Death in the Field

　　Back then, entertainment was pretty basic.

　　We'd catch fish by the river, raid bird nests in the woods, or hunt for grasshoppers in the fields.

　　 None of that fancy phone, computer, or TV stuff kids have these days.

　　We were tired of fishing and had already ransacked every bird's nest for miles.

　　So, grasshopper hunting it was.

　　 Those grasshoppers were huge back then! We'd skewer them on sticks, roast them over a fire, and gobble them down.

　　Delicious!

　　Anyway, Chubby and I reached the edge of the village and split up, each of us armed with a stick, ready to hunt some unsuspecting grasshoppers.

　　We hadn't been at it long when Chubby let out a groan.

　　"Ugh, my stomach!" He clutched his belly, yanked down his pants, and squatted right there in the field.

　　"Dude! You're such a pig! What did you eat?!" I covered my nose.

　　The stench was overwhelming!

　　"Tell you what, I'll catch the grasshoppers. You just stay put and maybe lay off the snacks for once!"

　　"No worries, Xiao Jie! I'll catch more than you once I'm done!" he said, gasping between words.

　　Right then, I spotted an enormous grasshopper bounding towards Chubby's….well, you know.

　　 I swear, I'd never seen a grasshopper that big in my life!

　　"Don't move!" I hissed. "I've got this! Just pinch it tight! Don't let it get away!"

　　Chubby squeezed his butt cheeks together, trapping the grasshopper.

　　I was just about to snatch it when BAM!

　　Out of nowhere, a rooster shot out of the underbrush and lunged at Chubby.

　　Turns out, the rooster had been chasing the giant grasshopper, which, in a desperate move, had landed on Chubby's behind.

　　Now, these weren't your average, farm-fresh chickens.

　　These roasters were wild.

　　They foraged for seeds and insects.

　　And they were mean!

　　Meaner than a junkyard dog!

　　They'd kill mice, attack snakes, fight with cats and dogs, and wouldn't think twice about pecking a kid.

　　They were the stuff of village children nightmares!

　　The rooster didn't hesitate.

　　It hammered at the grasshopper stuck to Chubby's rear and darted off as quickly as it had appeared.

　　Chubby let out a scream that could be heard in the next province.

　　I stood there, frozen.

　　I never saw it coming. It was like the mantis stalking the cicada, oblivious to the oriole behind it.

　　Only in this case, it was a rooster getting the first peck.

　　And that peck had to have hurt!

　　Chubby later told me it felt like a red-hot poker had been shoved up his butt, followed by a swarm of fire ants.

　　This searing pain shot from his rear end all the way up his neck.

　　Not an experience I'd want to have!

　　Chubby's scream scared the living daylights out of me.

　　I heard kids in the next village couldn't sleep for weeks.

　　They said his cries haunted their dreams, and their parents even called in a fortune teller!

　　But the worst was yet to come.

　　Old Man Wang happened to be passing by on the road near our grasshopper-hunting grounds.

　　He was driving his donkey cart.

　　 Wang was a seasoned cart driver, close to seventy years old.

　　In his younger days, he drove everything—horse-drawn carriages, oxcarts, you name it.

　　But now, he had a donkey, which, by the way, was voice-activated and had its own internal navigation system!

　　 It would go wherever Wang told it to.

　　But even the most seasoned professional can have a bad day.

　　Chubby's scream startled the donkey, sending it into a frenzy.

　　 It bucked its tail, flinging the cigarette holder straight out of Wang's mouth.

　　He even lost his last remaining tooth!

　　The cart went flying as the donkey bolted down the road, leaving poor Wang in a heap in a ditch.

　　They say that donkey ran for over twenty miles before someone finally caught it.

　　Wang lay there, groaning in pain.

　　He'd taken a nasty fall and probably hurt his back.

　　I knew I had to help.

　　Chubby was hurt but safe for the moment.

　　Wang, on the other hand, was old, and this fall could be serious.

　　Forgetting about Chubby, I raced over to the ditch.

　　 Wang was in bad shape, unable to get up.

　　He saw me approaching and started yelling.

　　"You little brat! What in the world was that yelling? Trying to scare me to death?!"

　　"It wasn't me, ! It was Chubby!"

　　Before I could finish, he slapped me on the head.

　　"Don't you lie to me! It was you! We're in the middle of nowhere!"

　　That slap stung!

　　How did he still have so much strength after that fall?!

　　Right then, I noticed something in the grass—a pack of weasels and foxes, their eyes locked on Wang.

　　Oh, no.

　　I knew in my gut this was bad.

　　 Every time those weasels showed up, it meant trouble.

　　The last few times, people who'd hurt me ended up dead.

　　"Please! It wasn't him!" I pleaded with the creatures, waving my arms. "Don't hurt him!"

　　Wang, seeing me talking to myself, smacked me again.

　　"What are you doing?! Help me up!"

　　I snapped out of it and tried to pull him up, but he was too heavy.

　　Just then, some villagers passed by, and I shouted for help.

　　Finally, we managed to get him out of that ditch.

　　But what I feared most came true.

　　Wang died a few days later.