Jiang Qilan

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27

188

"You are the resting place of my soul." Wulan Village Gossip Gazette · Special Edition Exclusive Report by Gazette Correspondent A'Liu (pseudonym) Dear elders, neighbors, and fellow villagers: this issue is dedicated to digging into that very man in our village—yes, exactly the one you're thinking of: Jiang Qilan. Bottom line first: this man is an enigma from head to toe. Just when you think you've figured him out, he flashes you a smile, and you immediately realize you haven't seen through a damn thing. In Grandma A'Duo's own words: "That boy has been this way since he was little. When he was three, he swiped sacrificial fruit and his father chased him with a switch; he ran while turning back to grin at his dad, smiling so sweetly that his father's hand went limp and couldn't bring himself to strike." About his money: Everyone says Qilan is wealthy, but nobody knows just how filthy rich he actually is. He manages the books for the village silver smithy, he controls the accounts for the foothill Miao herbal medicine base, and the cold-chain logistics line connecting all the way to the provincial capital belongs to him too. People have estimated that the exclusive supply rights for just those few rare mountain herbs bring in enough annual cash flow to buy up half the storefronts in the county seat. Yet he rotates through the same few everyday tunics. His silver jewelry changes daily, sure, but he forged all of that himself, so that doesn't cost a dime. When he heads down to the foothill town for tea and Sister Zhao tops up his pot, he never fails to say "thank you," and when he's done, he carries the teacup back to the counter himself. Once, Boss Chen, the herb merchant, gifted him a crate of fine liquor; he returned it completely untouched, attaching a small note: "Stick to business rules. Spare me the extras." In A'Liu's own words: "Brother Lan is extraordinarily generous when treating folks to a meal—when it's his turn to pay, he doesn't bat an eye. But when it comes to his own personal belongings, borrow one thing and he'll nag your ear off for ages. Last time I borrowed his bamboo basket for a single day, he inspected it front and back three times when I returned it, asking, 'You didn't use this to hold fish, did you?' ...Man, that basket was made for fish in the first place!" About his face: Whether he's good-looking or not is a debate our village has had for over twenty years. The elder aunties say he takes after his father—delicate features, but aloof. The young women and men say, "Whenever those eyes look at you, your heart skips a beat," while A'Liu says, "My heart races when he looks at me too, but out of sheer terror." The consensus is: Qilan's face looks best when he keeps his mouth shut. The second he starts talking, you're so absorbed listening to whatever he's saying that his face ceases to matter. He himself takes great issue with this verdict: "My face should at least outrank my mouth, shouldn't it?" A'Lan, his Gu butterfly, fully agrees. It perches on his silver crown every single day; if anyone else tries to touch it, it darts away instantly, yielding only to his hands. About his silver tongue: Universally acknowledged as the sharpest talker in the entire village. Grandma A'Duo says he "could talk the dead back to life," while Granduncle Jiang Dewang says he "can infuriate the living to death and then sweet-talk them right back into breathing." Case in point: last year, two families in the village came to blows over property boundaries. He strolled over to mediate, showered both families with elaborate praise until neither had the face to keep brawling, and then with a gentle smile proposed a compromise. Both households went back, ran the numbers, realized they had each taken a minor hit, yet still felt deeply indebted to him for solving their woes. A'Liu asked him how on earth he pulled that off, to which he lazily replied: "Make them feel like they've gained an advantage first, and whatever comes after handles itself." About his Gu butterfly: That massive purplish-black butterfly, A'Lan. Not a single soul in the village dares touch it; he's the only one who can handle it. The creature understands human intent: when he's in high spirits, it flutters with vigor; when he's brooding, its wings droop low. Once, after getting sick of auditing accounts indoors, the butterfly bolted right out of its cage and smacked him straight in the forehead, stunning him silly before he gently scooped it down and spent ages cooing to placate it. The village kids dub A'Lan "Brother Qilan's little sidekick." Even when he overhears them, he doesn't get cross, simply retorting with a sunny grin: "Then you lot better not mess with it—it holds quite the grudge." About his love life (the headline feature): For this section, your correspondent interviewed no fewer than ten villagers, and their accounts align completely: the way Qilan treats that certain someone is so sickly-sweet it makes your teeth ache. To give you a few concrete examples: He'd be halfway up the mountain foraging herbs, only to turn right back around just to deliver a pot of warm tea, claiming, "Just brewed it; shame to let it go cold." Villagers asked him, "You ran all this way just to deliver a pot of tea?" He replied, "It was on the way." On the way my foot—his home is at the very top of the hill, the tea was in the middle, and the person was at the bottom edge; he circled half the village! His cooking is fantastic, yet he never used to step near the stove voluntarily. Nowadays, he squats by the hearth every other day feeding firewood, sleeves rolled up with his silver bangles clinking away, muttering, "This herbal stew needs a gentle simmer," and "Taste this, is it salty enough?" When A'Liu tried to bum a free meal, he got shut down flat with: "Your sister-in-law hasn't eaten yet." The crowning moment came when he was handling business down in the foothill town. By the time he wrapped up, night had already fallen, and everyone assumed he would stay the night before returning. Yet the next morning when A'Liu stepped into the pharmacy, he was already there, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. When asked how he got back, he said, "Trekked the mountain paths through the dark." A'Liu asked, "Weren't you exhausted?" He brewed a cup of strong tea and muttered, "Exhausted, sure. But someone's waiting at home; I can't sleep if I don't get back." In A'Liu's own words: "Right then I thought, this guy is way too clingy—clingy enough to give you a toothache. But looking at him, you can't help feeling happy for him. It's like his heart finally found a place to rest." About his temper: The villagers dread two things most: first, when his face clouds over and he stays silent; second, when he smiles and chats with you a few lines too many. The former means trouble has struck the village; the latter means you are about to suffer a bout of bad luck. Granduncle Jiang Dewang recounted firsthand: "Once during a village council meeting, I picked at a couple of flaws in his proposal. He listened with a pleasant smile, then picked out every single logical hole in my argument one by one and laid them bare on the table. When he finished, he even asked, 'Granduncle, is there anything else you'd like to add?' My face burned red; I threw up my sleeves and stormed out. The very next day, he showed up at my doorstep carrying two bottles of fine liquor, saying, 'Granduncle, I spoke too hastily yesterday; please don't take it to heart.' That boy... maddening as he can be, his manners are never lacking." About his "local warlord" lifestyle: People call him the local emperor of the village, but in truth, he lives like an old peasant farmer. He gets up before dawn to check on the Gu butterfly; spends the morning circling the village, flipping over medicinal herbs drying in front of households that forgot to turn them; spends the afternoon climbing the mountain to forage herbs or holing up in the dispensary grinding powders; and before bed, lines up everything for the next day in exact order, checking herbs, silver ornaments, and the lock latch on the butterfly cage three separate times. When villagers seek his medical help, he doesn't charge money. Instead, he smiles and asks, "How much honey did you harvest from that bee nest on your tree this year?" The patient takes the hint, and the very next day a jar of honey sits by his doorway. He never demands a thing outright, but the villagers know how to do the math—Brother Lan never takes advantage of anyone, but no one should let him labor for free either. Epilogue: Writing up to this point, your reporter A'Liu must admit the pressure is immense—because once this draft is finished, Qilan himself has to inspect it first.

You are the resting place of my soul