Explore Chapter 9 of 'Cat Country' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
The groves of intoxicating leaves presented a splendid sight. The leaves had grown larger than a hand, thick and dark green, their edges rimmed with a band of crimson gold. The plumpest leaves were mottled with spots, making the whole grove look like a forest of gigantic, multicolored flowers. Sunlight filtered down through the silvery-grey sky, deepening the hues of these leaves and lending them a tranquil beauty. There was no dazzling glare, but rather something that made one gaze upon them with increasing fondness and growing comfort, as if looking at an old painting whose colors remain bright, but whose surface sheen has been softened by the passage of time.
Day and night, crowds of people gathered at the periphery of the groves of intoxicating leaves. Or rather, they were not so much visitors as they were sniffers. They all stood with their eyes closed, noses thrust out as far as possible, inhaling the thick, luscious scent of the leaves. Their mouths hung open, the shortest thread of drool stretching at least two feet long. When a slight breeze stirred, they would not turn their bodies. Instead, they simply moved their necks, following the puff of air to better inhale the fragrance it carried, like snails after a rain gently exercising their necks. If a large, fully ripened leaf occasionally fell, they would all open their eyes instantly at the sound-or perhaps they could smell the tiny noise a leaf makes upon landing, even with their eyes closed-and smack their lips in unison. However, Scorpion would always rush over like a ball of fur and snatch up the treasure before they could decide to pick it up themselves. A collective sigh of disappointment, like a chorus of lamenting ghosts, would rise from the crowd.
Scorpion had five hundred soldiers transferred to protect the groves of intoxicating leaves, but they were stationed two *li* away. This was because if they were too close to the groves, they would take matters into their own hands and loot. Yet he couldn’t refrain from mobilizing them. It was the custom of Cat Country to treat the harvest of intoxicating leaves as a most solemn affair, requiring the dispatch of troops for protection. Everyone knew these soldiers protected nothing for anyone. However, failing to deploy them to provide this protection for which they would take no responsibility would be an open insult to the officers and men. Scorpion was a shrewd man who naturally wished to avoid reproach. Thus, summoning the troops was a matter of course, but stationing them two li away prevented their covetousness from causing chaos. If the wind grew slightly stronger and blew towards the barracks, Scorpion would immediately order them to retreat another half or full li, lest they arrive borne on the wind and plunder the groves clean. The reason the soldiers obeyed his commands was still because I was there. Without me, they would have mutinied long ago. “A single cough from a foreigner can frighten five hundred Cat Country soldiers” was a common proverb.
Apart from the five hundred soldiers, the real guardians of the groves of intoxicating leaves were Scorpion’s twenty household guards. All twenty were men of high principle, loyal and reliable. However, on occasion, should the mood strike them, they might tie Scorpion up and plunder the groves themselves. In the end, it was still because I was there that they dared not indulge such whims, and thus their loyalty and reliability remained intact.
Scorpion was truly overwhelmed. He had to watch the household guards to prevent them from sneaking a single leaf. He had to watch the direction of the wind to know when to order the soldiers’ retreat. He had to watch the crowds of onlookers outside the grove to ensure not a single fallen leaf was lost. By now he had already consumed thirty intoxicating leaves in one sitting. It was said that eating forty leaves in one go would keep a man awake for three days, but on the fourth day he would breathe his last. The nature of intoxicating leaves was this: eat a little, and you gain energy but lose the will to work; eat too much, and you can work but will soon perish. Scorpion had no choice but to eat more, knowing full well it meant certain death. He could not eat less for fear of dying, even though he dreaded death immensely. Poor Scorpion!
My supper was reduced. Eating less in the evening, he said, would keep me alert through the night. Scorpion was now treating me with the same methods he used on felinoids. The groves of intoxicating leaves relied solely on me for protection. Therefore, I had to stay alert at night. Therefore, I had to eat less for dinner. High merit receives low reward-another example of felinoid logic. I threw my meal and the utensils on the ground. The next day, my rations were restored to their usual fullness. I now understood how to deal with felinoids, though I felt deeply uneasy about it.
A light wind blew all day, the first time I had experienced such a thing since my arrival. When I first came to this place, there was no wind at all. When the intoxicating leaves turned red, there was only an occasional gust. A wind blowing continuously for a whole day was unprecedented. The intoxicating leaves, bearing their various colors, swayed gently, an exceedingly beautiful sight. Overnight, Scorpion and the household guards erected a large wooden scaffold, at least forty or fifty feet high, in the very center of the groves of intoxicating leaves. It had been prepared for me. This little wind was Cat Country’s famous Enchanted Wind. When it arrived, the weather was about to change. Cat Country had only two seasons: the first half of the year was the quiet season, with no wind; the second half was the active season, with both wind and rain.
