Chapter Seven: The Murmuring Old Man

Outside, it was noisy, as if an argument had broken out.

Wen was not in the room. I struggled to climb out of bed, my whole body devoid of strength, each step sending the world spinning around me.

I made my way to the bathroom, intending to wash my face, only to find my reflection pale, with dark circles under my eyes. This sickly appearance had accompanied me for over ten years, and I hadn’t expected it to return now.

My head was dizzy and muddled. I washed my face and rinsed my mouth hastily, but felt no improvement.

I dragged myself into the living room, where Wen’s grandmother and his second uncle were quarreling furiously.

“What era are we living in? Stop using those outdated ideas!” Wen’s second uncle said angrily.

“I can’t just watch my grandson die! If you won’t go, I will!” Wen’s grandmother replied, resolute.

The second uncle seemed about to retort, but when he saw me, he paused, silent.

Wen stood uncertainly to the side. Seeing me, he hurried over and said, “You look terrible, as if you’ve got some terminal illness.”

Trust Wen to never say anything encouraging. I was already feeling awful, and he had to add that.

Wen’s grandmother looked at me as if she’d found ironclad evidence, declaring, “He looks like his three souls are gone and seven spirits missing. If that isn’t being possessed, what is?”

Clearly, Wen’s inability to say anything nice was inherited.

The second uncle stared at my face, saying nothing for a moment.

I asked Wen what was happening.

He told me that his eldest uncle had called; Xiao Chao still hadn’t woken up, his fever was getting worse, and the other children were the same. His grandmother woke up early, not knowing what was going on, and kept insisting it was possession, wanting to find a shaman to drive away evil spirits. His second uncle didn’t believe in this and got into an argument with her.

My unusually sickly appearance must have made the second uncle waver.

Wen’s second uncle said nothing more, but neither did he support the plan. Wen’s grandmother kept grumbling.

Eventually, Wen’s grandmother had Wen call a certain relative, asked for an address, and Wen went out to find someone at that address.

Near dusk, Wen returned with an old man. Wen’s grandmother respectfully invited him in, calling him Mr. Chen. The old man was neatly dressed and looked somewhat educated.

The moment he saw me, his brows furrowed. Without waiting for Wen or his grandmother to speak, he walked straight over to me.

Anyone could see there was something wrong with me; I expected his next words to be about “possession,” “ghosts,” or “draining vitality.” People like him, these days, are nothing but frauds.

I was ready to play along with his act and then send him away.

“Don’t go out during the Hungry Ghost Festival or Qingming, stay home for Mid-Autumn and Double Ninth. The one who saved you back then should have warned you.” He said unexpectedly.

I was stunned! That was what my grandfather had warned me years ago! How could he know about my past?

I stared at him in shock, certain I didn’t know him and had never met him before!

“Luo, what’s wrong?” Wen noticed my strange expression.

I ignored him, immediately asking, “You know about me! Did you know my grandfather?”

Mr. Chen shook his head. “I don’t know your grandfather or your story. I can tell from your condition that you once suffered a great calamity and nearly died. Since you survived, someone must have saved you.”

Could it be true? I’d never told anyone about my past, not even Wen. Only people from my village knew, and they were always reticent about the blind old woman from back then, never spreading it. He couldn’t possibly have known about me in advance or investigated my background!

Did this old man really have some extraordinary ability?

Wen’s grandmother didn’t care if what we said was true or not, exclaiming, “You’re truly remarkable! Please, look at his condition—my grandson is unconscious with a high fever too.”

Mr. Chen nodded. “I’ve already heard. Tell me exactly what happened that night.”

Wen had evidently given him a summary earlier, but now described every detail of the night before last, even mentioning the Cantonese opera singing.

“Cantonese opera?” Mr. Chen asked, frowning.

Wen nodded. “It was a female lead.”

“‘Lady Wang Zhaojun Goes Beyond the Frontier,’” I added.

Mr. Chen’s frown deepened. “That shouldn’t be. I’ve never heard of possessed children summoning an opera deity! Do you remember the incantation?”

I remembered the chant. I wasn’t sure if this shaman was truly capable, but since he knew about my past, I decided to trust him for now. I told him the incantation from that night.

Upon hearing it, his face changed dramatically. “That’s not a chant to summon deities—it’s a call for ghosts! And not just any ghosts, but those who died unjustly and violently!”

Everyone present was shaken, even Wen’s second uncle, who had been quietly observing from the corner.

“Let the one involved come, let the one involved come quickly; those with grievances, repay grievances; those with hatred, repay hatred…” Thinking about it, it really was strange.

“Who taught you this incantation?” he demanded.

Wen and I shook our heads; when we arrived that night, the children were already playing, and we hadn’t asked them.

Wen’s grandmother asked anxiously, “What should we do now, sir? If it’s a ghost-summoning incantation, what’s happened to my grandson and the others? Please, you must help them!”

“I’ll go with you to the hospital shortly to check on them, but first I need to save this young man,” he said, looking at me.

I’d never worried much about my condition, but hearing his words, I suddenly grew anxious. Not caring whether he was genuine or not, I asked, “Sir, what’s wrong with me? Is it serious?”

He pried open my eyelids, pressed his hand to my forehead, muttering softly.

After a while, he said, “The Hungry Ghost Festival and Qingming are haunted by spirits; during Mid-Autumn and Double Ninth, deities descend. You narrowly escaped death years ago—your fate is weaker than most. If you’d behaved and stayed home, you would’ve been fine. But now you’ve run into evil spirits, which is why you’re showing these symptoms.”

He turned to Wen and his grandmother. “Clear some space for me, and bring out a table.”

Though I didn’t fully understand what he meant, it was clear that my troubles were caused by coming here during Mid-Autumn. Wen’s grandmother responded immediately, ignoring her second son’s attitude, and ordered him to comply.

Mr. Chen went to prepare his tools.

Wen leaned in and whispered, “Is this for real? You’re not just playing along, are you?”

I answered seriously, “I really have experienced things before. If this old man didn’t investigate me first, then he truly has skill.”

Wen was incredulous. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned it?”

The living room was cleared, and an unused square table brought in.

Mr. Chen took a yellow cloth from his backpack and spread it across the table, then arranged deity statues, incense, candles, and several bowls of water. He was clearly preparing to begin a ritual.