Chapter 212: Tabby Cat Xingli

When I got a little older and brought Dahuang home, it was Tabby Cat Xingli who patiently taught Dahuang how to guard the house, keep watch at the door, and protect its owner—shrewd in a way no ordinary cat should be.

The last year I saw it was during elementary school. I felt that same kind of age and weariness from it as I do from Dahuang now, old to the point it could barely move, and carrying a smell—not exactly foul, but deeply off-putting—that I couldn’t describe.

The little tabby patterns scattered on its fur had turned dull and indistinct. Its hair was matted beyond repair, and no matter how much I combed, I just couldn’t smooth it out.

It used to keep itself immaculately clean, its fur like a deep gray gemstone. That’s why, when my mother first picked it up, she named it “Xingli.”

But then, one day, it suddenly vanished from the house without a trace. I ran outside and searched for a long time, and finally, guided by a few kind stray cats, I found it at the Back Mountain on the edge of the village.

Xingli clearly hadn’t expected me to follow. After calling out with a few “meow meow” cries, it ignored its own hind legs, which were so weak they could barely walk, and dashed headlong into the depths of the mountain forest.

Of course, I couldn’t bear to let it die in some nameless corner. I wanted to bury it properly, so I could visit when I missed it, and I didn’t want it to spend its final moments alone, out in the wilderness.

I vaguely remember the paths of the Back Mountain being extremely rugged, the sides filled with endless brambles and broken twigs, yet when I chased after Xingli, the road was so smooth it felt as if someone had carved a trail there with a blade ahead of time.

I followed Xingli through the Back Mountain, winding around and around. The forest trails were always hard to recognize, and by the time I realized I’d gone in too deep, I saw Xingli suddenly dart into a modest temple.

I can’t quite recall what the building looked like. I couldn’t be sure whether it was a Daoist temple or a Buddhist one. It was nowhere near as grand as the golden and dazzling great temples, but its overall color and atmosphere were unified, and it looked very clean.

Looking back now, I suppose “Daoist temple” is more accurate—after all, I didn’t see any Buddha statues or pagodas, and the structure resembled other Daoist temples I’d seen.

What left the deepest impression on me was that, as I followed Xingli inside, I was greeted by two stone cat statues.

One on the left, one on the right, standing at the entrance. Their sharp gazes felt almost alive, staring straight at me, as if warning this human to leave quickly.

But I was too worried about Xingli to pay them much mind.

Inside, various decorations dangled from the ceiling, suspended by hidden threads. I originally thought there wouldn’t be anyone inside this Daoist temple.

Unexpectedly, after just a few steps, a tall woman, draped in gray robes and wearing a wide hood, blocked my way. I couldn’t see her face or any other features clearly. Her robe seemed to have a strange symbol drawn on it—what it was, I couldn’t tell, but it was nothing like the Buddhist ornaments I’d seen before.

I remember she seemed to ask why I had come. I can’t recall my answer now. She guided me toward the main hall, where I knelt and worshipped before a massive deity statue for a while. All I remember is that I made a wish, and then lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I was already back at the entrance of the Back Mountain. The stray cats that had led me there sat by my side, watching the surroundings warily.

When they saw me awake, they affectionately rubbed against my pant leg before leaving, finally at ease.

The memory feels almost as if someone had deliberately wiped it clean—I can’t remember anything no matter how hard I try. My only regret is that I never managed to bring Xingli back to bury beneath a tree, nor did I ask my mother to cremate Xingli’s remains and keep them safely inside.

Afterwards, every time I returned home, I’d make a trip to the Back Mountain and search, but I always came back empty-handed. I must have combed over half the mountain, but never found that mysterious cat temple. Grandmother had never heard of any Daoist or Buddhist temple existing in the Back Mountain.

“Woof woof!”

Suddenly, Dahuang in my arms let out a sharp bark, reminding me to return to the real world.

My father stood at the door calling me, while my always-busy mother had already headed out carrying things needed for the ancestor worship. Grandmother returned to the small bed, scolding and tending to Grandfather, who had secretly soiled himself—it looked like it was time to gather and head into the mountains to honor our ancestors.

In the past, Dahuang, full of energy, would always follow me up the mountain, dashing wildly across the fields or grass, tongue out and looking so happy it seemed he could fly.

After paying respects to each ancestor and planting incense, I’d find a patch of soft grass to sit on and watch him play. His golden long fur would shine dazzlingly in the sun, bouncing as he ran—such a handsome sight.

But now, Dahuang’s back was hunched, almost as bad as Grandfather, who lay motionless in bed. Part of his teeth showed outside his mouth, his eyes were clouded, and sometimes even when I called to him nearby, he barely responded. But his nose still worked, picking up my scent from far away.

I patted Dahuang, who was trying to follow me out the door toward the mountain. His back was so thin I could feel his bones, and his long hair clung to his body like a short-haired dog.

Suddenly I remembered, the reason I picked him up as a child was because I’d watched a pet documentary on an old TV and learned he was a Golden Retriever. I didn’t know who had abandoned him—I just knew these dogs were valuable, a pure breed, so I brought him home.

At first, Grandmother didn’t want to raise another dog, but after getting a glare from Mother, she had no choice but to give in and agree to keep Dahuang in the house.

In a way, the teenage me and this old fellow became good friends. In some sense, almost like father and son? After all, I raised him on goat milk formula.

