in the village held a wedding or a banquet, he would show up without an invitation or a gift, plopping himself down and eating his fill. The elders would chide him good-naturedly: “You wild brat, you don’t even bring a red envelope and just eat for free!” But “wild brat” was not an insult here—just a remark on his unruly disregard for village customs. Sha Le’er would listen, unconcerned, as he picked the juiciest meats with his chopsticks, wiping his greasy lips with the back of his hand, and reply, “Uncle Third, lend me some money to wrap a red envelope, and I’ll pay you back when I have it.”

Everyone would laugh, and Uncle Third would laugh too, not at all annoyed, even adding more meat to the boy’s bowl. The villagers were simple folk. Sha Le’er had eaten at every table; no one truly disliked him.

If his own garden yielded no vegetables or if he saw something particularly tempting in someone else’s patch, he’d help himself without hesitation. If the owner caught him, he’d just smile sweetly: “Aunt Second, your melons are so sweet. Let me try one, fresh from the vine.” The owner might be annoyed, but who could scold an orphan? At least he was not greedy—he never took much.

He was not just a rogue, but a mischief-maker, often pulling pranks that left people exasperated or laughing. “Sister-in-law Second, look, your trousers are torn—your skin’s all showing!” Silver Fragrance, Sister-in-law Second, was the prettiest woman in the village and his favorite target for jokes. Everyone in Lower Sand bore the surname Sha, descendants of one ancestor—elders, peers, or juniors, all one family.

Silver Fragrance, startled at the mention of torn trousers, twisted this way and that, but found no hole. “Didn’t see it? It’s right on your behind! I saw your white skin.” She hurried to cover herself, embarrassed, then realized he was teasing her. “You little scoundrel, just wait till I catch you!” But by then Sha Le’er would already be laughing heartily and running off, leaving Silver Fragrance to blush furiously as everyone around erupted in laughter, helpless before him.

His most notorious escapade involved bathing naked in the river, even as he neared sixteen. He would climb ashore without bothering to dress, sending the village girls fleeing in embarrassment and prompting the older women to scold him: “Le’er, you little rascal, stripping naked like that—if you keep it up, we’ll cut your little thing off!” “Auntie, spare me! I can’t bathe with my pants on! Besides, it’s not so little anymore—look!” The women would laugh despite themselves, for he was well-endowed, and while the older ones were unfazed, the younger wives sometimes found their hearts racing.

His most outrageous prank became the stuff of legend, told and retold in neighboring villages. In late summer, he was herding ducks by the riverbank, bathing naked as usual. After washing, he lay down to nap under a tree, covering himself with straw and, in a fit of mischief, capped his privates with a broken duck eggshell. Soon after, a group of women, including Silver Fragrance, came to rest under the same tree. Not noticing him under the straw, Silver Fragrance spotted the shell. “Look, a duck egg!” She picked it up, only to be confronted with Sha Le’er’s proud member. She screamed and stumbled back, and the women all fled, cursing, Silver Fragrance loudest of all. The tale spread through the village by evening, sparking laughter and scolding in equal measure. But he was only fourteen then.

Now, at seventeen, Sha Le’er had grown into a strapping youth—tall, muscular, his skin bronzed by the sun from daily toil. He still bathed in the river, but now wore underpants. He seldom played the rogue or the scoundrel, but the stories lingered, and his reputation as a mischievous troublemaker endured.

Autumn was near, and the rice had been harvested. Returning from the fields, Sha Le’er drove a flock of ducks ahead of him, a small fishing basket at his waist, containing over a pound of loaches. He was adept at catching them, always bringing home a bit of extra food after work. As evening fell, he gathered eggplants and scallions from his garden, washed some rice, and started cooking. He had built a small biogas stove, so there was no need for firewood—soon the kitchen was filled with the aroma of food.

“Le’er! Brother Le’er!” someone called from outside, and his yellow dog barked. “Justy, what are you yelling about?” It was Sha Gang, nicknamed Justy, his childhood friend and distant cousin, a year younger, who lived in the main part of the village.

Sha Le’er let him in.

