Chapter Ten: A Cry of Alarm

“Old Witch? What old witch?” Uncle Wen asked.

Wen’s grandmother didn’t explain, her face grim. Mr. Chen frowned as well, as though if it truly was the old witch, the matter would become much more troublesome.

“Why do you think it’s the old witch? What is she, really?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Mr. Chen glanced at me, said little, and replied, “No one knows what’s really going on, so don’t jump to conclusions. Just do as I say—prepare what I told you, and tonight, follow my instructions.”

My curiosity grew; what on earth was this old witch? Why did everyone—my grandfather, the villagers, Wen’s grandmother, even Mr. Chen—shy away from mentioning her, as if the mere name was taboo?

As night fell, the parents of the affected children followed Mr. Chen’s guidance, burning incense and candles at their doorsteps and preparing a piece of clothing the child had worn. The method for calling back the frightened soul was to pat the child’s clothing while shouting their name, thus summoning the lost soul back.

Since the children had played together and lost their souls together, they all had to shout in unison.

News of this had spread throughout the urban village, and a few curious young people came to watch, but the elders shooed them away and closed their doors. The place, usually quiet, now became utterly deserted.

When the time came, Mr. Chen struck the drum, and the families began patting the clothes and calling out, voices rising and falling, echoing through the village, lingering and undulating, never quite fading away.

With the flickering candlelight, the shouts, and the pervasive scent of incense, the night took on an eerie air.

People who had been peeking through their windows quickly shut them, distancing themselves as much as possible from the affair.

Only Wen’s uncle’s family remained, tending to the unconscious child, Xiao Chao, sighing in despair. Wen’s grandmother sat at Xiao Chao’s bedside, restless, muttering prayers for the blessings of Bodhisattva and ancestors. Ever since the suspicion of the old witch arose, her demeanor had changed markedly.

I stood by the window, gazing at the empty street outside, thinking that, indeed, people prefer to err on the side of caution—atheists until the supernatural knocks at their door, then suddenly eager to keep trouble at bay.

“Do you think this will really work?” Wen asked, sidling up to me.

“If it doesn’t, the old man’s done for,” I replied.

“Why?”

“He’s made such a spectacle—if it fails, do you think these parents will let him off?” Secretly, I hoped it wouldn’t work. If it didn’t, it would mean Mr. Chen was nothing more than a charlatan, and my so-called impending doom on the thirteenth day might not be real.

Yet the talisman pressed to my chest, radiating coolness, told me it was likely to succeed.

Mr. Chen had some ability, that much was clear, though I couldn’t accept my own death sentence, and refused to believe it.

A child’s figure appeared at the corner of the street—round-faced and sturdy, the very same child who had sung the Cantonese opera that night!

I widened my eyes, watching carefully—he was still there! It wasn’t an illusion!

“Wen, look!” I hurriedly tapped Wen’s shoulder, speaking softly.

“What?” Wen looked in the direction I pointed, then his eyes opened wide.

He could see it too, which meant it was real—not my imagination!

As the calls continued, more and more figures appeared—all the affected children, their bodies semi-transparent, light and drifting, as if a breeze might scatter them.

Wen and I pressed close to the window, stunned. Though I’d experienced something similar as a child, I had always thought it was just a dream.

The children floated quietly down the street, orderly and silent. They drifted away, each following the sound of their name.

The sturdy-faced boy and several others passed by Wen’s grandmother’s house. Wen and I were transfixed, barely daring to breathe.

His home wasn’t far, and we watched as he quietly approached his parents, who were still patting his clothes and shouting, “Dong Guangcheng! Dong Guangcheng! Dong Guangcheng!”

His figure flickered and vanished.

The ritual lasted over half an hour. Suddenly, a drum sounded, and the shouts ceased. The calling was finished.

Dong Guangcheng’s parents rushed inside to check on their child.

Wen and I rushed out and ran toward Dong Guangcheng’s home, barging in without a second thought.

“Immortal! Truly an immortal!”

“Thank heaven, thank Bodhisattva! It’s finally over!”

As we entered, we heard the delighted voices of his parents.

Inside the room, the sturdy-faced child was energetic, no longer confused or delirious.

Wen and I couldn’t resist touching his forehead. His parents did not object. It was still warm, but much calmer now—clearly recovering.

It was miraculous!

Back at Wen’s grandmother’s house, the parents gathered, thanking Mr. Chen profusely. All the children seemed to have recovered.

“In the coming month, you must be vigilant. No more games that summon spirits or gods, and do not visit places heavy with yin energy, or you may lose your soul again,” Mr. Chen warned.

The parents all nodded, promising to obey.

With the other children’s problems resolved, attention turned to Xiao Chao.

In Xiao Chao’s room, Wen’s uncle’s family looked worried.

“Sir, what’s wrong with my Xiao Chao?” Aunt Wen sobbed.

Mr. Chen sat by the bed and sighed, “This child’s condition is more serious than the others. He didn’t just lose his soul—he’s been entangled by the spirit that was summoned. To save him, we must send the summoned spirit away.”

“How can we do that?” Wen’s uncle asked.

“If it were just a wandering ghost, burning paper money and offering tribute would suffice. But this is a malicious spirit, one who died unjustly. Sending it away won’t be so simple—we must invite it here and negotiate terms.”

“Negotiate terms? How?”

“This spirit was summoned and differs from ordinary wandering ghosts. It won’t show itself easily. We need a medium to communicate with it.”

“A medium?” Aunt Wen was confused.

Mr. Chen looked in my direction. I glanced around, certain he meant me, and felt a faint sense of dread. “Why are you looking at me?”

Surely he didn’t mean to send me ahead to deliver messages, seeing as my days are numbered!

“I need your help—as a medium to communicate on our behalf.”

I laughed bitterly. “It’s not that I don’t want to help, but look—I’m already marked for death, and now you want me to go through this ordeal? Let me enjoy this world a little longer. Why not pick someone else? This kid here is perfect—strong and healthy as anyone.”

I pointed at Wen as I spoke.