Chapter 1111 - The Stone Figures "Bleed"
Practice was physically demanding, so they received extra sweet potatoes each day as snacks. Sweet potatoes were high in dietary fiber—as long as they didn't overeat, they wouldn't gain weight, and the fiber aided digestion. Besides, by Zhu Mingxia's standards, the entire troupe was malnourished. In peaceful times, they'd never lacked for food—the only question was quality. But during the chaos at Dengzhou, these delicate women had nearly starved; almost all had grown gaunt.
Apart from practice, female instructors gave daily lessons in reading and arithmetic, and they had to learn to write their own names. Many in the troupe had no names at all—some didn't even have surnames, only stage names given by the troupe mistress. This time, most had received new names. Even the mistress herself had been renamed—though at least her surname hadn't been changed.
Beyond practice and literacy, Zhao Jinghan devoted herself to the pipa—following the troupe mistress's newly transcribed notation. The mistress had said this was Master Zhu's command: every woman in the troupe who could play an instrument had to practice these strange new pieces diligently.
These past days, the mistress herself had been practicing frantically, as if Master Zhu had given her some directive. Every night before bed, she would teach Zhao Jinghan the pieces again.
Because Zhao Jinghan had been "noticed" by Master Zhu, the mistress no longer dared to strike or scold her at will. But from her tense, anxious manner, it was clear Master Zhu wanted her to ensure everyone mastered these pieces.
"Daughter, look—here's today's notation..." Liu Yisi wore a somewhat fawning smile as she brought over the score. She'd previously refused to teach her notation skills—now she was imparting everything she knew. "Rest a moment first, then practice with me... This piece is one Master Zhu specifically ordered us to master. You're my mainstay..."
Just as she was speaking, a strange whistling sound suddenly came from outside—eerie and bone-chilling. All three in the room involuntarily looked toward the window.
The whistling came from the wilderness outside the city. Though it immediately drew the attention of the watchmen in the observation towers and the patrols, there was nothing else unusual. Xue Ziliang, on duty in the city, immediately dispatched a mixed Japanese-Korean Public Security squad to investigate. Following the sound, they searched but found nothing.
Hearing the Japanese NCO's report, Xue Ziliang frowned. The whistling was too strange—it sounded like some sort of animal. But back when he'd been an American GI, he'd visited Jeju Island numerous times to enjoy the sea, sun, and women. He'd never heard of any animal on Jeju capable of making that sound: low, eerie, with a goosebump-inducing quality of the uncanny.
"Battalion Commander Kim, what do you think made that sound?" he asked Kim Yongjoo, who was on duty in the command room. As "White Horse Battalion" commander and Jeju Military Affairs Clerk, Kim was an active member of the collaborator faction. Feng Zongze trusted him considerably. By a certain inertia, many Committee members didn't trust collaborators from educated or propertied backgrounds; they basically still believed in the "the poorer, the more revolutionary" theory.
Kim Yongjoo didn't disappoint. Whether in training or patrols, he was always first. Though illiterate, he was eager to learn Mandarin and could already manage simple conversations.
He stammered that he didn't know what had made that sound—but one thing was certain: it wasn't an animal. He'd been a hunter by trade, and after exile to Jeju he'd continued making his living that way. There was hardly any animal on Jeju he hadn't hunted and eaten.
But without hesitation he stood up: "I'll take some men and go look again."
Hunters often traversed mountains and valleys, ate and slept rough, and ventured into places no one else went—sometimes at the risk of their lives. They tended to be polarized: one type was extremely superstitious, worshipping gods everywhere, full of taboos; the other feared nothing at all. Kim Yongjoo was the latter.
Xue Ziliang also found it strange. He was about to order some Special Reconnaissance personnel to accompany Kim when a sentry suddenly reported: Kim O-sun had arrived with urgent news for the Official.
Kim Yongjoo's wife, daughter, and son now all worked for the new administration—the whole family were active collaborators. Kim O-sun was young and clever, learning Mandarin far faster than her father. Feng Zongze had given her the title of "Civil Affairs Clerk"—for a time this became "remarkable news" among the Korean population of Jeju City.
