Chapter Forty-Five: Hair

I nodded, having already made up my mind. Since Granny Li and Old Man Wang weren’t around, there was no way I could avoid fetching the Ghost Bamboo; Granny Li had repeatedly told me it was one of the most important things.

“Granny wouldn’t lie to us. I’ll move quickly and come back after getting Blackie’s blood,” I assured Wang Erjun, promising I wouldn’t knowingly walk into a trap, especially if there were ghosts involved.

Wang Erjun grinned, then lowered his head to look at the rooster. “Isn’t it strange? This chicken acts almost like a person.”

“There’s an old saying: ‘A dog rarely lives past eight years, a chicken rarely past six.’ It’s true. I remember Granny Li’s Blackie is at least ten years old now.”

I nodded. Blackie was indeed clever, able to understand every word Granny Li said.

“I used to think, years ago, if we stole the butcher’s knife, what would he use to kill pigs? I never expected we’d actually take it one day,” Wang Erjun rambled.

I asked him if he’d told Aunt Wang we’d be returning to Hundred House Village.

He fell silent for a moment, then shook his head.

I hesitated, but in the end, I didn’t tell him not to go. Even with the danger, even if it meant risking death, he would still go.

Soon, Aunt Wang went to the kitchen to cook. She killed a rooster from the backyard and prepared a lavish meal.

At dinner, Wang Deshui didn’t show up.

Wang Erjun’s grandparents offered the kinds of heartfelt advice only elders can give. They lamented that after Wang Erjun’s father died, he hadn’t left anything for the family, and his mother hadn’t returned to Hundred House Village in years. Life couldn’t go on like this forever. They mentioned Wang Deshui was skilled as a mason and had shown good character lately.

Aunt Wang kept signaling her parents to stop, but the two old folks continued, finally saying that Wang Erjun couldn’t look after his mother for the rest of his life—sooner or later, he’d have to go back to the village.

Of course, they knew nothing about the strange events in Hundred House Village.

Suddenly, Wang Erjun stood up and said, “I’m full; I’m going to Granny Li’s house,” then turned and left.

Aunt Wang hurried after him, while the grandparents ate in silence. I got up to comfort Aunt Wang in the yard. I told her not to worry—nothing would happen to Erjun. Then I revealed that when we left the village, we’d seen Uncle Wang’s ghost; he’d sacrificed himself to save us and was now gone forever.

I didn’t know if Erjun had told her any of this, but Uncle Wang, before his soul dissipated, had said the only person he regretted wronging these past two years was her.

I repeated everything Uncle Wang had said to Aunt Wang.

She burst into tears, her voice choked as she spoke. Erjun had told her a lot but hadn’t mentioned his father’s soul had vanished—he’d only said he was reincarnated.

I was stunned, regret filling my heart.

Aunt Wang wiped her tears and then smiled. “Old Wang was always like that. Don’t worry about me. I won’t do anything foolish. He gave his life to save you and Erjun—at least he fulfilled his duty as a father. I won’t think about remarrying; Erjun isn’t even married yet, and I haven’t considered it.”

Relief washed over me—Aunt Wang was stronger than I’d expected.

She went back inside to clear the table, and I lay down to rest.

Time passed quickly. Midnight—between eleven at night and one in the morning—was the darkest part of the night.

At about ten fifty, I quietly left the house, tied the rooster to my waist with the rope, and gripped the butcher’s knife firmly in my hand. I headed toward the bamboo grove, waiting outside.

Tonight, a thin veil of mist blurred the sky. The moon hung low, hazy and indistinct, like a round platter covered in fine hair. In the countryside, elders called this a “ghost moon.” Aside from a full moon, this was the most ominous kind.

Judging that the time was right, I entered the bamboo grove.

A gentle breeze rustled the bamboo leaves, filling me with unease. The rooster strutted beside me, chest out, fearless. Although nothing happened, I didn’t dare let my guard down.

The bamboo grove was small, only twenty or thirty square meters, but the dense stalks made it appear pitch-black.

I remembered Granny Li’s instructions: look for the thinnest, black-jointed bamboo.

The moonlight was too dim to see clearly. I searched until I was drenched in sweat, but still hadn’t found the Ghost Bamboo. The more anxious I became, the harder it was to find.

Soon, I reached the far side, near the old crone’s house. The rooster’s feathers bristled, its beady eyes darting warily. The bamboo here felt even more sinister.

