Hero's end

Author: Zou Lei / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-05-01
Features:
V. By chance, Shu Ming encountered a native tribe. He discovered a river blocking his path ahead and followed it southward, finding a small wooden boat. He was overjoyed, thinking, "With a boat, there must be people—what a miracle!" The riverbanks were marshy, with floating on the surface. Crocodiles occasionally revealed their sharp teeth. Shu Ming rowed along the main channel, while the crosscurrents were filled with decaying leaves and floating plants. The water was overgrown with weeds; without careful observation, it would appear as a grassland, but stepping on it would lead to quick sinking and certain doom. Filled with hope for a better future, Shu Ming forgot his fear and exhaustion. He rowed cautiously while observing the crocodiles. Sensing his scent, several crocodiles, resembling rotten wooden pillars, followed him from behind. Shu Ming rowed frantically, but the crocodiles chased faster. Just then, the bow of the boat hit a submerged rope, and two arrows "swooshed" toward the bow and hull. The feathers on the arrowheads trembled violently, sending shivers down his spine. The arrows were highly toxic; if they wounded him, he would die instantly. The natives shouted from the jungle on the shore, their voices indistinct—how many of them there were, he couldn’t tell. Shu Ming stood up, raised his hands, and remained motionless. Another arrow came, attached to a thin rope leading into the nearby dense forest. The boat was gradually pulled to the shore by the rope. Seeing the crowd of natives, the crocodiles stopped moving. Several natives rushed forward, bound Shu Ming, and took him into the forest.
Due to the fierce erosion of the Salween River, the Irrawaddy River, and many small rivers, numerous isolated and enclosed regions were formed. The natives in these areas had been isolated from the outside world for years, except for their extremely backward production level and even more bizarre customs. To this day, they still live in a primitive society. The natives were deeply superstitious, holding deities in high regard. For major events like planting or giving birth, they would sacrifice to ghosts and gods, appealing to the heavens for protection. During these sacrifices, platforms were built near the village, where shamans chanted spells first, then sent people to the ferry crossing to hunt for passing strangers. These hunters were known as "Head-Hunting Warriors." The Head-Hunting Warriors usually traveled in groups of twenty to thirty or forty, depending on the size of the village and the number of young and strong men within it. You might ask, why would so many strong men be needed to ambush and kill a few merchants? In this remote wilderness, merchants rarely traveled alone or in groups, often hiring bodyguards. Occasionally, a lone traveler might appear, who could be a formidable warrior capable of taking down three or five men without breaking a sweat. Even with "hunting teams" and warriors at their peak, they would swarm the target, relying on numbers to overwhelm.
The direction in which the Head-Hunting Warriors targeted was not chosen randomly or in the same place every time. Instead, it was determined by the shaman through divination under the stars and moon the night before the hunt. For example, if the shaman discovered a "ghost" indicating that a head could be obtained at the junction of the village, they would send the "Head-Hunting Warriors," whose faces were painted in wild colors, to ambush there. Of course, whether a "prey" would pass by was uncertain, so they often waited for days or even longer. The shaman’s divinations were very accurate; he said someone was coming from the northwest, and Shu Ming was indeed approaching from that direction. The Head-Hunting Warriors had been waiting for him for three days. Only when Shu Ming calmed down did he notice that his captors were bald, except for a strand of hair at the nape of their necks. Their bodies were bare except for a strip of hemp cloth tied around their waists. A man wrapped in red cloth led the way, while several others in black round-collared robes followed, all armed with large knives and bows. If the prey dared to resist, they would be cut down; if they surrendered, each warrior would drag their neck with the back of their knife. Shu Ming, of course, didn’t know why so many people were competing to drag his neck while tying him up. As they walked, he felt a pain behind his neck—his skin must have been broken. He didn’t know what the natives would do next.
Upon arriving at an open space in the village, Shu Ming saw a tribe similar to a Jingpo village, with over a hundred bamboo houses arranged neatly, smoke curling from their chimneys. Two wooden pillars over ten meters tall, with bird’s nests-like watchtowers on top, stood in the center. Hundreds of natives gathered around the clearing, waiting to use his head in a ghost sacrifice. Shu Ming wondered what they were planning. Looking back, he saw dozens of low wooden stakes, each hanging a skull. Several natives were planting new stakes, and he realized they were for him. The leader of the native tribe was an elderly man in black clothes and pants, wearing an amulet of protective gems around his neck. He walked slowly toward Shu Ming, lifted his chin with his hand, and then waved. The elephant-foot drums began to beat, and two girls, wearing only banana-leaf skirts and bare-chested, began to dance wildly to the rhythm. Their large breasts swayed with their movements—had he not seen this scene in such an environment, he would have been utterly captivated. Shu Ming had already guessed what they planned. He cursed in Chinese, "Damn it, are you going to sacrifice me to the ghosts?"
A short man stepped forward and asked Shu Ming in Chinese, "Are you Chinese?" "Yes," Shu Ming replied, "I heard you speak Chinese just now—how?" "Why are you here?" "Looking for the guerrillas?" Since it had come to this, he might as well face death with courage. "Who sent you?" "I came on my own. Do whatever you want to me, don’t waste your time talking." "I’m a youth worker from Chengdu, named Wan Lin. If you hadn’t cursed me with Chinese just now, your head would have been separated from your body and hung on a bamboo cage on those stakes."
The short man, who called himself Wan Lin and looked no different from the natives, walked to the elder and discussed things with him for a while. The elder waved his hand, the drums stopped, and the dance ended. Wan Lin untied Shu Ming. Shu Ming asked, "How did you get here? Why wasn’t your head hung on those stakes?" "It’s a long story, but simply put, I came here for freedom, for no constraints, for doing as I please, for no longer being oppressed or bullied by others. Here is true equality, where everyone shares and lives together. I came here purely by chance. At the time, malaria was rampant, and both men and women were sick. I had worked as a medical orderly in a production and construction farm and carried some medicine with me. I also knew some Chinese herbal medicine from medical books, and I saved their lives. So, they considered me a god."
The god sacrifice was canceled because of Shu Ming’s curse. The elder declared the gathering over, ordered the shaman to divinate again, and then sent the "Head-Hunting Warriors" out to hunt. Wan Lin accompanied Shu Ming to the bamboo house. He saw patches of white, pink, and blood-red poppies blooming on the nearby slopes, their fragrance intoxicating. "Do they sacrifice a live head every year at this time?" Shu Ming asked.