Chapter 6 - The Zombie Cracks Walnuts
From that day forward, Qiao'er no longer spent her days huddled alone inside the cold confines of the coffin. She had grown quite fond of the exhilarating, weightless sensation of soaring through the clouds and mist. Thus, after the green-eyed zombie finished his nightly ritual of inhaling the essence of the moon, he would often carry her on his broad, cold shoulders, traversing the rugged mountain paths.
Occasionally, when she spotted clusters of ripe, wild fruit hanging from the branches, she would pluck them with a joyful cry. Over time, the zombie came to understand a peculiar trait of the human species: they required a constant variety in their diet. They could not simply fixate on a single source of sustenance day after day.
He found humans to be a fickle and ever-changing race. In terms of sheer maintenance, a human was far more troublesome than a zombie. A zombie could subsist on the breath of the moon for years on end, and those who craved blood remained loyal to that singular thirst for a lifetime. To sustain Qiao'er, the green-eyed zombie had to expend a significant amount of effort, frequently carrying her across the vast mountain ranges just to find a few morsels of fruit that suited her changing whims.
By now, the fear Qiao'er once harbored for him had almost entirely evaporated. Even when he let out a low, guttural growl or bared his jagged fangs, she remained unfazed. In fact, she often took to teasing him to pass the time. Life within the cave was dreadfully dull, so Qiao'er made a game of stuffing apples into his mouth during the daylight hours, purely to observe how his formidable corpse-teeth would mangle the fruit.
The green-eyed zombie tried to frighten her back into submission a few times, but when his intimidation tactics yielded no results, he simply gave up. Eventually, whenever she offered him a piece of fruit, he would obligingly open his mouth and leave a deep set of tooth marks in the flesh for her inspection. Every time she traced those jagged indentations with her fingers, she would break into fits of laughter that made her entire body tremble.
One evening, the green-eyed zombie was carrying her out on another of their mischievous excursions. As they passed through a desolate burial ground, a zombie suddenly lurched out from the shadows. Behind it, a mob of villagers gave chase, their shouts and the frantic barking of dogs piercing the heavy silence of the night. The flickering, weak light of their torches cut through the darkness like jagged wounds.
This particular zombie moved with agonizing slowness. Its left arm had been torn away, leaving a jagged stump that did not bleed, for the creature felt no pain. It merely struggled with all its might to move its stiff limbs, desperate to lose the pursuing crowd.
Qiao'er watched in confusion. The creature carrying her was also a zombie, yet his existence was clearly far more comfortable than the wretched soul before them. Far from being hunted, it was usually he who did the hunting—or at least the terrifying.
The green-eyed zombie watched from the shadows for a long time. He understood the situation far better than Qiao'er did. This was clearly a newly formed zombie, a "walking corpse" of the lowest order. Not every corpse was fortunate enough to be interred in a land of auspicious *feng shui*. Most of them awoke to a world devoid of spiritual energy, plagued by an eternal hunger and thirst. Because their power was so meager, they could only resort to surreptitiously preying on weak livestock. Humans were not easy prey; without ten or a hundred times the strength of a mortal, most demons and monsters would never dare to target them.
While human flesh was delicious, the price of failure was steep. In the grand scheme of things, far more zombies were burned to ash by humans than humans were bitten to death by zombies.
The girl and the zombie stood still as the voices drew nearer. The villagers eventually overtook the heavy-footed creature. The dull red glow of the torches fell upon its withered form, and it let out a cry of pure, primal terror. The mob quickly realized the creature possessed no significant cultivation and surrounded it instantly.
Qiao'er, still clinging tightly to the green-eyed zombie’s neck in the darkness, felt a shiver of dread. She whispered softly, "Aren't you going to save it?"
The green-eyed zombie looked up at her, his eyes glowing like deep, stagnant emeralds. Qiao'er didn't know if he understood her plea, but he made no move to intervene. He watched impassively until the villagers slapped a corpse-suppressing talisman onto the creature's forehead and reduced it to a pile of smoldering ash.
Only after the crowd had dispersed did he emerge from the shadows. The warmth of the fire still lingered in the air, but the clamorous burial ground had returned to its usual state of eerie, silent gloom. He stood by the remains of the fire for a moment before continuing his journey with Qiao'er on his back, heading toward another squire’s manor to cause his usual brand of chaos. It was in that moment that Qiao'er truly felt his nature. He was not a man; he was a wicked thing, a creature of the night. In his eyes, there was only food and survival.