Because she was considered ugly, Kim O-sun had always been mocked and despised. So she harbored an almost adoring fervor toward the Committee members who valued and promoted her. Though her face betrayed nothing, her work enthusiasm astonished everyone who witnessed it.
That day, she'd led several "Women's Labor Service Team" members to deliver meals to a canal construction site—agricultural specialists from Lingao had arrived on Jeju and begun work on the first state-owned farm.
After delivering the meals, she and her team headed back to the city. Before reaching the gate, she noticed a crowd gathered around an earthen mound outside the walls, talking animatedly. Seeing that many were Labor Service members, Kim O-sun quickened her pace.
Drawing closer, she saw that several dol hareubang—stone grandfather statues—outside the city gate had blood flowing from their facial features. The Labor Service workers and ordinary folk gathered around the statues were murmuring in consternation. Some found it curious; others were frightened. She thought the matter suspicious. Looking around, she noticed that though this spot was only half a li from the city gate, the numerous hillocks and scattered trees made it a blind spot for observation.
In the past, walking by, she'd seen people come here to burn incense and kowtow. But she had no emotional connection to the statues herself—the peninsula had no such stone figures. When she'd curiously asked locals about them, they couldn't explain clearly either.
Regardless, everyone was attached to the statues, believing them to be local guardians. People came regularly to burn incense and pray. Now the statues' features were suddenly bleeding—far too eerie. She stood aside, listening quietly, not hurrying to speak.
As she pondered, she suddenly heard an elderly Labor Service worker exclaiming: "This is terrible—a great calamity is coming! Stone figures bleeding—a terrible omen! Our Jeju is about to suffer a bloodbath!"
Someone interjected: "Perhaps recent actions have angered the spirits..."
Kim O-sun instantly began searching the crowd for the speaker but couldn't locate them.
"That can't be right... we've all been law-abiding..." the old worker said uneasily.
"Since ancient times, high and low have been determined by fate. Those who would defy heaven, and who build so extensively on the island... perhaps they've offended the deities... lord have mercy."
Vague yet clear, the words filtered through the crowd. Kim O-sun immediately sensed something was wrong. Looking carefully, she spotted the speaker—a man who looked like a peddler or shop clerk, lurking within the crowd.
These words stirred great unease among the people. Everyone understood that "defying heaven" referred to the "Great Song"—or "Dwarf-Crop-Heads"—who had landed several months ago, abolished the former public and private bondage system, and built extensively across the island.
To be sure, nearly everyone present had benefited from these changes. But the Yi dynasty's common folk had been oppressed and constrained too deeply for a few months of propaganda to alter. With superstition now lending weight, an atmosphere of fear quickly spread through the crowd.
Kim O-sun, under her father's influence, didn't believe in ghosts or spirits. She'd been about to step forward and refute this, but then thought better of it—this matter was too suspicious. When Official Feng had lectured them, he'd told them to remain vigilant, always on guard against counterattacks by Yi Court "remnants."
"...So I hurried here to report." She recounted the entire incident in one breath. Xue Ziliang was a "banana"—he didn't fully grasp the tactics of "counter-revolutionary elements exploiting feudal superstition"—but the situation reminded him of a psychological operation the US military had conducted in the Philippines during counter-insurgency: leaving corpses disguised as vampire victims in guerrilla territory, creating mass panic and exodus among the local population, effectively undermining the guerrillas' social base.
"How did the blood get on the statues?" Xue Ziliang asked.
"I looked carefully afterward—someone must have put it there deliberately," Kim O-sun said. "The bloodstains were very fresh. It couldn't have been done long ago."
Xue Ziliang opened the map. The statue location was indeed a blind spot for the watchtowers—not being an important position, they hadn't bothered to clear the sightlines when setting things up.
The site was neither near nor far from the road—an accessible spot anyone could reach.
(End of Chapter)