Once across this river, she would be home at last. Xiuxiu gazed at the flickering campfires on the far bank, l…
Once across this river, she would be home at last.
Xiuxiu gazed at the flickering campfires on the far bank, lost in a daze. Seldom had she looked upon her home from such a vantage.
Beyond lay the old well at the village entrance; there, the narrow path leading to her door; and there... the river flats where she used to bide her time, waiting for her father.
In years past, when Father came to the south bank to reap the wheat, she would sit there and wait. Whenever fear found her in her solitude, she would sing the tune he had taught her. Hearing it, he would harmonize with her, never pausing in his toil.
"Who planted the Sal tree in the heavens high? Who carved the Yellow River beneath the sky?"
It was upon these same river flats, on that night of flight and chaos, that she raised her voice in that song once more.
With the distant thunder of hooves and wailing still echoing, she knew not where to turn, nor what remained for her to do.
Gazing at the wheat fields on the far shore, she unconsciously hummed the familiar air.
The waters still echoed; the wind still joined in. Yet her father, who once sang back from across the river, was gone forever.
"The Queen Mother planted the Sal tree high; The Dragon King carved the river beneath the sky."
A faint voice nearby suddenly took up the refrain. Could it be Father? But he...
Xiuxiu traced the sound, only to find a child separated from his kin. Hearing the tune, the child realized she was no foreign invader, but a fellow villager.
Throughout that night, Xiuxiu's song drifted fitfully along the bank. More and more souls recognized the melody, slowly huddling together by her side.
"To the encampment!" Xiuxiu cried. Beholding her neighbors finding one another in the moonlight through that shared song, her restless heart found a new wellspring of courage.
The melody drifted from the north bank to the south.
Within the encampment, those who listened grew in number, as did those who joined the refrain: children roused by the thunder of hooves, unable to return to sleep; valiant warriors wounded in the struggle against the foreign invaders; and the aunties who labored beside her over the soup kettles...
"Lift your voice in song, and stride boldly forth!"
Xiuxiu recalled the words Father always spoke upon his return from the fields. That air had done more than banish her own dread; it had guided a multitude through the vast, endless night.
Some, heartened by the song, took their rest and found the resolve to journey further south.
Others, singing in cadence and marking the beat, drank deep and found strength in their grip and then turned toward the north.
And thereafter...
She looked upon those standing at her side. From every horizon they had gathered, ready to bridge the river and reclaim her homeland, inch by bloody inch.
They stood in hushed reverence, listening to her voice.
"Who stands watch beyond the Three Great Passes..."
Father, I have met many heroes and heroines. By their side, I... I, too, shall slay the foreign invaders. I will lead them northward to avenge you and to avenge all we have lost.
"Who left their home, ne'er to return..."
Father, once I reach the north bank and stand upon our soil, I shall rebuild our home stone by stone. I will plant wheat before our door; when you catch the fragrance of the grain and hear this melody, you will surely find your way back to us.