Chapter 43: The Village of Virtuous Women

Whether they wanted to or not, in the end, death was inevitable.
When the time came, she would still die.

Those two sentences from the old woman helped Li Zhi slowly piece together all the information she had gathered over the past few days. A vague idea formed in her mind, but she didn’t ask outright. Clearly, the old woman was afraid of something—asking too directly would only make her shut down further.

Calmly, she changed the subject. “Grandma, what about your husband?”

The fear in the old woman’s eyes eased slightly, and her tone carried a trace of nostalgia. “I was different. I couldn’t have children for three years after marriage. My in-laws blamed me for being barren and divorced me with a single letter. No one else would marry a barren widow, and my family’s village was wiped out by the Japanese soldiers. So I stayed here, living alone.”

“Later, Zhen Zhen’s parents were killed by bandits while traveling outside the village, leaving her and her newborn sister behind. I raised those two girls myself.”

“These were harsh times, war still going on outside. As a woman with two children, there was nowhere else for me to go but this village,” the old woman patted Li Zhi’s hand, finally voicing her inner sorrow. “Zhen Zhen was raised by me. I loved her like my own daughter. Do you think I could bear to see her die? But there’s no choice. It’s just her bad fate.”

“I didn’t want her to follow in those women’s footsteps, so I carefully chose a strong, healthy man for her, hoping they’d both live long lives. Who could’ve known that on the third day of their marriage, he’d fall off a mountain while chopping firewood and die? That’s fate.”

She wiped away a tear, her expression hardening as she gritted her teeth. “Dead is dead. The sooner she dies, the sooner she can be reborn as a man in the next life. Then she’ll have it easier.”

She slowly scanned the group of well-meaning young people, her voice like both a warning and a plea. “This doesn’t concern any of you outsiders. Don’t interfere anymore. After the festival in three days, leave this place quickly. This isn’t a good village. Never come back.”

“Grandma, what traditional festival is it exactly in three days?” Chi Yi asked innocently, feigning curiosity. “I’ve never heard of any festival at this time of year before.”

A strange look flickered across the old woman’s face. After a pause, she softly replied, “It’s called the ‘Platform of Death.’” She smiled faintly, neither happy nor sad, as if suppressing grief and forcing herself to appear relieved. “It’s specially prepared for Zhen Zhen. Once you finish performing on stage, she will perform hers too.”

The players cutting wheat gradually stopped. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. Chi Yi swallowed hard and asked, “What kind of performance?”

The old woman gave a strange laugh. “Of course, it’s the performance of suicide. Everyone will clap and cheer below, sending her off joyfully.”

Though it was a warm evening, everyone felt a chill run through them.

Li Zhi quietly asked, “Like Fang Lin from our opera troupe?”

Fear returned to the old woman’s face as she shook her head tremblingly. “No, no, it’s different. Different.” She muttered under her breath, then grew irrational again. “Don’t go see Zhen Zhen anymore! Let her go peacefully! The ending is the same anyway. Always the same!”

She roughly grabbed a nearby little girl and dragged her away. “Come on! Come on!”

The cut wheat lay neatly stacked in the field.

Everyone was silent for a long moment. Even Pinky, usually calm, finally exploded. “Are these villagers all sick freaks?! They actually enjoy watching people kill themselves? And they even made a festival out of it?! What the hell is wrong with them?!”

The village chief’s excited words echoed in their minds.

He would fund the opera show himself, inviting the troupe to help the villagers celebrate the holiday happily.

That “happy celebration” meant watching innocent women perform their own deaths onstage.

Chi Yi clenched her teeth. “Before we leave, I’m burning this entire place down!”

Wen Qianxue, known for her sweet and gentle image, shocked everyone with a chilling remark. “Since killing isn’t illegal in副本s, why don’t we start a fire tonight and burn them all to death?”

For the first time in years of rivalry and mutual hatred, the two former enemies locked eyes in agreement.

“Let’s carry the wheat back first,” Li Zhi interrupted their murderous plans. “If it rains tonight, it’ll rot in the fields.”

Pinky frowned. “Sister Li, aren’t you angry hearing all this?”

Li Zhi glanced at him. “Clear the副本 first, then set the fire. Order matters.”

“Yes yes yes!” Chi Yi nodded eagerly, patting her chest and exhaling deeply. “Don’t let these bastards drag us down with them. That’s not worth it! Stay calm!”

They packed the wheat into baskets and carried them back to Grandma’s house, trip after trip. The old woman didn’t show herself, but Zhen Zhen’s younger sister kept coming and going, bringing them water. When they finished hauling everything back, the sun had already set. Exhausted from the day’s labor, they returned to their courtyard inn, where they met the village chief who had come to invite the troupe leader.