In the morning, while still in my dreams, I heard a clamor right outside my hut. Crawling out to look, I saw Scorpion at the head of a line, followed by his twenty household guards. An eagle tail feather was stuck behind his ear, and he held a long wooden rod. The twenty household guards each held something that appeared to be musical instruments. Seeing me emerge, he planted his rod firmly on the ground. At this signal, the twenty guards raised their instruments in unison. He waved the rod in the air, and the instruments sounded. Some blew, others beat. The twenty instruments produced a cacophony of different sounds. The wind players showed no tendency to harmonize with one another. The shrill ones were just as jarring as the bass ones, and all held their notes for an impossibly long time, until the guards’ eyeballs nearly popped out, before they snatched a breath. After taking that breath, they would blow again, their bodies rocking back and forth several times, but refusing to breathe again until they were almost suffocated. Two of them actually passed out from the strain, yet their instruments continued to sound. Cat Country music held one principle supreme: the notes must be interminably long and deafeningly loud. The percussionists wielded wooden instruments like clappers, pounding away relentlessly without rhythm or pause. The shriller the wind instruments grew, the faster the drumming became, as if dying amidst this blowing and beating was the most pleasurable and glorious fate. After three rounds of this performance, Scorpion raised his rod again, and the music ceased. All twenty household guards crouched on the ground, gasping for breath.
Scorpion removed the feather from behind his ear and walked towards me respectfully. "The time has come," he said. "Please ascend the platform to supervise the harvest of the intoxicating leaves on behalf of the deities." I felt as if hypnotized by that performance, or, more accurately, stunned by the noise. I wanted to laugh inwardly, yet found myself following Scorpion as if compelled. He placed the feather behind my ear, then led the way. I followed him, with the twenty musicians once again behind me. When we reached the tall scaffold at the center of the groves, Scorpion climbed up, offered a prayer to the heavens, and the music below began again. He climbed down and asked me to ascend. I seemed to forget I was an adult, climbing up like a playful child fascinated by a toy, agile as a little monkey. Seeing I had reached the top, Scorpion waved his rod. The twenty musicians immediately scattered, taking positions at some distance apart around the edge of the grove, all facing the trees. Scorpion ran off. A long while later, he returned with a large contingent of soldiers. Each carried a big stick and wore a bird feather behind his ear. Stopping outside the grove, Scorpion pointed at the high scaffold. The soldiers raised their sticks, presumably in a salute to me. Only later did I understand that I was serving as the representative of the great deity upon the scaffold, there to protect the intoxicating leaves on behalf of Scorpion-who must be a nobleman favored by the deity. Scorpion had told them that if any soldier dared to pocket or secretly eat a single leaf during the harvest, I would strike them dead with Palm Thunder. Palm Thunder was, of course, my “artifact.” The twenty musicians were actually monitors. If anyone cheated, they would play their instruments. Upon hearing the music, Scorpion could then ask me to unleash Palm Thunder.
After paying respects to the deity, Scorpion ordered the soldiers to disperse in pairs. One would climb the tree to pick, the other would wait below to gather and sort the harvested leaves. No one was to pick from the trees closest to me. Scorpion had told them that these trees were too near the deity’s representative. A single exhalation from my nose would cause them to collapse, never to rise again. Therefore, these had to be left for Scorpion to harvest himself. The felinoid soldiers all seemed hypnotized by Scorpion, each heading off to their tasks. Scorpion had probably consumed another thirty of the finest mottled intoxicating leaves in one go. He darted back and forth like a shuttle, his wooden rod always ready to crack a soldier’s skull. It was said that during every intoxicating leaves harvest, the landowner had to beat one or two felinoid soldiers to death. Burying the dead soldiers beneath the trees ensured a bountiful harvest the following year. Sometimes, if the landowner had not prepared a foreigner to act as the deity’s representative, the soldiers would bury the landowner under the trees instead, seize the leaves, and even dig up the trees to make weapons-the very same wooden sticks. An army wielding such weapons was considered the most formidable by felinoids.
