Shifu, You'll Do Anything For a Laugh

him that Iron Mountain was overseeing the making of bows and arrows, that people had been sent to Northern Jiaozhou, and that the township leaders were taking the incident very seriously; they would be sending someone over soon. Hong Xi was to satisfy his hunger with the flat cake and maintain his vigil. He should beat the gong if anything happened.
    Once the little boy had left, Hong Xi laid the gong on the memorial stone, shoved the hatchet into his belt, and began devouring the flat cake. As soon as he was finished, he took out the hatchet and shouted, “Are you going to come down or not? If not, I'll chop down this tree.”
    Not a sound from Yanyan.
    So Hong Xi buried his hatchet in the tree, which shuddered from the force. Still no sound from Yanyan. The hatchet was buried so deeply he couldn't pull it out.
    Is she dead? Hong Xi wondered.
    Tightening his belt and removing his shoes, Hong Xi began to climb. The rough bark made for easy going, and when he'd climbed about halfway, he stopped to look up. All he could see from that vantage point were her legs hanging down and her buttocks resting on the branch. We should be in bed together by now, he thought angrily, but instead you've got me climbing a tree. His anger was translated into strength, and as the trunk narrowed, more and more limbs branched off, making it easy to hoist himself up into the canopy, where he anchored his feet and reached out furtively to grab her. But no sooner had he touched the tip of her foot than he heard a long sigh and felt the branches above him rustle; flecks of gold flew into the air, like the golden scales of a leaping carp. Yanyan flapped her arms and lifted off from the canopy; then, with all four limbs in motion and her hair floating in midair, she glided to the top of another tree. Hong Xi was alarmed to note that her flying skills had obviously improved since the wheat field.
    She sat atop the new tree in the same posture as the first. Facing the rosy sunset, she presented a sight as moving as a new rose bloom. “Yanyan,” Hong Xi called out tearfully, “my dear wife, come home and make a life with me. If you don't, I won't let Yanghua go to the bed of your mute brother —”
    His shout still hung in the air when he heard a frightful crack beneath him, as the branch snapped and sent him crashing to the ground like a hunk of meat. He lay there for a long while before getting to his feet by propping himself up on the carpet of decaying pine needles and taking a couple of tentative steps by leaning on the trunk. Except for the expected aches and pains, he seemed intact — no broken bones. He searched the sky for Yanyan and all he saw was the moon, which sent watery rays filtering down through the pine branches to fall on a part of a grave mound here, the corner of a headstone there, and an occasional clump of moss. Yanyan was bathed in moonlight, a big, beautiful bird perched for the night on the top of a tree.
    Someone beyond the pine grove called his name. He shouted back. Remembering the gong on the memorial stone, he picked it up, but couldn't find the mallet anywhere.
    A noisy mob entered the pine grove with lanterns and torches and flashlights, casting their light in the spaces between trees and pushing back the moon's rays.
    Among them were Yanyan's aging mother, her mute elder brother, and his sister, Yanghua. He also saw Iron Mountain and seven or eight able-bodied men from town, with bows and arrows slung over their back. Others came equipped with long poles, or hunting rifles, even bird nets. A handsome young man in an olive-drab uniform cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt was holding a service revolver. Hong Xi recognized him as a local policeman.
    Noting the bruises and welts on Hong Xi's face, Iron Mountain asked, “How did that happen?”
    “It's nothing,” he said.
    “Where is she?” Yanyan's mother asked loudly.
    Someone aimed a flashlight at the tip of a tree, shining it directly on her face. The people heard the top branches rustle, then watched as a dark shadow slipped silently from that tree to the top of another.
    “You bastards!” Yanyan's mother cursed. “I know you've killed my daughter and made up a story to trick this old widow and her orphaned son. How could a girl fly like an owl?”
    “Calm down, Auntie,” Iron Mountain said. “We wouldn't have believed it if we hadn't seen it with our own eyes. Let me ask you, did your daughter ever study under a master? Learn any unusual