“Brother Le’er, look what I’ve got!” Justy brandished a half-full bottle of liquor. “What’s that? Just half a bottle of wine. Is that something to show off?” “This is good stuff!” Justy grinned. “Shaoyang Ferry Wine, over fifty yuan a bottle. My dad had the village chief over, and this was left—so I swiped it. Got any good food?” Lower Sand had fewer than two hundred households and, along with Upper Tao Village, was managed by their officials. Lower Sand was always the underdog, obliged to treat and bribe for every little thing.

Sha Le’er’s eyes lit up at the wine. “No delicacies, just loaches.” “That’s plenty!” Justy’s mouth watered; the villagers loved loach, which fetched a good price. “They’re in the clay vat—go fish out a pound or so.” Sha Le’er caught loaches daily, eating some, selling the surplus at market. Justy scooped out nearly two pounds, earning a glare from Sha Le’er, but he just laughed. “You’ve got plenty—there must be five or six pounds in there. If I eat a few more, will you go broke? You’ll catch more tomorrow.”

Sha Le’er ignored him and began frying eggplants while Justy cleaned the loaches and lounged on a small wooden stool. “Brother Le’er, where’s Little Gold?” “Who knows—maybe off courting a girlfriend.” “Ha! We don’t have girlfriends, but your little snake does!” Justy chuckled.

Little Gold was a golden snake Sha Le’er had raised since he found it at age ten. He remembered clearly how it began.

That winter, still a mischievous child, he found a tiny golden snake, frozen stiff in the snow. He took it home, put it in a bamboo tube, and wrapped it in a quilt. Miraculously, it revived, though sickly and lethargic, refusing food and sleeping constantly. Sha Le’er worried, but didn’t know how to help. Fearing his grandfather’s disapproval, he hid the snake in a hole in the cowshed wall, stuffing grass to block out the cold, visiting it daily.

His grandfather was unaware. When spring came, the snake recovered and, once released, circled him a few times. A rooster approached, intent on pecking it, but the snake lunged, biting the rooster, which died instantly, its red comb turning black. Terrified, Sha Le’er realized it was venomous. He dared not run; the snake was swift and agile. “Snake, don’t bite me,” he pleaded. The snake seemed to understand, circling his feet, hissing, then slithered over his instep and away. Only after it left did his soul return to his body, his face flushing from pale to red.

Afraid his grandfather would discover the rooster’s fate, he buried it on the hillside. That night, his grandfather searched for the missing rooster, but Sha Le’er kept silent, and his grandfather concluded that a weasel had taken it.

A couple of days later, he returned to the burial spot to find the surrounding vegetation withered and dead within several yards—a single bite from the snake could be fatal.

He thought the snake had gone for good, but the next morning, he awoke to find it coiled around his neck, cool tongue flicking at his face. Sha Le’er froze with fear. “Snake, don’t scare me. I saved you—don’t bite me.” But the snake only slithered down, into his bedding, over his chest, his belly, and finally his privates, even licking him with its tongue, nearly scaring him out of his wits. He wept silently, not daring to make a sound. After a while, the snake crawled back up to his neck and continued to caress his face with its tongue.

“Snake, get down—don’t bite me.” The snake seemed to understand, wrapping around his neck a few more times before slithering to the floor, gazing up at him with glistening eyes. He dared not get out of bed, cocooned tightly in his quilt.

His grandfather had already gone to the fields. Helpless, Sha Le’er hid under the covers. The snake, seeing him unmoving, climbed back onto the bed, burrowed into the bedding, and once more coiled around his neck, licking his face. “Snake, do you want me to get up and play with you? Just don’t bite me!” At last, he began to cry aloud. The snake slipped off the bed, raising its head to watch him from below, hissing softly.

Seeing it meant no harm, Sha Le’er mustered the courage to get dressed and leave the room, barefoot as always. The little golden snake followed at his heels, lively and cheerful, accompanying him wherever he went—into the fields, the paddies. Realizing it wouldn’t bite, his fear subsided, though his heart still raced.

