Chapter Three: Midnight

A mat was rolled up tightly, something bulky inside as if it held a person...

Liu the Mourner walked with slow, heavy steps, as though the burden on his back was almost too much for him to carry.

With every step he took, the mat swayed, its weight making my scalp prickle with dread.

At last, he reached the door to his room, pushed it open, and went inside.

Just as he crossed the threshold, I caught sight of something: from the end of the mat, a pitch-black cloth shoe tumbled to the ground.

I nearly cried out in terror.

Those black shoes were not for the living—pure black soles, reserved for the dead. They were quite small, too; only shrunken feet could fit inside, as happens to the deceased.

Had Liu the Mourner brought a corpse home on his back?

A chill shot through me, fear almost making me lose control.

Yet Liu the Mourner furtively picked up the dead man's shoe, slipped inside, and shut the door behind him.

I dared not leave the yard. My heart pounded so hard it ached, terror threatening to drive me mad.

I closed my door with the utmost care, terrified of making a sound and alerting Liu the Mourner.

Back in bed, I gripped my quilt tightly, not daring to utter a single noise.

The night dragged on endlessly.

Drowsy and panicked, I didn't dare close my eyes, convinced that if I did, Liu the Mourner would be outside my window, silently watching me.

At long last, dawn broke, and I heard my father and Aunt Hui talking in the courtyard. Only then did I allow myself to move, my body stiff and aching.

"Xie Yuan, get up now. Time to head to the fields. The village chief has assigned us two plots—best go tend them at once," my father called.

I answered weakly, clinging to the last shreds of courage.

I dragged myself out of bed, the terror finally loosening its grip, and stepped out the door.

My father was already dressed for the fields, carrying a sickle and a hoe.

"I'll take lunch to you and Grandpa at noon. Get the fields in order, and this afternoon we'll go into town for seeds," Aunt Hui said, sitting on the well curb folding paper ingots for the dead.

Father nodded and beckoned me to follow.

On our way out, I snuck a glance at Liu the Mourner's door—it was tightly shut, not a crack visible.

Once on the village road, my father frowned, "I told you not to drink, yet you still sneak a few sips. Your head's still muddled, isn't it?"

By now, the sun was up, its warmth easing my fear as we left the house behind.

I hesitated a long time before summoning the courage to speak. "Father... Can we move in with Grandpa and Grandma? Please?"

Father scowled at me. "You're no child—don't you understand anything yet? Has Aunt Hui treated you badly? Why would you go to your grandparents'? That's not your home."

I bit my lip, another chill running down my spine. "It's not Aunt Hui. It's Grandpa... something's wrong with him. Last night, I got up and saw him carrying a mat back..."

"Your grandfather handles funerals—it’s normal for him to bring mats home. What are you imagining?" Father lit a cigarette, taking a couple of drags. "A man should act like a man, not fret like an old woman."

Tears pricked my eyes. I sobbed, "Father, a dead man's shoe fell out of the mat! There was a corpse in there!"

Terror surged inside me as I grabbed his arm, my voice shaking. "And I saw a silver bowl in his room, filled with food for the dead! It was the village chief’s father’s bowl—the one that was switched when he died!"

"Nonsense!"

Father smacked me hard on the head.

I nearly blacked out from the pain.

He glared at me, furious. "Do you know what you're saying? You can’t just spout things like that!"

I clenched my fists, biting my lip until I tasted blood.

"Keep that to yourself! If you dare spread it around, I’ll break your legs!"

With that, he stormed off to the fields, anger written all over his face.

He grumbled as he went, "I told you, a boy like you can't handle even a little drink—start talking nonsense after a couple sips. If Aunt Hui heard, she'd hang herself! If the villagers heard, they'd dig up our ancestors' graves!"

His reaction silenced me completely.

Soon we reached the western edge of the village, where two plots by the pond had been set aside for us, overgrown with weeds.

The village chief’s family owned much land; these idle plots, so close to water, would be coveted by others, but they didn’t bother to farm them.

Father bent down to work, and I started cutting weeds with my sickle.

Distracted, I accidentally sliced my finger, yelping in pain.

Father shot me a dark look. "Get out of my sight—can't even cut weeds properly. Stop bothering me!"

He actually chased me off with the hoe.

I jumped away to the edge of the field.

Just then, a voice called my name from across the pond.

Looking up, I saw a fat boy waving and trotting over.

"Uncle Xie! My dad sent me to ask for your help. We need to replace a beam at home. Aunt Hui said you were in the fields."

This was Wang Erjun, a childhood friend of mine. His family lived next to ours; we often helped each other out.

"Is Xie Yuan alone enough to help?" my father asked, frowning.

"Plenty! I just need a hand," Wang Erjun said, already at the field’s edge. "Uncle Xie, this is good land. My dad was jealous last night."

Father smiled, shot me another glare, and said, "Go help him. Tell Aunt Hui not to bother coming to the fields; I’ll come back myself."

He was in a foul mood, and I was desperate to talk to someone—especially someone who might believe me.

So I went with Wang Erjun to his house.

His belly jiggled as he walked, arm slung over my shoulder. "Weren't there several families trying to arrange a match for you yesterday? I’m jealous! If Liu the Mourner were my grandfather, life would be grand."

The mention of that name made my skin crawl. I told him to stop.

Still, anxiety gnawed at me. My father had forbidden me to speak, but could I tell Wang Erjun?

"What's wrong, Xie Yuan? You’re acting weird. Your family got more land, people are matchmaking for you, so why the long face, like you lost a fortune?"

I looked at him, gritted my teeth, but still didn’t dare say it.

"It’s nothing... just drop it..."

Wang Erjun’s face fell. "What, you think you’re too good for my family now? Just because you got more land? If you don’t want to help, I’ll get someone else."

He pulled his arm away.

My heart skipped a beat. I hurried to explain that wasn’t it.

He frowned. "Then what is it? You can tell me anything."

I hesitated a long while. "You have to swear not to tell anyone else!"

He solemnly swore, vowing that if he ever revealed my secret, he’d die without a whole body.

It was like a dam bursting; I told him everything I’d seen about Liu the Mourner.

When I finished, his fat face was frozen in terror.

He was silent a long time before finally stammering, "Xie Yuan, were you drunk last night? Did you see things?"

I wailed, "Why do you sound just like my father?"

His cheeks quivered, and he forced a laugh, trying to sound casual. "What else can I say? This isn’t a small matter. If it’s true, it’s serious..."

But as he spoke, fear flickered in his eyes. "Do you think Liu the Mourner actually steals life? If so, he’d never die—when death nears, he just steals someone’s years. If you’re living with him, what if..."

He broke off, falling silent.