At last, I spotted a stalk out of place among the others. The rest were as thick as a fist, but this one was no wider than a finger. Its joints were much more closely spaced, and it was only about as tall as a person. It looked less like bamboo and more like a lacquered stick.

Taking a deep breath, I felt my way to its base. With a swift slash, I chopped it down.

Just then, the rooster let out a piercing crow.

I spun around in alarm.

A hideous face had silently appeared behind me—Wang Bing’s, twisted with malice.

“I told you not to pester her! I’ll kill you and then you’ll regret it!” he spat.

Only then did I see Wang Erjun was holding a knife as well.

He lunged at my throat.

Instinctively, I dodged into the bamboo. Wang Bing’s lips curled into a savage grin. Suddenly, a shriveled hand shot out from his back, seizing my arm.

The hand was withered, hidden beneath a coarse black sleeve, but the skin on its wrist was wrinkled and bark-like.

I struggled desperately, and a small, thin figure came into view—the old crone who had spied on me in the bamboo was now clutching Wang Bing’s back.

She had indeed come to kill me.

Rage flared in my heart. Gripping the butcher’s knife, I slashed at the crone’s arm, cutting through my fear.

She screamed. Her severed arm thudded to the ground.

Wang Bing missed my throat; his blade sliced across my chest, slashing both my shirt and my flesh. Pain flared, but more terrifying was the chill that seeped from the wound, spreading through my body.

Wang Bing’s face contorted even further. “You won’t stop until you’re dead! She’s mine!” he snarled.

Suddenly, the rooster flew up with a mighty flap, landing on Wang Bing’s head and pecking fiercely at his back.

With a shriek, the crone vanished from Wang Bing’s back.

Yet Wang Bing launched himself at me again, heedless of his own safety.

My heart pounded with fear and anger. I could slash at a ghost without hesitation—but Wang Bing was human; I couldn’t bring myself to kill him.

In a flash, he was upon me.

I didn’t dare use the butcher’s knife, afraid I’d stab him fatally by accident. Instead, I grabbed his wrists, but he forced the knife toward my chest with all his strength.

The rooster, now back on the ground, stared coldly with red eyes, as if my life or death was of no consequence.

Wang Bing was incredibly strong.

What frightened me most was the icy pain in my chest, now creeping into my arm, bringing numbness and stiffness.

My strength faded. Helpless, I watched as his knife pressed into my chest.

A cruel grin flickered across his face as he pressed harder.

Regret filled me—I shouldn’t have let go of the butcher’s knife. Even if I’d stabbed Wang Bing, it would have been better than dying myself.

Though the crone had vanished, I sensed she was still lurking nearby, watching. If she hadn’t done something to Wang Bing, I wouldn’t have lost.

Despair welled up inside me.

Suddenly, Wang Bing’s expression changed. He stared fixedly past me.

The rooster’s feathers bristled; it flapped its wings in alarm.

A cold, clear voice sounded behind me.

“That’s not yours. Do you want to die?”

It was Chanshu!

Pain and malice flashed across Wang Bing’s face as he tried to force the knife down again.

But no matter how hard he pressed, the blade wouldn’t budge.

His face twisted in frustration. He shouted, but instead of growing stronger, the knife slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. Black smoke rose from his palm, as if it were rotting away.

“Leave,” the cold voice commanded.

Wang Bing fled in panic, his final look filled with bitter hatred.

My heart hammered in my chest. Though I’d been rescued, I felt only more wary. I snatched up the butcher’s knife and whirled around.

Chanshu stood behind me, clothed all in white.

She glanced at the knife in my hand, frowning slightly. Then she asked, “Why are you so afraid of me now? Do you think I’d hurt you?”

“I’ve saved you many times.”

Her voice was tinged with pain.

Pale-faced, I gripped the butcher’s knife and rasped, “You just want to lure me in here, don’t you? You’re another soul of the old crone!”

A look of confusion flashed across Chanshu’s face. She shook her head. “The old crone? I’m not—”

My heart skipped a beat as she lifted her hand, revealing a lock of hair.

The hair drifted toward me.

I froze, a wave of sorrow flooding over me, tears streaming down my cheeks.

To my shock, the feeling this lock of hair brought was identical to the one I’d experienced when Old Man Wang showed me that other lock.