Chapter 19: Guided by the Star Map, No Turning Back

That single glance was brief but laden with meaning, igniting a long-hidden hatred deep within Zhang’s heart.

She straightened up and shouted sharply, “Members of the Shen family, listen! The clan elder is here, and today I demand he make a ruling!”

No sooner had she spoken than a dozen or so Shen family members surrounded the small courtyard where Shen Guilan and her daughter lived.

Leading them was Elder Shen, Third Uncle Shen. He leaned heavily on his cane, planting it firmly on the ground. His cloudy eyes suddenly sharpened as he fixed his gaze on Shen Guilan. “Shen Guilan! You, a widow, have set up your own household, flaunting yourself everywhere, breaking the Shen family rules! And now you dare to occupy clan land—your audacity is astounding!”

Right behind him, Zhang chimed in with pride dripping from her tone, “Third Uncle is right! The clan rules are clear: ‘Women of the Shen family cannot establish separate households; all property under their name belongs to the clan.’ Those two acres of land belong to the Shen family and must be handed over today!”

The villagers murmured among themselves—some sympathetic, others merely curious, and many too afraid of the elder and the clan rules to speak.

Outside the ancestral hall, the incense table was set. Shen Third Uncle sat in the grand chair, striking the gavel loudly, his voice booming, “Women cannot manage property. Sign the papers and hand over the deeds! Otherwise, don’t blame the clan rules for being ruthless!”

Everyone expected Shen Guilan to break down in tears or beg for mercy.

But she did not.

She stood there—thin but upright, like a tree that refused to bend in the snow.

Under everyone’s watchful eyes, she neither knelt nor argued, but slowly pulled out two documents from her sleeve.

With a sharp slap, the first was placed on the table. She declared loudly, “This is the ‘family separation contract’ registered with the county government! It clearly states that after my husband died, my daughter and I moved out on our own and have no further ties to the Shen family! This land was bought with my own money; it is not Shen family property!”

Third Uncle Shen’s face stiffened, surprised she possessed such evidence.

Before he could speak, Shen Guilan presented the second paper. “This is the ‘self-establishment certificate’ signed by the village chief! I, Shen Guilan, have established my own household, clearly recorded in the household register! I have not changed my surname; I honor my parents and protect my daughter’s future. If your clan rules mean to drive us to death, then I’d rather not be part of the Shen family than bow my head!”

Her clear voice struck each word like a nail, pounding fiercely into everyone’s hearts.

The elder was speechless, his face flushed crimson.

Zhang, desperate, jumped up and pointed at Shen Guilan, cursing, “You’re lying! You must have been consorting with an outsider to be so bold! You shameless woman, you have ruined the Shen family’s reputation for decades!”

Her words were harsh and filthy. The crowd gasped.

But Shen Guilan only sneered, a mixture of contempt and sorrow in her smile.

She had no intention to quarrel with Zhang. Instead, she turned and took out a newly embroidered picture from her cloth bag.

It was “Mountain Dwelling.”

Curious, the crowd stepped closer. The painting showed mountains layered upon layers, mist swirling around their waists.

A tall hunter stood on a cliff’s edge, bow slung across his back, staring into the distance against the wind.

He stood firm, eyes sharp as an eagle’s. The most striking detail was the scar on his left ear, embroidered precisely and clearly.

Shen Guilan’s hand gently brushed the painting’s corner, where three characters were stitched delicately: “Guardian of the Mountain.”

She scanned the crowd, finally fixing her gaze on Zhang. Slowly and clearly, she said, “This painting is called ‘Guardian of the Mountain.’ I give it to the man who has never stepped inside my home but has silently helped repair my roof and protect my family on countless rainy nights—Gu Changshan. The ‘outsider’ you accuse me of consorting with is the savior who allowed my daughter and me to survive!”

Her words had barely fallen when trembling Grandma Lin stepped forward, “I can testify! Not long ago, during heavy rain, the roof at Guilan’s home was leaking; it was Gu Changshan who braved the night and the rain to climb up and fix it! I saw it with my own eyes!”

The crowd erupted. All now looked at Zhang with disdain.

It was not an affair; it was a rescue.

Zhang’s face turned pale and ashen. Realizing defeat, a ruthless glint suddenly flashed in her eyes. She covertly signaled a furtive man in the crowd’s corner and hissed, “Zhao San! Go burn down her woodshed! Let’s see how she stands her ground without firewood for cooking!”

Zhao San, a rogue, took the command and sneaked behind Shen Guilan’s house, throwing a firebrand into the pile of dry wood.

With a sudden roar, flames shot upward.

“Fire! Fire!”

Thick black smoke billowed, engulfing half the courtyard.

Shen Guilan’s face turned pale as she screamed, “Xiuwei! Xiuwei is still inside sleeping!”

She rushed toward the fire but was driven back repeatedly by choking smoke.

Suddenly, a shadow darted from the back mountain forest, moving so fast it was barely visible.