My thoughts drifted for a bit. I told Dahuang to stay in the doghouse and wait for my return, then followed Father’s footsteps toward the ancestral hall.

“Bored, Fan?”

“Looks like you’re even more bored than I am, don’t you think?”

Standing on a small hillside watching cows and sheep graze in the distance, I spoke to the middle-aged man beside me, who was chewing on a stalk of foxtail grass.

His hairstyle was wild and free, almost like those eccentric looks from the Shamate era, but not quite as exaggerated—just a little close. Of course, he hadn’t dyed it in rainbow colors, just used some gel for a bit of style.

“You brat, how dare you talk to me like that. Call me Uncle, got it?”

Uncle Su Mo said so.

Despite Grandfather and Grandmother giving him such a refined name, his character was the exact opposite. From childhood, he showed a catastrophic lack of aptitude for studies, and the rural elementary teachers quickly predicted he’d be better off working in the city—reading was not for him.

This was a blow to Grandmother, who had high hopes for him. Luckily, the eldest uncle was exceptional—his grades were so good that Mother gave up her own education to travel and work, earning money to send him to university, and eventually to start a family. Uncle Su Mo, on the other hand, made a living promoting art and motorcycle travel through social media, so he never had to worry about basic needs. He even saved enough to buy two one-bedroom apartments—one in Flower City, and one in the small coastal town where I lived.

“How’s life these days? That apartment I gave you must be convenient, huh? Found yourself a pretty girlfriend yet? Remember to show her to your uncle—my eyes are a ruler, I can tell in a glance if she truly loves you.”

Uncle Su Mo gestured with two fingers toward his dusty eyes. It was hard to imagine that such a scruffy man could paint such beautiful pictures—was this the artist’s contradiction people talked about?

Normally, relatives start by asking about your studies, and if you’re already working, they ask about your salary and savings. As you get older, it’s all about whether you’ve gotten married.

But my uncle was different—he skipped straight to girlfriends, his face full of sly mischief, not at all fitting his age.

That, however, made the generation gap between us much less obvious, and made our conversations much easier. That’s why I always enjoyed playing with this eccentric uncle since I was little.

“Uncle, maybe you should focus on your own life first. In your thirties and still not looking for a wife to warm your bed.”

“With my wandering lifestyle, how could I find a wife and just leave her alone at home? If there was a woman willing to roam the world with me, maybe I’d consider marriage. But there isn’t.”

He swayed the foxtail grass in his mouth, his voice muffled as he mocked himself.

“Back to the point, though—you always used to say there wasn’t a girl you liked. But this time, you’re trying to dodge the question. Come on, spill it, which girl got your heart, huh? I’ll tell her how you peed your pants on me when you were little.”

That must have been when I was a baby… I couldn’t control myself back then, could I?

I muttered in my heart and looked around.

Once I made sure all the relatives were still at the cemetery handling the rituals, and that it was just Uncle Su Mo and me on the hillside, I finally relaxed.

“There is someone I want to spend my life with. She’s that catgirl I told you about when I was little—a childhood friend, I guess, since we’ve known each other for years, though we lost touch for three.”

“Oh ho? A childhood sweetheart from the heavens? That’s unbeatable! Quick, tell me about her personality! Judging by that photo you gave me before, that little catgirl was adorable as a child—she must be even more of a blessing for you now.”

“Her personality… is really nice, I think. Sometimes she’s a bit troublesome and clingy, but I can feel that she’s trying hard to express her feelings and thoughts to me. That kind of passion—I often don’t know how to respond.”

“How to respond? Just grab her, bring her back to the apartment I gave you, and make her your wife! Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you with your mom. Even if she complains, it’s my property, so you can just hide out with your girlfriend.”

Uncle Su Mo laughed wickedly, and I could only shrug helplessly.

If we were in the street, I would have walked quickly away and pretended not to know this uncle who occasionally burst into strange laughter.

But here, in fields with barely anyone around except those at the cemetery, I didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed by others.

“Are you worried about that illness from before?”

Uncle Su Mo seemed carefree, but often saw straight through to the heart of my worries.

I nodded honestly. “Yeah, what if it comes back? I can’t let her be a widow, can I? And if we have kids, it’s even more complicated. You know—”

I trailed off, but Uncle Su Mo understood I was talking about our eldest uncle, who had left his wife and child behind.

His body wasn’t sick, but apparently he’d been bullied during university. We weren’t in the same city as him, and he hardly ever contacted anyone except Mother, who paid for his education.

I didn’t know what they’d talked about over the years. What I did know was that Mother’s need for control was overwhelming—she always wanted her sacrifices to be repaid.

With her own son, she set aside time daily to supervise my studies. One can imagine how she treated the eldest uncle, whom she’d given up her own future to support.

I had no way of knowing what had really gone on all those years. People who did—like Uncle Su Mo or Mother—would never talk to me about those shadows. All I knew was the end result: the disappearance of the eldest uncle.

One reason for this year’s return home for Qingming was to sweep his grave.

“Here’s what I think…”

Uncle Su Mo spat out the foxtail grass and fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

He lit one and handed it to me. I took it, a little awkwardly.

I wasn’t a straight-laced model student. It was just that under Mother’s strict rule, I managed to keep my grades up. She never cared about my morals, just demanded that I stay in the school’s top ten in every exam, and rewarded me like a boss giving out bonuses at work.

To be honest, I didn’t like the smell of cigarettes, nor was I fond of smoking, but I could understand the relief that comes from holding one and taking a puff now and then.