Chapter Sixty-Eight: Bones Buried, Spirits Forged

This place is haunted by ghosts and tainted by murder, inevitably making one think of corpses and the like. Moreover, this earthen jar does indeed resemble those used in secondary burials.

A secondary burial, as the term implies, involves exhuming bones three to five years after the initial burial, placing them in a ceramic jar, and re-burying them elsewhere. In Guangxi, particularly among the Zhuang people, this practice is quite common, and there are places in Guangdong where it also exists.

Old Ma and Gu Yangyu did not elaborate further—they simply asked Meng Chengde to pay the workers for their help and send them away.

Meng Chengde gave instructions to the driver, who was standing in the muddy construction site clutching an iron shovel. The driver pulled out his wallet and handed each worker two hundred yuan.

The workers, having received their payment, asked no more questions and left quickly. With ghosts and murder lurking here, the place was steeped in misfortune; no one wished to linger.

“Move this thing to the corridor,” Old Ma ordered me.

I was taken aback—why was I suddenly called upon? My clothes were clean, and I had been careful not to dirty my trousers when entering the site. If I moved this jar, I would surely get filthy. Besides, everyone else was wearing raincoats; I alone carried an umbrella, which made it even more inconvenient.

Yet, I was the youngest among them, and with Old Ma’s command, I could only hand my umbrella to Old Ding, asking him to hold it for me, then crouch down and grasp the jar.

I nearly gasped aloud; this thing was incredibly heavy! Who knew what was inside. I cradled it in my arms to distribute the weight. I wanted to keep my clothes clean, but now I’d be satisfied just to move it to the corridor without disgrace.

Clutching the jar, I struggled through the muddy construction site, making my way toward the classroom corridor. It took considerable effort to set it down in the corridor. Upon turning around, I saw the policeman stifling laughter behind his hand. I felt a surge of annoyance—physical strength was never my forte, and this jar was truly heavy.

Ignoring him, I took back my umbrella from Old Ding and looked at the jar.

Old Ma and Gu Yangyu removed their raincoats and gathered around the jar, examining it.

“What’s inside? Is it related to the murder?” the policeman asked.

“It’s almost certainly remains. This jar was used for some form of ghost-refining witchcraft,” Old Ma replied.

Such words would sound even more absurd to ordinary people than talk of ominous signs or bloodshed disasters. The policeman’s thoughts were unknown, but he showed no reaction.

Old Ma continued, “This object is steeped in evil. It must not be brought into a home. The three of us will examine it here—better for you all to leave, lest you be tainted by its malice.”

The three, meaning himself, Gu Yangyu, and me.

Meng Chengde hesitated, but the policeman was decisive; he turned and left, calling back, “If you hear anything new, contact me immediately. If this thing has nothing to do with the murder, hmph.”

Meng Chengde looked uncertainly at Old Ma, who said, “It’s cloudy and rainy today; the positive energy is thin. You’re not in this line of work—easy to be stained by evil.”

“If you need anything, call me anytime,” Meng Chengde said, then left, with the driver following close behind.

Old Ding hesitated, then left as well.

The empty primary school was left with only the three of us.

“Carry it into the classroom,” Old Ma ordered again.

I was instantly deflated. Setting my umbrella aside, I obediently picked up the jar and carried it to the classroom door, which Gu Yangyu opened for me.

Even after bringing it inside, Old Ma had me clear away the nearby desks and chairs. I made space in the center of the room and placed the jar there.

Panting from exhaustion, I heard Old Ma mutter, “You really don’t have much strength—you ought to train harder.”

I knew my health was poor, but this was hardly the way to improve it! After all, anyone who’d been frail for over ten years would struggle to build robust health.

Gu Yangyu fetched several sheets of white paper from the podium and began wiping the jar clean, while Old Ma squatted nearby, inspecting it.

I examined the jar—it was utterly ordinary, with nothing unusual except for the character “Gen” inscribed on it.

“Master, what exactly is this thing? How is it tied to the murder?” I asked. I noticed that earlier, when everyone was present, they had deliberately withheld information.

The policeman must have sensed this, which was why he left so abruptly.

“Buried bones for ghost-refining, sacrificial offerings to open the altar,” Old Ma said solemnly.

“Sacrificial offerings to open the altar?” I echoed, confused.

Gu Yangyu explained, “That child was very likely used as a sacrifice. The manner of his death points to a ritual offering.”

A ritual offering? I recalled the appearance of the corpse—at the time, I could only think how terrifying it was and didn’t look closely. Now, thinking back, the child’s body seemed to have been laid out very neatly. Though his organs were hollowed out and his limbs mangled, the body was symmetrical on both sides… I shuddered, a wave of fear washing over me, and forced myself to stop thinking about it.

“Is the child-actor ghost performance related to this jar?” I asked.

Old Ma raised his hand, directing my attention to a spot on the jar.

Following his gesture, I saw an inconspicuous crack! It was small, and previously caked with yellow mud, so I had not noticed it. Now, with Gu Yangyu’s cleaning, it was revealed.

“The bones in this jar are likely all those of child performers. The construction work inadvertently cracked the jar, allowing the sealed ghosts to escape, though they remain tethered to the jar, which is why the child-actor ghost performances occurred,” Old Ma explained.

So the situation was even more complicated than I’d imagined. I asked, “From this jar, can we identify the murderer?”

Old Ma shook his head. “All we can tell is that the person understood witchcraft, and since they knew how to perform sacrificial offerings to open the altar, they must also know the rituals associated with this jar. It’s highly probable they have a connection to the one who originally buried it.”

As he spoke, Old Ma’s gaze unconsciously lingered on the “Gen” character, as though he recognized the jar’s origins and understood what kind of connection he referred to.

I ventured, “What does that ‘Gen’ character mean?”

“You ask too many questions. It won’t help to tell you now—just follow me and gain more experience, and in time you’ll learn everything. This matter can’t be explained in one go,” Old Ma replied.

I chuckled, “Alright. I’ll wait for you to tell me bit by bit. But what should we do with this jar now? Surely we won’t just bury it again?”

“Burying is out of the question. Now that the altar has been opened, whatever was refined inside has reached its peak and can’t be put to rest. We’ll find an open space, douse it with gasoline, and burn it to ashes,” Old Ma said. “Gu, call Mr. Meng and ask him to prepare the necessary tools.”

Gu Yangyu made no move. Old Ma looked at him in confusion. “Gu?”