46 Innocence

“Oh… yo yo yo… oh… yo yo yo…”

Brown Rodriguez drew a deep breath and exhaled long and slow. The air surged from his belly, raced through his throat, and was pressed into a narrow line by pursed lips, ringing out in a string of clear, resonant calls. At the same time, his right hand swung a supple rod, nearly two or three men in height, herding back the plowing oxen that, lured by the tender grass after the rain, had begun to stray from the herd.

When he saw the lagging oxen obediently return to the group, a faint smile flickered across Brown’s face. This was delicate work, just like the surname “Rodriguez”—meaning “the oxherd”—passed down from the hands of his father’s father’s father, and now from himself to his sons, generation after generation.

It was thanks to this skill that his days were so comfortable.

Though he worked for the lord just as the village serfs and those peasants with a few plots of land did, his family had never lacked for food or clothing. And, thanks to the villagers, no matter how arduous the farm labor, his family always managed to finish fastest and with the least effort.

Of course, most important was that the price for being “fastest and with the least effort” rarely had to be paid by his family.

But… nothing in life comes without its share of mishaps.

At this thought, Brown’s smile faded. He couldn’t help but recall the unpleasantness of the previous night.

All he’d done was use the cow for a while, and by accident, caused a small injury. Was it so serious?

Brown shook his head slightly. He’d never realized how unreasonable old William could be. The old man never thought—if not for Brown’s tireless care of the cow, from dawn to dusk, would William ever have managed to keep his animal so strong? Would he be able to head into the fields with such pride whenever he pleased?

Bah! Thankless wretch!

No wonder he was forced to wander half the night without being able to borrow a plow cart!

At the thought of the plow cart, Brown frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Beck…”

A few steps away, a young man who was also swinging a long, flexible rod while watching the herd, immediately turned. “Father, what is it?”

“Last night, where did old William finally borrow the plow cart from?”

“Well, judging by the cart… I think… it was the Tolde family. Yes, that’s right—when we passed the holy marker just now, I saw Tolde weeding his plot. He hadn’t started plowing yet, so it must be the Tolde family.”

As they spoke, the pair drove the herd through a cluster of bushes and reached a wooden bridge made of several round logs.

“The Tolde family, is it?” Brown gathered the herd closer, pondering.

“Yes… why, Father?”

“It’s nothing. Your uncle spoke to me this morning about the plowing. I was considering whose oxen would be best… and now it seems… the Tolde family’s would do quite nicely.”

“The Tolde family? But, Father, I don’t think they have any oxen.”

“No matter. Their elder brother has one. Get everything ready tonight—”

“Tonight? Isn’t that a bit late?”

Walking ahead, Beck herded the lead oxen onto the bridge as he spoke. “Why not prepare the ropes this afternoon, and then—”

“Watch out!” Brown’s roar cut him off.

There was no time…

Crash! Crash! Crash!

Bang! Bang! Bang! “Moo…!” “Moo…”

With a series of thunderous crashes and anguished bellows, the wooden bridge suddenly collapsed. Seven or eight broken logs—and two unfortunate oxen—plunged into the stream below.

Beside the ruined bridge, Brown and Beck instinctively reached out, as if to grasp something, bodies leaning forward, frozen in shock.

“What happened to this bridge? We cross it every day, it’s always been fine—how did it—”

It was a long time before Beck finally snapped out of his stupor, eyes wide, staring at where the bridge had been, now filled only with empty air, blurting out a jumble of disordered sounds.

“What are you waiting for? Get down there!” Brown barked, not bothering to look for a path. He slid down the steep, man-high bank, waded into the knee-deep water, and shouted again at Beck, who still stood on the shore, muttering to himself.

Half a minute later, Beck, his upper body smeared with mud and his lower half soaked, stood beside Brown.

“How are they…” Beck asked timidly.

“Not good… both are hurt,” Brown said, brows furrowed deeply.

After more than twenty years with oxen, Brown could tell at a glance: one had injured its foreleg, the other its belly—neither was in good shape.

“What do we do… what do we do…” Beck gripped his fists, stricken.

“Don’t panic! Come here, hold this!” Brown had Beck support the ox’s back. He moved to the other side, bent, and together they used all their strength, faces flushed red, to help the ox with the belly wound to its feet.

“Whew… still able to move…”

With a gentle pat, the oxen limped forward. Brown exhaled in relief.

“But… but…” Beck’s face was pale as he noted their slow, spasming movements. “After such a fall… can they still work?”

“Fall? What fall?” Brown rounded on him, eyes fierce. “Did you see them fall off the bridge? Clearly the two oxen lost their minds and knocked the bridge down!”

