My Neighbor, the Thrush

Over the past few days, he had been surviving on wild berries to stave off hunger. At first, the taste was pleasant enough, but after eating them day after day, he found his mouth was growing numb with the monotony. As the saying goes, a teenage boy can eat his father out of house and home. Zhao Liang was at that age, fifteen or sixteen, when a single day without meat left him feeling drained of energy. Yet, there was not the slightest trace of wild animals in the valley.

Just as Zhao Liang was at his wits’ end, he was overjoyed to discover fish in the mountain stream. It was truly as if he had searched high and low, only to find what he sought effortlessly. The fish in the stream were pure white, about a foot long, their bodies translucent and supple as if boneless.

Delighted, Zhao Liang jumped into the water, eager to catch them. But after half an hour, his earlier excitement had completely vanished. These fish had likely swum out from an underground river and were exceedingly alert. At the faintest ripple in the water, they would dart away in an instant. Zhao Liang managed to touch a few, but they slipped through his fingers, impossible to grasp.

Drenched and crestfallen, he climbed back onto the bank and sat down, pondering a solution. A few white fish swam leisurely before him, as if mocking his clumsy attempts. Gazing at the trees around the valley, a sudden idea struck him. He sprang to his feet, startling the fish, which quickly darted away.

From a large tree, Zhao Liang broke off a sturdy branch and used a stone to sharpen it. Soon, he had fashioned a Y-shaped fork—perfect for spearing fish.

This time, he learned from his previous mistakes. Rather than wading into the stream, he stood on the bank and waited patiently for the fish to approach. Then, with lightning speed, he thrust the fork into the water, striking a large fish on the first try.

Overjoyed, Zhao Liang danced with delight. He gutted and cleaned the fish, skewered it on a branch, and roasted it over the fire. Soon, a rich aroma filled the air. Unable to wait for the fish to be fully cooked, he tore into it eagerly, scalding his mouth but finally satisfying his craving for meat.

After devouring every morsel, Zhao Liang felt his energy return. He stared into the flickering flames, his thoughts turning once more to how he might escape the valley.

Suddenly, inspiration struck—fire! He recalled a story Jiang Ran had told him of King You lighting beacons to amuse Bao Si and trick the feudal lords. Uncle Tian and Mr. Jiang were likely still searching for him in the mountains. If he could light a signal fire and produce enough smoke, perhaps they would see it and realize he was trapped below. Surely, they would find a way to rescue him. Zhao Liang silently resolved to try.

He set to work at once, collecting piles of dry branches and leaves. By dusk, he had amassed a stack of firewood taller than himself at the mouth of the cave.

That night, Zhao Liang was restless with excitement, hope kindling in his heart as he imagined his imminent escape.

At dawn, he busied himself again. He built up the fire as high as possible, then piled damp branches and leaves atop it to create as much smoke as he could. Thick clouds of smoke billowed up from the valley, darkening the sky and stinging Zhao Liang’s eyes until tears streamed down his face.

After half an hour, his hopes were dashed yet again. Though the flames blazed and smoke swirled, it dispersed less than fifty fathoms above before vanishing. The valley floor was at least five hundred fathoms below the peak—there was no way anyone above could see the smoke.

"Chirp, chirp!" Zhao Liang’s neighbor, the thrush, voiced its protest loudly. The commotion had disturbed the bird’s nest, which was perilously close to the fire. The smoke had nearly suffocated the thrush and its four fledglings.

Seeing his signal fire had failed once more, Zhao Liang hurried to stamp out the flames, sparing the birds further torment. The thrush circled twice above his head, then returned to its nest to tend to its young.

For more than ten days, Zhao Liang found himself powerless. Each day, he survived on wild fruit and speared fish from the stream.

In the mountains, time slipped by unnoticed, swift as a fleeting horse’s shadow. Two months passed in a blur, and the season turned from late summer to early autumn.

One day, just after eating a handful of wild berries, Zhao Liang heard the thrush’s anxious, urgent calls—quite unlike its usual song, as though something were amiss.

He rushed beneath the tree and saw a massive, mottled snake as thick as a bowl, tongue flicking, slithering along a branch toward the thrush’s nest. The fledglings, only three months old, had no inkling of the impending danger.

The thrush cried out in panic, flying in circles to distract the snake, but the serpent paid no heed, intent on reaching the four helpless chicks in the nest.