It was Gu Changshan!

Though his shoulder injury hadn’t healed, his movements were swift.

Without a word, he covered his mouth with a wet cloth and plunged like a leopard into the inferno.

Time seemed to freeze. Every second stretched like a year.

Just as everyone feared he would not emerge, Gu Changshan reappeared, clutching the unconscious Xiuwei tightly in his arms.

A burning beam had fallen onto his back, scorching his clothes, but he seemed unfazed, carefully handing the child to Shen Guilan.

“Xiuwei!” Shen Guilan held her daughter, feeling her breath, tears streaming down her face.

She lifted her head, eyes blazing with hatred, fixed on the petrified Zhang, voice both crying and shouting, “Zhang! If anything happens to my daughter, I swear on my life that your entire family will never find peace!”

Her words were bloodied, chilling everyone to the bone.

Standing in the firelight, Gu Changshan slowly turned.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes were as cold and sharp as knives.

Without a word, he unstrung the longbow from his back.

Drawing the bow, nocking an arrow—his actions were swift and decisive.

“Whizz—”

The bowstring sang.

An arrow, like a black lightning bolt, tore through the air, flying past Zhang’s ear.

She screamed in terror, her legs giving way as she collapsed to the ground.

Everyone watched as the arrow pierced her silver hairpin, breaking it in two, and its tip embedded deeply into the ancestral hall’s plaque inscribed “Shen Family Ancestral Hall.”

The arrow’s tail still trembled, just an inch from Zhang’s forehead.

A heavy silence fell.

Only the crackling fire and the crowd’s ragged breaths filled the air.

That arrow did more than break a hairpin—it shattered the clan elder’s authority and Zhang’s malice.

The next morning, a new wooden sign was erected at the entrance to Lijia Village, prominent and unmistakable.

Shen Guilan personally inscribed three lines in ink: “Guilan Embroidery Workshop, self-produced and sold; mountain goods exchanged for embroidery, honest to all; anyone who bullies me, will feel needles as swords and threads as nets.”

She hung the “Guardian of the Mountain” painting beside the sign. The hunter standing on the cliff seemed to warn all: this place is not for the provoking.

On the back of the sign, unseen by most, she carved a small line with a knife: “Hunter Gu Changshan—not my husband, yet more a husband than my husband ever was.”

On the mountain behind, Gu Changshan stood watching the village entrance sign for a long time.

He saw the painting, and perhaps the inscription.

Finally, he quietly unstrung the bow he always carried, slowly descended the mountain, and gently hung it on the half-open gate of Shen Guilan’s courtyard.

In ten years of living in the mountains, this was the first time he entrusted his weapon to another.

That night, heavy snow began to fall, blanketing the village in white.

Shen Guilan was organizing the accounts of the day’s trades by lamplight when she heard a faint noise on the roof.

Her heart stirred, and she stepped outside.

In the snow, only a single trail of footprints led toward the mountain, with no sign of return.

Beneath her eaves lay a newly made deerskin pouch.

Opening it, she found five pounds of dry moss, perfect for kindling; three branches of pine wood, fragrant and able to repel snakes and insects; and at the bottom, a cold copper plaque.

The plaque’s front was worn smooth, its image unrecognizable; the back bore a few engraved characters: “Night Patrol Guard · Seventh Squad · Gu.”

Clutching the copper plaque imbued with the mountain’s chill, Shen Guilan seemed to hold a man’s silent past and weighty intentions.

Standing in the wind and snow, gazing at the dark forest, she whispered, “You guard the mountain; I guard the workshop. From now on, I will weave your past, and you protect my future.”

Far above on the mountain peak, Gu Changshan looked down at the village below.

For the first time, he saw the light burning for him.

He reached out and lit the pine torch he had always kept outside his cave.

Light finally pierced through the darkness and the dense forest.

Days later, the light grew even brighter.

A team of officials arrived in the village with drums and gongs, led by the magistrate’s clerk who carried a plaque made of golden nanmu wood, bearing four large characters penned by the magistrate himself: “Virtuous and Wise.”

The village chief read the magistrate’s decree excitedly: “Shen Guilan of the Shen family, outstanding in embroidery and of noble character, a model for the community, is hereby granted permission to erect a plaque for her workshop as a mark of honor!”

The entire Lijia Village erupted.

This was not just a matter of pride—it was protection from the authorities.

The landlord Zhang, hiding in the crowd, wiped cold sweat from his brow, no longer daring to covet those two acres of land.

The snow passed, and the skies cleared.

Shen Guilan’s embroidery workshop became a village landmark, the bow at its entrance more fearsome than any guardian deity.

The winter wheat fields soaked in snowmelt, waiting patiently for spring to sprout.

The village mornings were quieter than before, filled with an indescribable hope.

That hope, at the moment Shen Guilan opened the gate and took Xiuwei’s small hand, finally found its direction.