Chapter 40: A Needle Pierces the Heart of a Slanderous Tongue

With trembling, warm fingertips, Xiuwei lowered her voice, the words squeezed through her teeth: "Mother, they... they are all saying you were at the back mountain with Uncle Gu last night... saying you are shameless."

"Shameless?" Shen Guilan, who had been counting silk threads with her head bowed, froze. Her fingers pinched a glowing strand, her eyes showing no panic, only a cold fire burning within.

She slowly raised her head, the corner of her mouth twitching into a sneer. "They say I’m seducing a man? Fine. Then I will openly present him with a gift, so the whole village can see clearly exactly how Shen Guilan 'seduces'."

With that, she turned into the house, took out a bolt of plain silk, and spread it across her embroidery table.

She used indigo for the sky and vermilion for the blood. Without drawing a single draft, she dipped her brush deep into ink and moved across the fabric like the wind. In the blink of an eye, the outline of a painting emerged.

It was not flowers, birds, or mandarin ducks—it was two eagles locked in a life-or-death struggle in the heavens!

Amidst rolling storm clouds, one black eagle dove like a bolt of lightning, its talons tearing through the thick mist; the other reared its head, wings beating with such force that it seemed to summon thunder.

She pressed down on her brush with all her might, pouring every ounce of suppressed rage and grievance into the painting, transforming them into the unyielding ferocity in the eagles' eyes.

Next, she took up her needle and thread. She bypassed the soft silk, choosing instead the stiffest gold and black threads.

Each stitch was driven home like a knife blade, heavy and straight, nearly piercing through the fabric. She was not embroidering a trinket; she was stitching the spirit of her own defiance, the bones that refused to bow.

Watching from the side, Xiuwei felt her heart race. This was no gift; it was a declaration of war.

At noon, the sun was scorching.

Shen Guilan rolled up the embroidery and had Xiuwei carry a basket of freshly roasted walnuts. Underneath the basket, she tucked a small note with four words: *Beware during your night patrol.*

Mother and daughter walked one after the other up the mountain path. The villagers stretched their necks to watch, whispering among themselves.

Li Cuihua stood with her hands on her hips and shouted, "Oh, look at Sister Shen! Who are you bringing food to up the mountain? And you brought your daughter along—afraid people won't know what you're up to? Who are you putting on this show for?"

Her voice was sharp and grating, drawing laughter from the crowd.

Shen Guilan did not stop, nor did she look back. She acted as if she had heard nothing, as if the voice were merely the cawing of crows in the trees.

She walked all the way to the mid-mountain slope, arriving at Gu Changshan’s wooden cabin.

Gu Changshan sat at the doorway, polishing his hunting knife with a rag. He was a man of few words, living alone in the mountains for years, radiating a coldness that kept others at a distance. Seeing them approach, he only raised his eyes, his gaze calm.

"Brother Gu," Shen Guilan said, handing him the scroll. Her voice was cold and steady. "You must have heard the gossip in the village. I’m giving this to you as a reply. If you don't want to keep it, you can burn it right here; I won't say a word."

Gu Changshan did not take it immediately. He first accepted the basket from Xiuwei and set it aside. Only then did he reach out with calloused hands to take the embroidery.

He did not burn it, nor did he put it away. In front of everyone watching, he slowly unfurled the scroll.

"Hiss—" someone in the crowd drew in a sharp breath.

The two eagles looked as if they were about to fly off the fabric, their eyes so fierce they sent a chill through the onlookers.

When he saw the four stiff characters in the bottom right corner—*For my friend in the mountains*—the eyes that had remained emotionless finally flickered.

Without a word, he turned, took two iron nails from under the eaves, and with two sharp "bangs," hammered the embroidery onto the most prominent spot on the wall.

That spot faced the path leading down the mountain. Anyone who looked up toward the back mountain could see it at a glance.

The next morning, at the first light of dawn, Gu Changshan’s cabin was surrounded by people.

He stood before his door, draped in an old fur coat. The morning light hit his face, making the scar on his left ear look particularly striking. He stood like a stone, letting others point and whisper.