What did "kinship" mean to a monster?
On the return journey, neither of them spoke. As they passed through a mountain grove, the zombie noticed a tree laden with plums. He stopped beneath it and gestured for Qiao'er to pick them. She stood precariously on his shoulders, wobbling as she gathered the fruit and wrapped them in her silk jacket.
Back at the cave, Qiao'er washed the plums in a mountain spring and brought them inside. While he absorbed the essence of the moon, she sat beside him, munching on the tart fruit.
Eventually, the boredom became too much, and Qiao'er, still troubled by the events at the burial ground, spoke up while waving a plum in the air. "I really think you should have saved him. You're the same kind, after all. If all the other zombies get burned to death, won't it just be a matter of time before it's your turn?"
The green-eyed zombie almost certainly didn't understand her logic. He simply took the plum from her hand and, with practiced ease, bit a perfect set of tooth marks into it.
***
The old Daoist, Chong Ling, had not visited the mountain for several days, likely preoccupied with his thriving business of "exorcisms." Qiao'er spent all her time by the green-eyed zombie’s side, and even the red-eyed zombie didn't dare to frighten her anymore.
Time moved differently in the mountains, and before long, autumn had arrived. The benefit was the abundance of fruit both on the peaks and in the valleys; the downside was the encroaching chill.
Chong Ling was at least thoughtful enough to bring up some cotton quilts and padded jackets, which he left in the cave. Qiao'er used them to line the coffin, making it thick and soft. At night, she dressed in heavy layers. While the cave remained relatively temperate, the zombie was anything but warm, so she preferred to wrap herself up until she looked like a giant cotton ball.
The green-eyed zombie was not pleased with this arrangement. As they slept, he would often try to tug at her padded jacket. The two of them frequently engaged in silent, stubborn tug-of-wars over exactly how many layers of cotton she should be wearing.
The dispute was finally settled when the zombie discovered a cache of walnuts. They reached a silent accord: if she wore only one padded jacket, he would use his powerful jaws to crack open walnuts for her. If she added a second layer, he would stubbornly refuse to bite a single one.
Within a few days, the zombie’s walnut-cracking skills reached a professional level. With a single, casual bite, the shell would shatter perfectly without crushing the meat inside. It was a testament to the old adage that practice makes perfect.
The following night, the autumn air grew even thicker with cold. Qiao'er rode the zombie out into the mountains to gather more ripened fruit. The zombie was clearly perplexed; the cave was already overflowing with food.
However, the minds of humans and zombies worked differently. Humans seemed born with a sense of foresight. Qiao'er liked to stockpile, knowing that once autumn passed, the long, lean months of winter and spring would follow. The cave served as a natural cellar, keeping the fruit fresh for a long time.
Once the zombie realized the purpose of her hoarding, he began carrying her across every ridge and valley in search of more.
As the days bled into one another, the leaves fell and the chrysanthemums withered. Autumn in the mountains was far more desolate and decaying than in the world below, leaving only the pines and cypresses standing tall and majestic.
Frost began to coat the ground at night, and as the temperature plummeted, Qiao'er lost her desire to go out. In the transition between late autumn and early winter, even the moon seemed to grow lazy, appearing less and less frequently.
On moonless nights, the green-eyed zombie still went out to roam. Though the spiritual energy gained from consuming the wind and dew was far inferior to the essence of the moon, it was better than nothing.
Qiao'er could not understand this ascetic, obsessive, and monotonous cultivation. Every night, the zombie would try to haul her out. At first, she would cling to the coffin, refusing to budge. The mountain air was freezing, and she was prone to falling ill—a minor ailment every day, a major one every three.
But the zombie simply didn't seem to want to be alone. He would tug at her until she finally relented and followed him out. Eventually, she grew accustomed to it, simply making sure to bundle up even tighter before they left.
The green-eyed zombie treated her well enough. After centuries of solitary cultivation—hiding from the sun by day and inhaling the cold moonlight by night—the years had blurred together, as if time itself had ground to a halt. Having this little "toy" to accompany him made today different from yesterday. It gave time a sense of meaning. It created a past, a present, and a future.
Consequently, he never found her to be a burden. Taking care of her had become the only thing in his existence other than his cultivation.
Countless Buddhist sutras and Daoist scriptures sought to teach practitioners how to see through the red dust of the mortal world and achieve a heart as still as water. Yet, for those gods, demons, and monsters who would later command the winds and rains, the very first thing they tasted when their sapience dawned was not power, but loneliness.
