53: Kill the chicken to scare the monkey

Snow fell silently.

Overnight, Su Family Village was draped in a thick layer of white. Eaves, dead branches, and field ridges all had their sharp edges smoothed away. The world was utterly silent, as if even sound had been swallowed by the heavy snow.

Su the Scabby, like a sudden cough in the snowy weather, arrived abruptly and then vanished without a trace.

No one mentioned him, no one asked about him.

When villagers walked past the tightly shut wood gate of his house, they would instinctively quicken their pace, as if a monster that devoured gazes lurked behind that door. His wife, who usually loved to curse in the village entrance, also fell silent, staying indoors all day.

Su the Scabby, along with his malicious, triangular eyes, was cleanly and completely excised from the memory of Su Family Village.

This collective amnesia was more chilling than any frantic shouting.

In the Workshop, the smell of lye and pulp mixed with the warmth of the furnace, creating two different worlds from the outside.

Su Ming walked past rows of hardworking men, carrying a batch of newly produced straw paper samples.

The atmosphere had changed.

Those faces that had been gathered together just a few days ago, eyes flickering, whispering and calculating something, now looked like frost-bitten eggplants. They worked harder than ever, their movements swift, yet each one was as silent as a gourd. Aside from the clanging of tools, not a single word of idle chatter could be heard.

A new worker accidentally knocked over a bucket of clear water. The clatter of the rolling wooden bucket sounded particularly harsh in the shed.

Instantly, everyone stopped their work, dozens of gazes darting over like startled birds. The worker's face turned pale with fright, and he stood frozen, at a loss, until the foreman came over, cursing and telling him to clean up quickly. Only then did everyone seem to awaken from a dream, silently lowering their heads again, their movements now even more forceful.

"See that?" Lin Yu's voice sounded in Su Ming's mind, with a hint of a languid tone. "Fear is the best rein. More effective than money, less troublesome than reason."

(Inner thoughts: "Classic workplace PUA... no, classic gangster management. Village Head, this old guy, it's a real waste he didn't join a gang.")

Su Ming remained silent, delivering the samples to Village Head's room.

Village Head was sitting by the charcoal basin, still fiddling with his shiny dry tobacco pipe. He seemed more leisurely than usual, simply gazing at the snowy scenery outside the window, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

"Uncle Zhao, the paper samples are ready," Su Ming said, handing over the paper.

Village Head grunted in acknowledgment, took the paper, and merely rubbed it with his thumb before placing it aside, not even looking closely.

He looked up at Su Ming, his eyes, which usually seemed a bit cloudy, were now terrifyingly clear.

"The village has been very quiet lately," he stated, not as a question but a declaration.

"Yes, the New Year is approaching, everyone is busy," Su Ming replied softly.

Village Head's lips curved into an enigmatic smile. He tapped out the ash from his pipe and slowly said, "Quiet, good. When people are quiet, their minds are clear, and their hands and feet are nimble. Only then can this work last long."

His voice wasn't loud, but it struck Su Ming's heart like a cold stone.

Su Ming retreated, and as the cold wind blew, he realized a thin layer of sweat had unknowingly formed on his back.

Walking home, the New Year's atmosphere finally seemed to break through the invisible suppression, stubbornly emerging.

New red paper-cuts adorned the windows of every household, their vibrant color particularly striking against the white snow. From the east end of the village came the distinctive squealing sound of a pig being slaughtered for the New Year, mixed with the cheers of children.

Everything seemed no different from previous years.

But Su Ming felt that this year's red was somewhat glaring. This year's liveliness also carried a sense of emptiness.

The smiles on people's faces were like masks, polite and distant. When neighbors met, they talked about nothing more than the weather and harvests, but their conversations would always pause unconsciously halfway through, as if weighing which words shouldn't be spoken.

Under the old locust tree in the center of the village, Su Ming saw Village Head.

He stood casually, hands behind his back, looking up at the accumulated snow on the bare branches. He did nothing, said nothing, yet everyone who passed him would unconsciously slow their steps, bow slightly, and respectfully call out, "Village Head, sir."

That reverence came from their very bones.

"Master, the village... it seems like nothing has happened, yet everything has changed," Su Ming murmured in his heart. "Su the Scabby was like a stone thrown into a pond, leaving no ripple."

"Who said it left no ripple?" Lin Yu's voice held a hint of amusement. "The 'quiet' you're treading on, seeing, and hearing is the biggest ripple."

He paused, his voice gaining a touch of sternness: "This is 'killing the chicken to warn the monkeys.' That chicken was Su the Scabby. Now, all the monkeys in the village are well-behaved. Village Head didn't use a knife, but he carved an invisible knife into everyone's heart. Brilliant, my disciple, this is true skill."

Su Ming fell silent.

He remembered his Master's words—"Find yourself a plank that can float."

He now truly understood that this ship named Su Family Village was far more complex than he had imagined. The captain, Village Head, was also far more ruthless than he appeared. On this ship, any disobedient sailor could be silently thrown into the sea on some calm night.

And he, Su Ming, did not want to be the one thrown overboard.

Arriving home, a rich aroma of meat wafted towards him.

In the small mud house, warmth permeated the air.

Madam Su Chen was humming a tune, busy in front of the stove. A large pot of pork, which the family had reluctantly bought for the New Year, was stewing. Father Su Shan sat on the threshold, unusually not working, puffing on his dry tobacco pipe with a satisfied smile on his face.

Elder Brother Su Feng and his wife, Wang Chuntao, were also there, helping Mother. It was rare for the family to gather like this, chatting and laughing.

"Ming'er is back! Quick, wash your hands, dinner will be ready soon!" Madam Su Chen's smile grew even brighter when she saw him.

"Third Brother, smell this, isn't it fragrant? Mother has brought out all her best skills!" Sister-in-law Wang Chuntao teased cheerfully.

This warm and genuine human touch instantly dispelled the chill Su Ming had brought back from the village.

He looked at the simple and genuine smiles on his parents' and siblings' faces. They were oblivious to the undercurrents in the village, simply immersed in the joy of the approaching New Year.

This fragile warmth, like a candle flame in a snowstorm, needed someone to protect it with all their might.

Su Ming suddenly felt that merely finding a plank that could float... might not be enough.

What he wanted was to build a ship of his own.

A ship strong enough to carry his cherished family safely through any turbulent currents.

Once this thought took root, it instantly entwined around his entire heart like a wild vine.