He inspected the oxen again, his tone harsher. “Avilia and Freeman—those two idiots! What did they feed the oxen last night? Made them go mad for no reason! Even smashed the bridge! I’ll be sure to tell Steward Ifrit to settle accounts with those neighbors! How dare they delay the lord’s summer labor!”

Knocked down the bridge?

Beck’s eyes grew even wider.

“Didn’t hear me? Avilia and Freeman, those two idiots—” Brown repeated with righteous indignation. “Now, say it yourself.”

“Avilia and Freeman, those two idiots…” Beck quickly caught on.

“Good, don’t forget… Now, let’s go…”

Glancing at the herd on the bank and the steep slope, Brown shook his head. “We can’t go here. Drive the oxen downstream—there’s a shallows.”

“What are you staring at?” Seeing Beck still fixed on the wounded oxen, Brown slapped him hard. “Get up there! The bell’s rung twice already, and you’re still dawdling! Do you want to delay the lord’s work?”

“Yes… yes…” With a swollen red handprint on his face, Beck scrambled up the bank.

“Ah… what a worry…” Brown muttered, watching his son’s clumsy form. He herded the injured oxen downstream, toward the shallows at the edge of his sight.

At that moment, concealed behind a tangle of leafy bushes, Wu Qingchen narrowed his eyes and let out a quiet, mocking laugh.

Five minutes later, the number of observers—advisors, soldiers, commoners—had soared from hundreds of millions to several billion. Their faces tense, feverish, excited, and agitated, and…

The air was thick with vicious, cold laughter.

It grew even thicker.

Chapter 46: The Innocent (Part Two)

Snap—

A bent branch flicked the water, sending ripples across the surface.

This didn’t make sense—when had there ever been so many trees here?

Brushing the splashed water from his face, Brown pushed aside yet another thick branch blocking his path.

Traveling the stream was arduous. The urgent flow, the tangled branches, the clutching weeds, hidden pits, massive stones…

Guiding the two injured oxen from where the bridge had collapsed to the shallows took far more time and effort than Brown had expected.

Huff…

Rounding a bend where the stream widened and slowed, the shallows finally appeared. Brown heaved a long sigh.

“Beck… Beck, come… help me…”

“Alright, Father… just a moment, let me finish with this one…”

Walking along the bank, Beck had moved much faster. By the time Brown reached the bend, Beck was already on the far side of the shallows, ushering another ox across to join the seven or eight already gathered.

“Hurry, there’s not much time…” Brown panted heavily, nodding feebly as he watched Beck at work.

Hm, not bad… his form is good, the way he swings the rod… that’s not right, his hand’s too high… ah, but he corrected it nicely when he switched sides… Good… the ox is slowing… much better… wait, slowing? Slowing?

The ox is slowing?

No—something’s not right…

Brown’s brow furrowed. He scanned from the ox in the stream to the herd already across.

Water… branches… weeds… stones… mud… shrubs… wild grass… red marks…

Red marks?

Brown suddenly straightened, eyes wide.

Yes—red hoofprints!

Damn! Damn it!

He broke into a run, splashing water everywhere. “Beck! Wait!”

“What is it, Father?” Beck turned, puzzled, still waving his rod.

“Stop! You idiot!” Brown’s voice grew urgent as the oxen waded forward, even slower now. “I said wait! Are you deaf?”

Finally registering his father’s alarm, Beck stopped, bewildered. “What’s wrong, Father?”

“What’s wrong? You still have to ask?” Brown reached the shallows and slapped Beck’s left cheek, leaving five bright red marks. “You fool! Deaf and blind! Go on, try it yourself—take off your shoes and walk ahead. See what’s wrong…”

Dazed, Beck removed his wooden clogs, received a solid kick, and stumbled into the shallows. After a few steps, he stopped, face contorting as pain stabbed his bare feet. He looked down—red swirls blossomed in the water around him.

Instantly, Beck understood the reason for his father’s fury.

Damn! Damn it!

Something’s wrong with the water!

“But… when we cross here, there’s never a problem—”

“Idiot! Didn’t you notice the heavy rain yesterday and this morning?”

Rain! How could I have forgotten? Beck’s face went deathly white. The torrential rain had scoured the banks and washed in sharp stones. The shallows would be littered with them…

But—even so, it didn’t make sense! They’d crossed here during storms before and never had such a problem, or they’d have noticed long ago…

“What are you standing there for!” Brown’s roar startled Beck. “Help me clear these stones!”

Right—clearing the stones was most important now…

Immediately, Beck bent down, and together they worked quickly, hands and arms soon running with blood from the abundance and sharpness of the rocks.

At last, with the path cleared, the pair rushed to the eight oxen that had already crossed.

A single glance, and Beck’s face went from pale to snow-white.

Almost all the oxen’s hooves were wounded, bleeding profusely.

Faced with the severity, Beck froze, as if seeing Steward Ifrit’s face darken before his eyes.

