Explore Chapter 10 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.
With the intoxicating leaves harvested, a chilly little wind blew every day, dropping the temperature by more than ten degrees. Dark clouds often drifted through the grey sky, but no rain fell. This was the start of the moving season, the time for landowners to take their intoxicating leaves to the city. Though Scorpion was thoroughly displeased with me, he had no choice but to put on a show of cordiality, for he needed me to accompany him to the city. Without me, he’d never get there safely; guarding the intoxicating leaves might well cost him his life.
After the intoxicating leaves were fully dried, they were pressed into great bales. Soldiers carried them in pairs, taking turns to hoist a bale onto their heads. Scorpion led the way, borne aloft by four soldiers. His back lay flat across their four feline heads, while two taller soldiers supported his feet and another propped up his neck from behind. This was considered the most dignified mode of travel in Cat Country, if not the most comfortable. Twenty household guards, all carrying musical instruments, flanked the troops. If any soldier broke the rules—for instance, poking a hole in a leaf bale to sniff the intoxicating scent—they would immediately strike up a tune to report the transgression to Scorpion. For anything to exist in Cat Country, it must serve a purpose; music was no exception, and musicians doubled as spies.
My place was in the middle of the procession, to keep an eye on both ends. Scorpion had even arranged seven carriers for me. I’d much rather walk; I had no use for such preferential treatment. Scorpion absolutely insisted, citing chapter and verse from the classics: the emperor had twenty-one bearers, princes fifteen, and nobles seven… This was an ancient tradition, a mark of status that could not, and must not, be broken. I still refused. “A nobleman who walks the ground,” Scorpion quoted a proverb, “brings shame upon his ancestors.” I told him my ancestors would certainly not feel shamed by it. He was on the verge of tears and recited another couplet: “Recline to feast on intoxicating leaves / Rise upright as a man of noble worth.” “To hell with your 'noble status'!” I couldn’t think of a suitable poetic retort, so I gave him this blunt answer. Scorpion heaved a sigh. He must have been cursing me to perdition in his heart, but not a word of it escaped his lips.
Just lining up the procession took over two hours. Scorpion lay down and got up seven times, but the felinoid soldiers never did manage to form straight ranks. By now, the soldiers knew for sure I wasn’t fully in Scorpion’s corner, and Scorpion naturally no longer dared to crack their skulls with his club. So, no matter how he cursed at them, they simply refused to stand in line. Scorpion capitulated. He gave the order to advance, no matter how chaotic the formation.
We were just about to set off when a few white-tailed eagles flew overhead. Scorpion leapt down again and announced: “To meet eagles upon departure is most inauspicious. We leave tomorrow!” I drew my pistol. “Whoever doesn’t go now will never go at all.” Scorpion’s face turned a shade of livid green. His jaw worked soundlessly several times; not a word came out. He knew arguing with me was pointless, and he also knew the danger of travelling under an ill omen. It took him a good ten minutes to clamber back onto the soldiers’ heads, trembling from head to tail. The procession finally began to creep forward. Whether it was because my anger had left him too agitated to lie still, or because his bearers were playing a joke on him, Scorpion tumbled down several times before we’d gone far. But each time he fell, he scrambled right back up. Scorpion took his duty to preserve ancestral custom with the utmost seriousness.
All along the road, wherever one could write—on tree bark, stones, crumbling walls—huge white characters were scrawled: “Welcome Scorpion!” “Scorpion is the great man striving for National Sustenance!” “Scorpion’s soldiers wield the Rod of Justice!” “Only with Scorpion can we reap this year’s harvest!” These, it turned out, had all been written in advance by Scorpion’s own men, for his own viewing pleasure. We passed several small villages. The villagers all sat slumped against broken walls. As the army marched by, they kept their eyes tightly shut, refusing even a glance. If they were afraid of the soldiers, why didn’t they hide? If they weren’t afraid, why didn’t they dare look? I was puzzled. Upon closer inspection, I understood. These were the villages’ welcoming delegates for Scorpion. Faint white characters were inscribed amidst the fine grey fur on their heads—one character per person, combining to spell out phrases like “Welcome Scorpion.” These too had been written beforehand by Scorpion’s men, the pigment now so faded it was barely legible. Though their eyes were shut, Scorpion nodded at them solemnly, as if accepting their heartfelt gratitude. These villages were all under Scorpion’s protection. The villages’ squalor and filth, and the villagers’ thin, dirty, listless state, were proof enough of what their 'protector' had done for them. My hatred for Scorpion grew stronger.
Had I been walking alone, I could probably have reached Felicity in half a day. Marching with felinoid soldiers was the supreme test of one’s patience. Felinoids were naturally capable of walking quite fast, but once they became soldiers, they lost the knack. To charge swiftly into battle was to court a swift death. Thus, felinoid soldiers were renowned for their stately slowness. They advanced onto the battlefield with deliberate pace, only to retreat with admirable alacrity upon encountering the enemy.
