Little Jack and Eric instinctively took a step back at the same time. What frightened them wasn’t the strange man or his voice, but that dull bronze mirror—a small thing, five or six inches across, yet it seemed to cover the whole sky. The sunlight suddenly dimmed, and both of them shook their heads together. They didn’t feel hot at all; in fact, a chill crept over their bodies.

The strange man lowered his arm, and in the blink of an eye, both the bronze mirror and the bell had vanished. His expression relaxed a little, but he looked even more exhausted. “Stay away from demons,” he said, his eyes darting around as he cocked his ear, as if demons were lurking nearby. “Stay away from demons,” he repeated.

The boys were terrified—even Little Jack felt panicked, scrambling with Eric to climb up the bank, their hearts pounding. Suddenly, the sunlight felt scorching again, their damp clothes clinging uncomfortably to their bodies, but none of that mattered. All they wanted was to get as far away from this strange man as possible.

The duel between the two groups of boys ended abruptly, and they rushed back toward the town, eager to tell the adults that a madman had wandered into Wildwood Town.

Eric’s group, unburdened by livestock, ran even faster and quickly disappeared from sight. The five herdboys drove their animals all the way to the edge of town, then turned to look back at the spot where the strange man had stood. He was gone. No one knew how he had disappeared or where he had gone.

“See you tonight.” Little Jack was the first to shake off the strange man’s influence. He still had to carry out his rescue plan that night.

Chapter Two: The Startled Horse

Little Jack’s home was on the back street of Wildwood Town. The stable took up more than half the yard, and there were three small rooms where Old Jack, Little Jack, and Eric Jack—the three generations—lived.

Old Jack was in his forties, short and stocky, his back already a bit hunched. He was chopping grass alone, and when he heard his eldest son return, he didn’t even look up.

Eric Jack, six years old, stood in the middle of the yard, holding a hard bun in his right hand, two lines of snot running down his face. He grinned and said, “Big brother.”

Little Jack ignored his little brother, led a dozen horses into the stable, and then came out to help his father chop grass.

Little Jack handed over the grass, Old Jack worked the chopper, and the two cooperated seamlessly. Soon, a bundle of fresh grass was reduced to bits, mixed with beans—this was the horses’ night feed.

Normally, father and son didn’t need to speak; silence was the norm in this household. But suddenly, Old Jack stopped, and as Little Jack brought over the second bundle of grass, he said, “Listen, tomorrow the Shen family is having a wedding. You’d better behave yourself.”

“How am I not behaving?” Little Jack retorted, a little guilty.

Little Jack was diligent and clever, but in his father’s eyes, he had one flaw—too stubborn, always needing to be straightened out. “Young Master Shen is marrying Mr. Qin’s daughter. The two families are well matched. If you dare go around telling people Fangfang is your wife again, I’ll break your legs.”

Eric Jack sucked in half his snot and grinned, “Hit big brother, hit big brother.”

Little Jack threw the grass in his arms to the ground. “Was it Eric who filled your head with nonsense? I…”

Old Jack pointed at the chopper, and Little Jack picked up the grass again. The two worked together, quickly finishing another bundle. Chopping grass was a job for quick hands and sharp eyes, and no one spoke during the work.

Old Jack was slow to catch on, but now he finally remembered what he wanted to say. “Eric is a good kid. Every time he sees me, he’s always polite. I really don’t get it—why are you always at odds with him?”

“He’s the one who picks on me,” Little Jack said angrily.

“Silly boy, let me tell you—kids who fight a lot when they’re young might end up the best of friends when they grow up. I think Eric actually wants to be friends with you.”

Little Jack thought this was the strangest thing he’d ever heard and couldn’t think of a good retort, so he simply got up and walked toward the gate.

“It’s almost dark—where are you off to now?” Old Jack shouted, truly feeling at a loss when it came to disciplining his eldest son.

Little Jack stopped in front of his little brother. Eric Jack, with a mouthful of broken teeth, bit into his hard bun and looked up at his brother, still grinning.

“Did you hear that? Dad said kids who fight a lot when they’re young become good friends when they grow up.” Little Jack slapped his brother on the forehead and dashed off.

The hard bun flew, Eric Jack fell to the ground and wailed, and Old Jack stood up, cursing and chasing after him. But for years now, he hadn’t been able to catch up with Little Jack’s legs. By the time he reached the gate, Little Jack was already gone.

“Sigh, that troublesome boy.” Old Jack shook his head, went back to pick up his younger son, found the hard bun, blew the dust off, and handed it back to Eric Jack.

When Little Jack ran back to the bridge, dusk was just falling. He was full of pent-up anger; slapping his little brother wasn’t enough to vent it—he wanted to find someone to fight. But there was no one on the bridge. Eric’s gang was probably at home eating dinner, pretending to be obedient in front of their parents, and the strange man was nowhere to be seen.

Little Jack sat by the riverbank, watching the last rays of the setting sun disappear. His stomach growled, but he had no desire to go home. He’d rather go hungry outside than be scolded by his father.

The sun had set completely, and the night was as gentle as a dream. Little Jack didn’t find the darkness frightening; instead, he felt a contented peace, and even the resentment in his heart gradually faded. He picked up a flat, round stone that fit perfectly in his hand, took aim, and skipped it across the river.

It was a perfect throw. If there had been other kids around, they would have cheered loudly.