“Father… what do we do? Will the chickens and geese at home be enough to pay for this?”

“Quiet!” Brown crouched to inspect the wounds. After two minutes, he pressed his head in his hands, face ashen.

It was bad. Very bad.

Unlike old William’s one cow, or the two oxen that fell from the bridge, now eleven oxen—nearly half the village’s stock—were crippled at once. This was no debt chickens and geese could cover.

“What do we do… what do we do…” Beck paced frantically. “Should we throw in our goats too? We only just got a few last year…”

“Shut up! Forget chickens, ducks, geese, goats! It’s the height of summer labor—even if we gave every ox we have, it wouldn’t be enough!”

“Ah! What do we do… what do we do…” Beck’s legs gave out; he crumpled to the ground.

“Shut up! Be quiet! Let me think… there must be a way… there will be a way!”

Brown paced, muttering. “Wilson’s plot is nearby, he never clears the brambles—those thickets are tall… No, no… Hambern’s house is up ahead, lots of puddles by the door, and he never shuts it… No, no… Wolf found a beehive in the forest a few days ago, maybe…”

DONG… DONG… DONG…

Just then, as Brown’s mind raced with schemes to shift this disaster onto other villagers, a long peal of the village bell sounded in the distance.

Damn! The third bell!

No time to think! Summer labor was about to begin!

“Up! Get up!” He hauled Beck to his feet, dashed to the far bank, and swung his rod, driving the oxen across the shallows.

“Hurry! Idiot! Move!”

Rod in hand, Brown’s blows fell on his son’s face. The pair scrambled to gather the herd and rushed toward the sound of the bell.

Don’t panic… there must be a way…

There must be a way… but now is not the time to think about it… This path is dangerous… Don’t let your mind wander…

Don’t think about it… This is not the place… But… but… eleven oxen…

Between two valleys, a narrow, sloping path hugged the mountainside—this was the most treacherous stretch of road from the commons to the village. After heavy rain, it was even more slippery. Brown reminded himself not to get distracted, to concentrate, to be careful, but the more he tried, the more his mind was a jumble of anxious thoughts.

Fortunately, the end of the path was near, and no further mishap had occurred. Just one more bend, and they would reach the open hills.

Huff…

At the bend, Brown’s spirits lifted, his mind clearing.

There, just ahead, lay the broad familiar road, the well-known forests and fields, the winding streams…

And—a familiar length of supple vine…

Wait—why was the vine in that spot?

Brown’s eyes widened. He tried to halt, but muscle memory, ingrained habit, and unconscious action had already set his body into its familiar routine: grab a shrub, swing the rod, shift his weight, turn his head—

In the midst of this practiced sequence, the road appeared. The fields and forests. The streams. The vine.

Vine? But wasn’t that vine supposed to be just overhead?

Before the thought was finished, the vine caught his neck. His vision went black, breath stopped.

This made no sense—wasn’t the vine always a bit higher overhead?

As the thought flitted by, Brown lost his balance.

Stumbling, gasping, neck aching, Brown’s hands instinctively clawed at his throat. His left ripped free a tangle of bushes, his right swung the rod wildly, cracking through the air.

Cracking sounds?

Suddenly, Brown realized—the rod was striking the lagging oxen, who, trained to obey but driven by panic, were thrown into confusion on the narrow slope. Several stumbled dangerously close to the edge…

Disaster!

Brown, desperate, flung away the rod.

Too late—the last blow had tipped the balance between obedience and instinct. The oxen bolted for the slope, surging and colliding, dragging another eight or nine with them, while a cacophony of moos and thunderous crashes echoed as mud and water splattered everywhere.

In that instant, Brown’s mind went blank. The only thought that surfaced was: This time, there’s no need to invent an excuse…

“Father!” In a daze, Brown heard a rumble and Beck’s desperate shout: “Watch out, Father!”

What?

Brown spun. Beck too had fallen, and now the herd, wild-eyed, charged down the narrow path straight at him.

Heavens!

Brown wrenched at the vine with all his might. The oxen thundered closer. As he finally freed his neck, they were only yards away.

No time to run.

Years of working with oxen took over. Brown dove, rolling aside.

He rolled twice, then stopped abruptly—two stones blocked his way.

This made no sense! There were never stones here!

The herd was upon him. The thought flashed through his mind as Brown pressed hands and feet to the ground, preparing to slide over the stones.

“Ah!”

Suddenly, agony lanced through his hands—countless thin cuts.

Where had these brambles come from?

Then, searing pain shot through his right side. The first crazed ox trampled his arm and thigh.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Agony multiplied, Brown turned his head. All he saw was the madly charging herd.

As pain and darkness closed in, and his thoughts grew dim, only one last thought circled in his mind:

This makes no sense!