Curled up on the scaffold like a great parrot, I couldn’t help but find the situation ridiculous. What exactly was I doing here? However, I did not wish to disrupt the customs of Cat Country. I had come to observe their ways, and I could not refuse to play my part in this charade. I had to join their group, no matter how laughable their actions. Fortunately, the light breeze kept things from getting too hot. Moreover, I had asked Scorpion to bring me the grass cover I had woven for my food bowl, which I now used as a makeshift straw hat. At least I wouldn’t be sun-struck.
Like silkworms devouring mulberry leaves after their slumber, it didn’t take long before I could see tree trunks that had previously been hidden by dense foliage. A short while later, the felinoid soldiers were all at the very tops of the trees. Those relatively close to me picked leaves with one hand while shielding their eyes with the other, probably afraid that looking at me would cause them harm.
It seemed felinoids were not incapable of work, I thought to myself. With a good leader who forbade the consumption of intoxicating leaves, these people could be quite useful. If I drove Scorpion away and took his place as landowner and commander… But these were just idle thoughts. I dared not decide anything, for I did not yet truly understand felinoids. I was pondering this when I saw (as the leaves had thinned, I could see clearly below) Scorpion’s wooden rod descending upon a felinoid soldier’s head. I knew that even if I jumped down unharmed, I would be too late to stop his blow. Yet I had to jump down. In my eyes, Scorpion was more detestable than those soldiers. Even if I couldn’t save that soldier, I had to teach Scorpion a lesson. I climbed down to about twenty feet above the ground and leaped. I ran over. The soldier was already lying on the ground, and Scorpion was giving orders to have him buried.
One who does not fully understand the psychology of those around him often causes harm despite good intentions. My jump made the felinoid soldiers think I was descending to unleash Palm Thunder. The moment I landed, I heard a series of thuds as many soldiers fell from the trees all around. Quite a few were likely injured, judging by the plaintive cries rising from all sides. I paid them no mind and grabbed Scorpion. As for him, he thought I had come to help him punish the soldier, for I had obeyed his every whim all morning. Naturally, he assumed I was completely under his command. My seizing him left him utterly baffled. He likely did not feel the slightest remorse for killing a felinoid soldier.
I asked Scorpion, “Why did you kill him?” “Because he stole and ate a leaf stalk.” “For eating a leaf stalk, you…” I didn’t finish. I had forgotten again that I was among felinoids. What use was there in arguing with them? I pointed at the surrounding soldiers. “Tie him up.” They looked at me, and I at them. They did not understand my meaning. “Tie Scorpion up!” I said more clearly. Still, no one stepped forward. My heart grew cold. If I were truly leading a group like this, I probably could never make them understand me. Their hesitation was not out of any affection for Scorpion, but from a complete failure to grasp my intent-avenging the dead soldier was a thought utterly foreign to them. This put me in a difficult position. If I let Scorpion go, I would surely lose his respect. If I killed him, I would have many future uses for him. However flawed he was, for my observations on Mars-or at least this part of Cat Country-he would certainly be more useful than these soldiers. Pretending to be calm, I asked Scorpion, “Would you prefer that I tie you to a tree and watch the soldiers plunder all the intoxicating leaves, or would you prefer to accept a punishment?” Hearing me mention plunder, the soldiers immediately perked up. Some started to move forward, but I kicked two of them over while still holding Scorpion. Everyone froze again. Scorpion’s eyes narrowed to slits. I knew how much he must hate me. I, the representative of the great deity he had invited, was now punishing him in front of his own men-an utterly humiliating affair. Naturally, it would never occur to him that killing a man over a leaf stalk was his own fault. But he decided not to confront me and accepted the punishment. I asked him what reward the soldiers received for harvesting the intoxicating leaves. He said each would get two small intoxicating leaves. At this moment, the ears of all the surrounding soldiers pricked up and rotated on the backs of their heads, probably guessing I would order Scorpion to give them more leaves. Instead, I ordered him to give them a full meal after the harvest, like the supper I ate every day. The soldiers’ ears drooped. A sound emerged from their throats, as if they were choking on food, expressing dissatisfaction with my solution. As for the dead soldier, I ordered Scorpion to compensate his family with one hundred national spirits. Scorpion agreed.
But after much questioning, who knew where his family was? No one made a sound. When it came to things beneficial to others, even speaking a single word, felinoids had no habit of offering help. This was something I only understood after living in Cat Country for several more months. Scorpion’s hundred national spirits were thus saved.