When his grandfather returned and saw the snake, he blanched. “Le’er… that snake… it could bite you… Get away from it!”

“Grandpa, it doesn’t bite me. It just wants to play. It even slept with me last night…”

“What?” His grandfather’s face grew even paler. “If it bit you… what would we do?”

Sha Le’er’s own fear returned at his grandfather’s words, remembering the dead rooster. “Then… what should we do?” “Kill it!” Upon hearing this, the snake raised its head, hissing at the old man, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Grandpa, don’t kill it. I’ll take it to the mountains.” Fearing for his grandfather, Sha Le’er ran with the snake into the hills. “Snake, go play in the mountains. Don’t follow me back—Grandpa will be scared to death.” The snake slipped into the bushes, pausing to look back at him with what seemed like longing, then disappeared. Sha Le’er returned home.

When he did not bring the snake back, his grandfather was relieved. But the next morning, the little golden snake was again coiled around his neck, gently flicking its tongue over his face. “Snake, you’re back? It’s alright if you stay, but you mustn’t bite people… or chickens, or cows, or pigs. And don’t let Grandpa see you, understand?” Whether or not the snake understood, it crawled affectionately across his face, flicking him with its tongue, before slithering off to play outside.

From then on, the snake disappeared during the day and returned at night, never biting anyone or any livestock. His grandfather never saw it again and assumed it had left. Only after his grandfather’s death did Sha Le’er play with the snake openly during the day, and the villagers came to know of his obedient little companion, whom he named Little Gold.

Justy was a frequent visitor and knew Little Gold well. As they spoke, a golden snake glided into the courtyard under the night sky. The yellow dog barked, and Sha Le’er knew Little Gold had returned. “Little Gold!” Justy called, but the snake ignored him, curling happily around Sha Le’er’s leg, hissing softly. Little Gold was tiny, barely the thickness of a thumb after six years, a foot long, with a small fleshy crown atop its head, like a miniature crown. Sha Le’er finished cooking the loaches.

“Goldie, back to your nest.” At his call, the snake soared through the air into a bamboo tube hanging from a beam, its surface carved with intricate patterns. From inside, Little Gold occasionally poked its head out, watching the two youths below.

They began to eat and drink. “Brother Le’er, the rice is in. There’s little left to do in the fields. My dad wants me to go work in Guangzhou—will you go?” “To work in Guangzhou?” Sha Le’er sipped the wine, finding it bitter, and wrinkled his brow. Only after a bite of food did he feel better. “I don’t want to go.”

In truth, he was curious. Nearly all the young people from the village had gone to Guangzhou, leaving only the old and the children behind. Even Sister-in-law Silver Fragrance and her husband had gone. Life in the village was terribly lonely. If Justy left too, who would he have to talk to?

Spending all day with old men and women, he felt as if the scent of coffin boards was beginning to cling to him.

“Brother Le’er, let’s go together. We’ll have company. We can work for Brother Qiang’s crew—he’s got over two hundred men now, all from around here.” Brother Qiang, a local who had gone to Guangzhou and become a contractor, was now a rich man, a local legend, driving a car home for the New Year and the most respected figure in Lower Sand and neighboring villages.

“But if I go, who’ll look after my cows and ducks?” “Sell them off!” Justy downed another shot of wine, showing the poise of a seasoned drinker. “Farming’s a dead end—work yourself to death and you’re still just scraping by. Look at Brother Qiang—how grand he is now. Even his workers get over a thousand a month. How much rice could you buy with that?”

Justy’s face was flushed with drink; Sha Le’er, who couldn’t handle his liquor, was red-faced after only half a cup.

“I’ll think about it.” “Think about what? Don’t you want to see the city? The buildings are dozens of stories high, and the women are gorgeous. Look at the girls from our village—when they come back, they’re so stylish! Do you really want to spend your whole life in the countryside? Isn’t that a waste?”

Sha Le’er said nothing, but his heart was stirred. He had barely been to the county seat, and even those buildings had left him in awe. Guangzhou was so many times larger—how could he not be curious? He was still young; if things didn’t work out, he could always come home.

The restless heart of youth began to throb.