“The funeral arrangements for Fang Lin are complete. Tonight, we’ll hold the wake, and tomorrow, she’ll enter the Hall of Chaste Women and rest in the tomb of the virtuous. This is a major event. We’ve set up a mourning feast in the courtyard—please all come and send Fang Lin off on her final journey.”

The troupe leader readily agreed.

Hearing about the feast cheered the opera performers. Rarely did they get to eat meat, and now the village had generously invited everyone—including the entire troupe—to attend.

The players went too. Upon arriving at the courtyard, they saw the mourning tent already erected with a coffin inside—Fang Lin’s body resting within. Outside, more than a dozen tables were filled with lively villagers serving dishes.

As Fang Lin’s “family,” the opera troupe sat at the main table. Surrounded by cheerful villagers, Tao Yu and the others looked around uneasily—the atmosphere felt less like a funeral and more like a wedding banquet. They exchanged glances but said nothing, simply eating in silence.

Only the players who knew the truth felt like they had been fed garbage, with no appetite.

Li Zhi ate a few bites just to fill her stomach, then slipped away unnoticed. With everyone occupied at the feast, it was the perfect chance to meet Zhen Zhen. While it was still light, she returned to the courtyard inn to grab a few things before heading toward Zhen Zhen’s in-laws’ house.

This time, she didn’t need Pinky’s help. She stepped back, tried the wall-scaling technique taught by Li Feng, and with her physical strength, easily scaled the wall and jumped down.

Inside the yard, the chickens pecking at the ground barely reacted to her presence—they were used to her now.

Li Zhi approached the window glowing with soft yellow light and called out, “Zhen Zhen.”

“Li Zhi! How come you’re here again?” Zhen Zhen scrambled up, delighted but cautious. “You keep climbing over the wall every day—won’t you get caught?”

“If I thought I’d get caught, I wouldn’t come,” Li Zhi smiled. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading the comic book you gave me! These pictures are amazing, so beautiful. Is this story about female generals fighting in battles? I see them riding horses in armor!”

Li Zhi nodded. “This is the story of the Yang Family Heroines. Did you know about them?”

Zhen Zhen widened her eyes and shook her head. “So that’s what they’re called. What a powerful name!”

Li Zhi chuckled and began telling the story of the Yang Family Heroines through the window. Her storytelling was vivid and dramatic, making the tale even more engaging than the comic itself. Zhen Zhen listened, captivated, eyes wide with wonder.

“They really existed in history? I thought these were just made-up stories!”

“Whatever men can do, women can do too,” Li Zhi said casually, pulling out paper and a brush she had brought earlier. “Today, I visited your grandma and sister. Your sister told me you like writing. Here, this is for you.”

Zhen Zhen looked at the items with teary eyes. “Li Zhi, you’re so kind to me. But I don’t know how to write—I can only copy drawings from books.”

“I’ll teach you. Let’s start with your name.”

Leaning closer, she turned sideways so Zhen Zhen could see the strokes clearly and wrote “Zhen Zhen” on the paper.

Zhen Zhen studied it carefully, memorizing the shape of her name. But after Li Zhi finished, she tilted her head and asked curiously, “Why do these two characters look the same?”

Li Zhi paused. “‘Zhen’ as in cherish. Isn’t that your name?”

Zhen Zhen looked at her. “My mother said my name means ‘cherish chastity.’ A scholar from the village school gave it to me.”

Li Zhi was silent for two seconds, then wrote “Zhen Zhen” again with a slightly different character. Zhen Zhen compared the two names and suddenly said, “I think the first one looks better.”

Li Zhi smiled. “If you ever want to change your name, you can use the first version. Its meaning is beautiful—it means ‘precious treasure.’”

“Precious treasure…” Zhen Zhen repeated softly, her lashes fluttering. Summoning her courage, she whispered, “Li Zhi… do you know? I’ve always felt this was wrong. When I was little, I once saw an aunt in the village hang herself during a death performance after her husband died. Everyone clapped and praised her. But I thought it must hurt so much… surely it hurt when the white silk broke her neck…”

Confused, she asked, “But it seemed like only I thought it was wrong. I never dared tell anyone. I didn’t understand why I felt this way. Li Zhi, if I had read as many books as you, would I understand why it’s wrong?”

She felt something was wrong—but didn’t yet know why.

Because she hadn’t been educated. She lived trapped inside the ideological bubble built by this village, brainwashed daily by cruel, decaying feudal traditions until she became numb.

But human thought is like wild grass—resilient and unyielding. Even buried beneath concrete, it finds its way through cracks.

From the moment young Zhen Zhen realized something was wrong, that tiny blade of grass had already taken root deep in her heart.

It might be suppressed, blinded, and never grow tall—but from that moment on, it would never disappear.