Chapter 27: Stealing Life

At that moment, I understood: the vengeful spirits guarding this place were not limited to Liu of the White Funerals. Old Man Zhou, whose lifespan had been stolen, harbored a venomous grudge and had become a malicious ghost himself. The village chief’s family, all murdered, were consumed with resentment. Old Man Zhou would never seek revenge against Aunt Hui—he likely didn’t even know who killed him, or perhaps he simply didn’t dare. Instead, his rage was left to be directed at me. The same was true for the village chief’s family. The evil ghost had stolen their lives and then used Old Man Zhou’s soul to shield itself.

A cold dread crept deeper into my heart. I hurried into the earthen shrine. In the gloom, my eyes adjusted in seconds, and I saw it clearly: at the very back of the shrine stood a pitch-black wooden box—an urn.

It was unmistakably an urn, yet it filled me with an inexplicable terror, as if a pair of venomous eyes glared at me from within. My entire body trembled with fear. I fumbled for the bottle Old Lady Li had given me, ready to pour its contents. But I hesitated—she’d said to splash it on the evil ghost. Did I need to open the urn?

Worried I might do something wrong, I reached out and lifted the lid. What greeted my gaze chilled me to the core: inside was not ash, but a head. A pallid face, eyes black as pitch, hair matted and sticky against the skull. It wasn’t an adult’s head, but a child’s—half-grown, with a jumble of bones beneath: leg bones, ribs, all small and frail. The urn, over forty centimeters long, was half-filled with bones, the other half with this head.

Terror nearly drove me insane; my hands fumbled, unable to unscrew the bottle cap. Suddenly, a harsh cat’s yowl split the silence. A black shadow hurtled toward me. Instinctively, I swung my arm, striking the shadow with all my might. A sickening crack—bones snapping. The cat screamed, landing beside the urn.

Panting, I reached again for the bottle. But then I felt a chill at my throat—unbeknownst to me, a hand had already closed around my neck. A sinister voice hissed in my ear, “Grandpa didn’t mind you, so why are you so disobedient?” My scalp prickled. Liu of the White Funerals… he was back.

Wide-eyed, I twisted the cap open with all my strength, aiming to douse the urn. But another hand seized my wrist, vice-like and unyielding. I cried out in pain, the bottle slipping and shattering on the ground. The injured cat crawled over, licking the spilled liquid among the shards.

I was dragged out of the shrine. Liu of the White Funerals bound my hands and feet, gagging my mouth with a filthy, bitter rag. All I could do was glare at him in terror.

His expression remained cold and shadowed. “Has Grandpa not treated you well all these years? Everything in this house will be yours one day. Why must you make things so difficult for me?” Sweat poured down my forehead as I silently called for Chanshu, though the hope in my heart grew fainter. With so many ghosts around her, could she even protect herself, let alone come to my rescue?

A trace of regret crossed Liu’s face. “You brought outsiders here, brought uncertainty—Grandpa is troubled. Now you’ve found this place, I see those outsiders have taught you much. Didn’t your father ever tell you to live quietly as a farmer, to pass your days in peace? Now, facing death, do you not feel fear or regret?”

Panic rose within me as Liu stooped to pick up the enamel bowl from the ground, then pulled another bowl from his pocket—a plain ceramic one, its faded pattern barely visible. I recognized it instantly: it belonged to Aunt Hui.

“When someone is meant to die, no matter how you try to guard them, you can’t stop it. Your aunt has another day to live. I have no one else to seek. Since you’ve delivered yourself, I needn’t trouble myself to find anyone else.” As he spoke, Liu retrieved a tattered plastic bag from behind the shrine, scooping out two bowls of rice—half-raw, with a foul odor. He set the bowls before me, grabbed my wrist, and sliced open my palm with a shard of tile.

Agony made me groan as warm blood dripped onto the rice, staining the grains a vivid red. Liu claimed Aunt Hui’s life couldn’t be saved—did that mean the dark fetus wouldn’t be born until tomorrow?

I struggled desperately; I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want my lifespan stolen, to become a vengeful ghost like Old Man Zhou. But there was no escaping his grip. After draining my blood into both bowls, Liu produced a small pouch and poured a quantity of thick, black blood into Aunt Hui’s bowl.

He picked up her bowl, grabbed a handful of blood-soaked rice, and stuffed it toward my mouth. “Eat. Once you do, you’ll know nothing. Grandpa will see you reincarnated as a good farmer in your next life.”

Utter terror shattered my composure. I clenched my teeth, refusing to let him force the rice into my mouth. I had never witnessed a life being stolen, but I remembered Old Man Zhou’s death: his bowl was switched for a metal one, filled with bloodied rice. At the time, I’d thought it was chicken’s or duck’s blood, but now I saw the truth—it was human blood, mine and Aunt Hui’s.

If I ate that rice, my life would end. Liu’s grip grew stronger, forcing rice into my mouth. When I wouldn’t open up, his tone turned vicious. “If you don’t eat, I’ll tear your mouth apart and force you!”

He dropped the rice and used his hands to pry my jaw open. The pain blurred my vision, but as I screamed, I bit down on his hand with all my strength, tasting hot, salty blood.

Rage twisted Liu’s face. He slapped me hard, making my head spin, then grabbed my jaw, nearly dislocating it, yet I did not let go. If I opened my mouth, it would be all over. Sweat poured down Liu’s face—he was still human, and he felt pain.

Mumbling through my clenched teeth, I tried to speak, “Even if I die… I won’t let go.”

Suddenly, pain exploded in my waist and belly. My legs were bound, but Liu was not—he kicked me viciously. The sudden agony sent me sprawling, convulsing on the ground. Blood flooded my mouth—perhaps from the kicks, or perhaps from his hand.

Liu glared down at me, his left hand a bloody mess, the skin torn open with a deep bite mark like those left by village dogs. My own glare brimmed with hatred as I struggled against the ropes, but they only bit deeper into my flesh.

He strode over, seized me by the hair, and yanked me upright. He grabbed another handful of rice, shoving it toward my mouth. I clamped my teeth together, so he kicked me again and again in the waist.

“You, born of a father but not raised by a mother! Aunt Hui raised you, and now she can’t survive, yet you won’t give her a single day of your life!”

“I treated you well—I never wanted to hurt you, but you had to interfere, bringing outsiders to harm me!”

“You have no idea what I’m doing!”

“If you won’t open your mouth, I’ll smash your teeth out and force it down your throat!”

Liu’s face twisted from rage to outright violence. He picked up a brick and brought it down toward my mouth.

I was nearly unconscious from the pain. Despair engulfed me completely.

At that moment, a clear, cold voice drifted from afar: “Touch him again, and I will make the thing lurking in that dark corner suffer—unable to live, unable to die.”

Liu froze, the brick poised in his hand. He peered past me, squinting. “So, an old ghost fancies my grandson?”

“Once I’ve taken his lifespan, I’ll give you his soul. Is that not what you desire?”

At these words, the hope that had flickered in my heart turned once again to utter terror and despair.