SES Chapter 131 Part 2

Dinner was pumpkin porridge and flatbread with stir-fried peppers. It smelled good. He rolled a piece of flatbread, leaned in the doorway, and let the cool night breeze wash over him.

Down the dirt path, a dark figure approached, stooped and slow. As it came closer, he saw it was an old man, hair white, holding a brass tobacco pipe behind his back.

Old Shuan came out to fetch water and called out, “Yin Erma! Off to sleep at that Bagua Star-Watching Platform again?”

His tone carried a hint of mockery.

Yin Erma didn’t seem to notice. Calm as ever, he replied, “Yes.”

Then he walked off at an unhurried pace.

The charlatan’s curiosity flared. There was something unusual about Yin Erma — he didn’t seem like a simple country bumpkin.

Old Shuan turned to explain, chuckling. “That guy’s got a screw loose. Most of the time, he’s fine, but come nighttime, the sickness hits.”

The charlatan perked up. A sickness? That meant something strange, maybe even supernatural — exactly his kind of thing.

“What kind of sickness?”

Old Shuan snorted. “Every night around this time, he goes up to that so-called Star-Watching Platform, says he’s going to look at the stars. But plenty of people have seen him — he just lies down on the ground, stays there for a bit, then gets up and goes home. Rain or snow, it never misses a night.”

He gave the charlatan a look, as if seeking agreement. “Now tell me, isn’t that a sickness?”

Not necessarily, the charlatan thought. Scientifically speaking, that was compulsion. Artistically speaking, eccentricity. Casually speaking, stubbornness.

And now he was itching to see it for himself. “I’ll go follow him,” he said.

He trailed after Yin Erma quietly.

The moonlight in the mountains was brighter than usual, silver and clear, enough to light the path.

Before long, they reached the so-called Bagua Star-Watching Platform.

Old Shuan hadn’t exaggerated — Yin Erma tucked his pipe into the white sash around his waist, then lay down on his side, perfectly still, as if going to sleep.

This was stargazing?

The charlatan tilted his head, copying the angle. From this position, it was impossible to see the stars — his line of sight was blocked by that half-buried stone.

Wait a second…

Could it be that Yin Erma wasn’t looking at the sky, but at the stone?

While he was still mulling it over, Yin Erma got up, brushed the dirt off his backside, clasped his hands behind him, and strolled back the way he’d come.

As soon as he was gone, the charlatan dashed over, threw himself down in the same spot, adjusting his posture to match.

The stone loomed darkly, blending into the night. But part of its surface glimmered faintly — like a tilted mirror.

Then he realized that brightness came from the pool of water collected in the hollow.

He squinted at it.

As he watched, an odd feeling crept over him. The puddle was tiny, yet somehow it seemed to reflect the entire sky — as though the whole cosmos could fit inside.

And suddenly, Yin Erma’s nightly ritual felt… poetic. Maybe he was stargazing after all. Who said you had to look up to see the stars? You could look down, too.

Then — a spark of light flickered across the water’s surface.

It wasn’t a trick of the eye or a reflection — it appeared out of nowhere. He instinctively glanced up. The sky was clear, the moon bright, only a few faint stars visible — nothing bright enough to cast such a sharp reflection.

He held his breath.

Another point of light appeared — then another.

They shimmered faintly, like submerged stars.

His pulse raced.

A third… a fourth… until there were seven in total.

Their arrangement — a ladle shape.

The Big Dipper.

Yes, unmistakably — the Big Dipper!

But how could a muddy little puddle in a random mountain village mirror the Big Dipper like that?

Amazed, thrilled, and baffled all at once, he fumbled out his phone, switched to camera mode, and snapped a picture — his hands trembling with excitement. The image came out blurry, but the seven lights were still faintly visible.

Just as he did, the reflection began to change. From where he lay, the lower three points and the one at the top dimmed and turned reddish, while the remaining three shone even brighter.

The vision lasted only a few seconds.

Then the water went still again, smooth as glass. A breeze rippled the surface, scattering the light.

He sat up, brushing off bits of dirt clinging to his hair, his heart pounding with exhilaration.

So Yin Erma really was watching the stars.

It was already late when he returned to Old Shuan’s house. The old man was still up, puffing leisurely on his pipe in front of the TV.

The charlatan asked, “That Bagua Star-Watching Platform — what’s its story?”

Old Shuan shrugged. “Who knows? It’s always been called that, ever since I was a kid.”

He gave the charlatan a curious look. “You outsiders must think the name sounds fancy, huh? The county officials said it’s a good name too. But to me, it’s no different from White Dog Hill or South Valley Hollow.”

He’d heard it all his life — the words had lost any special meaning.

“No one knows where the name came from?”

“Yin Erma says some learned man named Laozi put that stone there himself.”

The charlatan didn’t press further. It was clear Old Shuan didn’t know much.

If he wanted more answers, he’d have to find them from Yin Erma.