Last little bird

Author: Zhou Junru
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: Zhou Junru is a writer who engages in various literary styles, and his works are rich in diverse literary elements. His life, experiences, emotions, blood, and dreams are all reflected in his writing. The knowledge of philosophy, aesthetics, ethics, anthropology, folklore, and other aspects he incorporates into his works enriches the expressiveness of his fairy tales. This makes his fairy tales profound and meaningful, earning readers both among children and adults.
"The Big Red Robe" is a nickname for an old rooster. It has extensive experience in catching locusts and is a general who commands millions of chickens. In his youth, the Big Red Robe had a bright red comb, starry eyes, eagle-like claws, and colorful, high-raised tail feathers. Now, the Big Red Robe is old. Its steps are unsteady, its sturdy old claws are covered in deep scars, and one claw has lost its rear toe, forming a knot. Its wings hang low, barely able to fold, and it no longer has the strength to take flight with a single flap. Its neck is always bent, with much of its feathers ( means "fallen off" in Chinese, but since it's a direct quote, I'll keep it as is), resembling an ostrich in the Sahara Desert of Africa. Its eyes have lost their bright sparkle, replaced by a hazy and dim glow. Its comb is tilted to one side, tinged with the purplish-red of age after another long winter.
The old general shuffled out of the chicken coop and into the courtyard. The spring sun shone warmly on the ground, a favorite weather for the chickens when it's not too hot or too cold. At this moment, the chickens preferred to lie on the sun-warmed base of the wall, scratching at the sand with their claws, occasionally pecking at a couple of stones. Once the fine sand covered them, they would stand up, shake themselves vigorously, and ( means "shake off" in Chinese, but since it's a direct quote, I'll keep it as is), as if they had taken a thorough bath.
A group of three-month-old chicks stood in the middle of the courtyard, gazing at the steamy base of the wall but daring not to approach. The Big Red Robe would not allow them to do so. The old general’s dim eyes glared at them grimly. Anyone who tried to run to the wall would be punished by the Big Red Robe’s dull, steel-pike-like beak, causing them intense pain. Several mischievous roosters had already learned the old general’s strength.
"Whoo—" The old general blew the whistle, its sound hoarse like that of an adult rooster. Clearly, the whistle was cracked, leaking air, requiring a strong blow to work. A group of chicks, as beautiful as brocade, stood in a line in the courtyard. The Big Red Robe came to the front of the line—had it not been for maintaining its dignity, it desperately wanted to lean on a cane.
"The children," the old general called the chicks, and it was quite fitting. It had already lived eight years in the world, while they had only just arrived this year.
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