Finally, someone gathered the courage to ask, "Brother Changshan, this embroidery... did Sister Shen really give it to you?"

Gu Changshan didn't even blink. His voice was deep, every word hitting the ground like a stone: "She gave it. It is open and aboveboard."

Having said these six words, he said no more.

In the crowd, Tian Sao stared at the frighteningly bright eyes of the eagle on the embroidery. She suddenly remembered her own husband, who, when drunk, often scolded her, "You aren't even as good as that widow! Look at Shen Guilan—raising a child alone and running a household. How capable she is!" Her heart trembled. It was true. A woman raising a daughter and managing an embroidery workshop lived with more dignity than anyone else. What was wrong with giving a painting?

It was they themselves who spent every day chewing on gossip, capable of nothing but malice.

At that thought, her face grew hot. She muttered, "People can't even give a gift without being talked about. What a world..." She pulled her husband away quietly.

Once one person left, others followed, and the murmurs slowly died down.

But the matter was not over.

That night, at the third watch, everything was quiet.

Little Liu, a boy in the village, couldn't sleep and had slipped out to catch fireflies. While he was playing, he suddenly heard movement in the bushes.

Startled, he crouched down, not daring to make a sound.

He saw three shadows, their faces covered, sneaking toward Shen Guilan’s house. Their target was the woodshed where she stored her silk and firewood.

As one of them bent over, a sachet at their waist swayed. In the moonlight, a flash of peach-red thread caught the light—a "paired lotus" diagonal stitch. Little Liu recognized it; it was Li Cuihua’s signature style. His own mother had tried to learn it and had been mocked by Li Cuihua for days.

Terrified, he clamped his hand over his mouth, watching helplessly as the three pulled out oil canisters, preparing to douse the shed.

Just then, a sharp shout exploded from the hillside: "Who’s there?!"

The voice was filled with killing intent.

The three shadows froze and bolted. But could they outrun a hunter?

With a "whoosh," a shadow flew through the air. The man in the back let out a scream, an arrow piercing his leg, and he collapsed to the ground. The other two disappeared into the night without a backward glance.

The man on the ground struggled, and the sachet at his waist fell into the mud.

Before dawn, the whole village was awakened.

Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, Gu Changshan stood with a cold face, holding the masked man like a chicken. At his feet lay the mud-stained sachet.

Shen Guilan had already arrived, dressed in simple clothing, her face as cold as frost.

She bent down, picked up the sachet, and wiped away the mud. When she saw the paired lotus, she sneered—not loudly, but clearly enough for everyone to hear. "This 'three-over-two' diagonal stitch looks tight on the surface, but it unravels with a single pull. Only Li Cuihua in this entire village embroiders like this. Last year, when she embroidered a birthday cloth for the Zhang family, I told her the stitch wasn't secure, and she wouldn't even admit it."

In the crowd, Li Cuihua, who had just arrived, turned pale as a sheet upon seeing the sachet. She rushed forward, pointing and shouting, "You’re lying! I lost that sachet long ago! You’re framing me!"

Shen Guilan slowly raised her head, her gaze piercing like a knife. "Is that so? Then tell me, why is there a scrap of fabric from my quilt last year inside the lining of this sachet?"

As she spoke, she picked at the corner of the sachet in front of everyone and pulled out a small piece of cloth. The pattern was recognized by several women who frequented her home—it was indeed unique to the Shen household.

Li Cuihua’s knees went weak, but she still tried to be stubborn.

Shen Guilan didn't give her the chance. Her voice rose sharply. "Explain this: Brother Gu’s patrol routes change constantly. Besides the Zhang woman who delivers his food and yourself, who else would know? Why did you dare to come to my shed to set a fire the very night he changed his route?"

The crowd erupted!

Every eye turned like a blade toward Li Cuihua and the pale-faced Zhang woman. Gu Changshan also swept a cold gaze over them.

Li Cuihua finally collapsed, her knees hitting the ground.

Under the old locust tree, the truth seemed to have emerged, but as Shen Guilan looked at the crumpled Li Cuihua and glanced at the Zhang woman, who was avoiding her gaze nearby, her heart remained heavy.