Chapter 6: Disappearance

Time slipped by swiftly, and with the villagers’ help, his mother was buried before dawn. There wasn’t much left of her—most of her body had been devoured by the tiger demon, leaving only her head and a few mangled limbs. These, along with some of her personal belongings, were placed in a small wooden box and buried at a spot in the western hills.

There was no time, nor the means, to erect a stone stele. Li Mu found a wooden plank and made do with that, asking Third Uncle in the village—the only one who could write—to inscribe the marker, as there was neither brush nor ink in his home, nor did Li Mu recognize the characters of this world.

The funeral, hastily arranged, dragged on until the deep of night.

When all was done, Li Mu bowed deeply to the villagers who had come to help. His face was pale and exhausted, but he forced himself to stand tall.

“Thank you, elders of the village, for your kindness. I am still young and cannot yet repay you, but I will never forget your help in burying my mother. When I am grown, I will find a way to repay this debt.”

His words, humble and sincere, moved the villagers. None of them expected anything in return, but his attitude brought them comfort.

After escorting the funeral procession down the mountain, Li Mu went to deal with Uncle Ox’s corpse. But when he returned to the yard, he froze in shock—

Uncle Ox’s body was gone!

“How could this be? Such a massive ox carcass—how could it simply vanish?”

The villagers were thrown into an uproar. They too had seen the ox; it weighed at least two or three thousand jin. Although Li Mu had stubbornly insisted on burying it, which some regretted, it was his ox, and it was his right to decide.

Yet now, after just a short time away for the funeral, the ox had disappeared? That much beef, sold for meat, would have fetched at least ten taels of silver—gone, just like that? More troubling, no one had any idea how it had vanished.

“We left for a bit while you were at the funeral, talking over how to rebuild your house, Mu, and when we left, the carcass was still here. When we came back, it was gone. We don’t know how it happened…” said one of the villagers who hadn’t gone up the mountain.

Everyone was baffled, speculating wildly. Some cursed, convinced that someone had stolen the beef, preying on a grieving orphan whose only remaining possession was that loyal ox—a beast that had died defending its master from a tiger. To steal such an animal’s meat—wouldn’t the thief be cursed?

Others thought it unlikely a villager would do it; Li Family Village was small, and everyone knew each other. Even the few local ruffians hadn’t been present that day. Besides, it was impossible for just a handful to move such a heavy carcass. Perhaps, they speculated, the tiger had returned, seizing its chance to drag the body away while everyone was gone.

A cacophony of voices rose, confusion and suspicion swirling. Li Mu stood silent, trembling slightly, eyes rimmed with red.

At length, Uncle Jiu spoke in a low voice, “Don’t worry. I’ll look into this. The ox won’t be lost.”

Li Mu could only nod, staring at the spot where Uncle Ox had last lain, his jaw clenched so tightly it might break.

The ox was gone, but it was the middle of the night—nothing could be done until morning. Uncle Jiu led the dazed, hollow-eyed Li Mu back to his home.

“For now, stay here and rest. Once your house is rebuilt, we’ll talk about what comes next.” Uncle Jiu watched the boy, usually so lively and well-behaved, now seeming little more than a lost soul. He sighed.

Uncle Jiu and Aunt Jiu were childless, it was said because Uncle Jiu was wholly devoted to the martial path, not yet considering the matter of heirs. Li Mu could see this; whenever he came to ask about martial training, Uncle Jiu’s eyes lit up, revealing his deep ambition, unwilling to be tied down by family.

Such thinking was decidedly unconventional in these times. But with his parents long gone and as a man of arms, none in the village could restrain him.

Li Mu was given a side room, still unprepared—Aunt Jiu had been busy with laundry until dusk, rushed to help after the tragedy, then went to the funeral. Now it was nearly three or four in the morning. She had been on her feet all night, with no chance to tidy the room.

It mattered little. Li Mu seemed oblivious to his surroundings; nothing about the room concerned him now. After all, how could it be any worse than what he’d left behind? This was, after all, the home of a man who drew a monthly stipend; even a side room here was far better than his own main room—complete with bedding, wardrobe, and furnishings, all superior to his own.

After a quick dusting, Uncle Jiu and Aunt Jiu left him alone to rest, understanding that after such calamity, Li Mu needed solitude more than words.

Listening as their footsteps faded, Li Mu stood dazed in the room. At this hour, he would normally be asleep—or nearly awake, ready to lead Uncle Ox to graze or dig wild vegetables.

Now, thinking of Uncle Ox, a sharp pain pierced his heart. Though their days together were few, the memories of the past three months—the little things—crowded his mind, especially the way the ox had fought the tiger demon for his sake, dying in the struggle.

How could he accept such a loss? The image of Uncle Ox begging him for release haunted his thoughts.

“Tiger demon…”

Slowly, his thoughts turned to that monster.

His teeth ground together, nearly to breaking. A hatred, deeper than anything he’d felt before, welled up inside him—a desire, wild and fierce, to drink its blood, devour its flesh, gnaw its bones. It was a madness he could not suppress.

But what was he now but a mountain shepherd boy? The tiger demon had bested Uncle Ox—what hope had he?

Tears slipped once more from the corners of his eyes. For the first time, he felt the world's true cruelty—and his utter helplessness.

Then, suddenly—

“That’s right—the Demon-Slaying Codex!”

Uncle Ox had died by his hand. Did that not count as slaying a demon?

He balked at calling Uncle Ox a demon, or using the cold, pitiless word “slay.” Yet the truth could not be denied. Uncle Ox’s sacrifice, unwanted as it was, seemed to have triggered something.

If he could have chosen, he would have kept Uncle Ox alive. But the Demon-Slaying Codex was now his only hope for vengeance.

With this thought, he glanced around, ensuring Uncle Jiu and Aunt Jiu were gone. He hurried to the bed, climbed under the covers without undressing, and closed his eyes.

With a flicker of thought, the Demon-Slaying Codex rose before his mind’s eye.

He willed it to open.

And there, on the once empty scroll, a new image began to appear—drawn in the same ancient style as the mythical beasts of the Shan Hai Codex he had once seen.

It was a green ox, hovering above the ground, its body shrouded in a misty azure vapor, mysterious and majestic—the very likeness of Uncle Ox.

As his consciousness touched the image, a torrent of new information surged into his mind…