It was past one in the afternoon. Though dark clouds hung overhead, the sun’s heat remained fierce. The felinoid soldiers’ mouths gaped wide, their fine fur plastered to their skin with sweat. I had never seen such a disreputable-looking bunch of troops. In the distance lay the groves of intoxicating leaves. Scorpion ordered a detour straight through the woods. I thought he was being considerate, letting his men rest a while in the shade. As we drew near the trees, he rolled down to confer with me. Would I help him raid this grove of intoxicating leaves or not? “Seizing some intoxicating leaves is of secondary importance,” said Scorpion. “Giving the troops some combat practice is the real benefit.” Before answering, I looked at the soldiers. Every mouth had snapped shut. Not a trace of weariness remained. Plundering on the march appeared to be the very raison d’être of felinoid soldiers, I reflected. I also saw plainly that both Scorpion and his men would hate me intensely if I blocked their raid. My pistol might hold them off, but if they were bent on doing me harm, I couldn’t possibly guard against every trick. Besides, felinoids considered mutual robbery perfectly legitimate. Even if I didn’t abandon principle for personal safety, who would appreciate my noble stand? I knew I’d already been infected by the felinoids. My courage too often dwindled in the face of personal risk. I told Scorpion to do as he pleased. It was already a concession on my part. Yet the moment I yielded, he pressed his advantage. Would I lead the raid? I refused that point-blank. You go ahead with your plundering, I told him. I won’t oppose it, but I won’t join in either.
The soldiers seemed to have caught the scent of plunder the moment we turned toward the woods. Without waiting for Scorpion’s order, they set down the bales, gripped their clubs, and a few were already darting ahead. I’d never seen Scorpion look so bold. Though he didn’t join the raid himself, his expression was grim and utterly fearless. His eyes were wide, the fine hairs on his head standing rigidly on end. With a sweep of his great club, his men gave a shout and charged toward the groves of intoxicating leaves. Reaching the woods, they began racing frantically around the perimeter as if possessed. I supposed they were trying to lure out the grove’s guardians. After three laps with no response from within, Scorpion grinned. His men shouted again and stormed into the forest.
A shout echoed from the woods. Scorpion’s eyes lost their perfect roundness, blinking several times. His soldiers came scrambling back out. Their clubs were dropped, their hands clutched at their heads. They fled back, howling and shrieking like a pack of terrified beasts and wailing ghosts. “Foreigners from other Martian states! There are foreigners from other Martian states!” they all cried.
Scorpion seemed skeptical, but his bravery had clearly ebbed. “Foreigners from other Martian states?” he muttered to himself. “I know there can’t be any foreigners from other Martian states here!” As he spoke, figures emerged from the woods in pursuit. Scorpion panicked. “There really are foreigners from other Martian states!” A good number of felinoid soldiers came out of the forest. At their head were two tall figures covered in white fur, holding a shiny rod. These two must be the foreigners from other Martian states, I thought; foreigners from other Martian states knew how to use chemistry to make iron-like substances. I too felt a flicker of unease. If Scorpion begged me to confront those two white figures, what should I do? What did I know of the shiny thing in their hands? Raiding someone’s grove of intoxicating leaves wasn’t my idea, but I was, after all, Scorpion’s protector. To watch him be defeated without lifting a finger would, at the very least, compromise my own standing. My whole future in Cat Country still depended on him.
I knew this duty was inescapable. Without further thought, I gripped my pistol and walked forward. To my surprise, the two white felines halted upon seeing me approach. Scorpion hurried over. The danger, it seemed, had passed. “Negotiate! Negotiate!” Scorpion whispered urgently behind me. I was baffled. Why didn’t he want me to fight them? Negotiate? How? Things at the breaking point often prove less difficult than imagined. As I stood there in confusion, the two white figures spoke. “A fine of six bales of intoxicating leaves. For the three of us!” I looked. There were only two white figures. Why did they say three? Scorpion whispered from behind, prodding me, “Talk to them!” What was I to say? Like a fool, I also said, “A fine of six bales of intoxicating leaves. For the three of us!” Hearing this, the two white figures nodded, smiling with evident satisfaction. I was more mystified than ever. Scorpion sighed and ordered six bales of intoxicating leaves brought over. When they arrived, the two white figures courteously invited me to pick two bales first. Only then did I understand. The “three of us” included me. Naturally, I politely insisted they choose first. They casually took four bales and handed them to their felinoid soldiers. Then they said to me, “Our intoxicating leaves harvest is finished too. We’ll see you in the city.” In a daze, I echoed, “See you in the city.” They turned and walked back into the woods.