Chapter Forty-Eight: Uproar in the Village

In the countryside, there are countless ways to disgust or vex someone. Throwing repulsive things at someone's doorstep, splashing filth or urine—those are merely the mildest. If tensions escalate, people might toss out tea leaves or medicinal dregs, objects believed to bring misfortune upon the recipient. For truly deep-seated enmity, some would even burn paper effigies or incense money shaped like the intended target. Yet, I had never witnessed, nor even heard of, anyone sending a coffin as a message.

A biting chill gripped my heart. Wang Bing had been haunted by the ghostly crone. He wanted me dead, and the old witch would not spare me either. Bringing a coffin to my door was certainly not the extent of their malice. Sweat beaded across Wang Erjun’s forehead, his eyelids fluttering anxiously. “I’ll go find Granny Li,” he said.

Just then, at the end of the sloping path, Granny Li and Old Man Wang Jiu appeared in the distance. Erjun’s face lit up with relief and he ran to meet them, his grandparents following close behind, supporting each other as they moved.

I approached the coffin, a coldness seeping through my skin, raising goosebumps all over me. Granny Li and Old Man Wang Jiu drew near.

“Shaman, the ghostly crone is at it again! She’s after this boy!” Erjun’s grandfather’s voice trembled as he shouted.

Granny Li’s expression was grim, her eyes filled with suspicion and alarm. Old Man Wang Jiu’s face was serious as he stared at the coffin, his voice altered with unease. “This is indeed a coffin brought by the ghostly crone,” he said.

Erjun called out, “Ma, take Grandpa and Grandma back into the house.”

But his grandfather’s eyes widened, his voice booming and quavering, “Why should we go inside? You’ve brought an outsider here, stolen the butcher’s knife, and now the ghostly crone has delivered a coffin to our door. You’ll be the death of us all! And now you won’t even let us speak?”

Erjun’s grandmother tugged at her husband, whispering for him to hold his tongue.

Aunt Wang’s face was deathly pale as she tried to calm the old man, whispering that Granny Li had arrived and they should say no more.

But the old man was relentless, shouting, “Why can’t I speak? Your father drove you home and then never visited you once all year. Now he’s dead and you come running? Haven’t you heard what happened in Hundred House Village? It wasn’t just your father who died—people say he killed the village chief’s family for gold bars! This is retribution! And now you bring a stranger into our home—how could you think he means well?”

Erjun’s face drained of color. Aunt Wang’s pallor only deepened, while Grandma Wang nearly burst into tears, her voice trembling as she said, “Old man, how could you say such things to your own grandson?”

“I have no such grandson!” the old man roared. “And he’d best get rid of this wretched star that brought the ghostly crone here, or I’ll drive them out with the hoe myself!”

With that, he stormed into the yard, grabbed a hoe, and brandished it at us in a menacing fashion.

Erjun’s eyes reddened with humiliation. I stood frozen, stunned by the old man’s words. It was clear now that the issue wasn’t merely the ghostly crone’s coffin—the family had long since turned against Erjun, and this was just another excuse.

“Erjun, your grandfather is just terrified. Don’t take it to heart,” Aunt Wang pleaded, while his grandmother wept as she tried to pull the old man away.

Erjun hung his head, ignoring them, and muttered, “We’ll leave soon and won’t come back. We won’t trouble you anymore.”

Aunt Wang burst into tears. Granny Li frowned but said nothing more, instead walking over to inspect the coffin. She ran her hand along its length, while Old Man Wang Jiu checked underneath.

After a moment, Old Man Wang Jiu exhaled and said, “This is the ghostly crone’s death-seeking coffin. She’s sealed an avenging spirit inside, searching for a scapegoat. If she carves someone’s birth date and time onto the coffin and leaves it at their door, the vengeful ghost will have the whole night to claim its victim. Even if a night isn’t enough, the spirit won’t rest until it succeeds.”

“Fortunately, there’s nothing carved on the coffin. She doesn’t know your birth date,” Granny Li remarked.

She looked at me, anxiety flickering across her features. “But how did the ghostly crone get out?”

Erjun shot me a probing glance. There was no longer any point in hiding the truth. I took a deep breath and said, “Granny, if the coffin is safe, let’s get rid of it first. We’ll talk on the way.”

Sweat beaded on Granny Li’s brow as she asked in a trembling voice, “She really got out?”

I felt a jolt of fear—this was the first time I’d ever heard such dread in Granny Li’s voice. Even before, with the shadow fetus, she’d never been so unsettled.

Old Man Wang Jiu narrowed his eyes, his voice still steady for all his years. “Don’t be afraid, Xiaohua. She wouldn’t have escaped so easily. We would have sensed something amiss. If she truly were free, she wouldn’t bother with a death-seeking coffin; she’d simply take Xie Yuan’s soul herself.”

Granny Li’s face softened a little. She instructed Erjun and me to carry the coffin to the fish pond in front of her house and toss it in. I hesitated but obeyed. Only then did Granny Li explain: ghosts fear water, and as long as the vengeful spirit in the coffin is submerged, it can’t escape. We’d deal with it when we returned from Hundred House Village.

Little Black limped to the edge of the pond, eyes wary and red, as if ready to lunge at any moment.

Erjun kept close to Granny Li. Having disposed of the coffin, we left the narrow pass behind.

On the road, I recounted what I’d seen the previous afternoon—Wang Bing entering the ghostly crone’s house—and how, that night in the bamboo forest, I’d gone to cut ghost bamboo and found Wang Bing trying to kill me, with the old woman clinging to his back. I also mentioned seeing the old woman spying on me from the bamboo grove but hesitated to mention anything about Chan Shu.

Because Old Man Wang Jiu had examined my hair in secret before, I suspected Granny Li was merely a shaman with limited knowledge—there was no need to burden her with more. It might only confuse her and distract me.

Erjun seemed startled but kept his head down, saying nothing.

Granny Li’s face darkened with anger. “No wonder the ghostly crone has returned. Wang Bing must have tampered with something forbidden.”

Old Man Wang Jiu glanced thoughtfully at my chest, then nodded at me with a faint smile—an exchange missed by both Erjun and Granny Li.

He then turned to Granny Li. “We must be cautious. Wang Bing and the ghostly crone may try to follow us. She certainly bears us a deep grudge, and Wang Bing will be after me as well.”

Granny Li nodded and sternly warned me not to leave their side for any reason.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Old Man Wang Jiu knew I’d been inside the ghostly crone’s house—and possibly that I’d seen Chan Shu as well. The fact that he hadn’t told Granny Li confirmed my suspicions. Perhaps he withheld information because he believed I still knew too little, that I wasn’t ready to face the whole truth.

But I felt I already knew too much, with too many questions unresolved. I needed a chance to speak to Old Man Wang Jiu alone.

My thoughts were a tangled mess. By the time the sun was high, we had descended the mountain and were nearing Hundred House Village.

Erjun slung a large sack with a rooster inside over his back, while I carried the butcher’s knife. I had already given the ghost bamboo to Granny Li, who tied a strange cloth to a slender bamboo pole. She also carried two cloth bags over her shoulder. Old Man Wang Jiu had an old satchel on his back and a wooden box in his hand.

The closer we drew to Hundred House Village, the heavier Erjun’s expression became. He kept his head lowered, silent. I too was filled with anxiety—resentment toward Liu the White Mourner, and worry for my father and the gray ghostly woman. What had become of them now?

This time, I could not let Liu the White Mourner escape. I had to ensure my father and the gray ghost could reincarnate. More than anything, what weighed most on my heart was my mother’s spirit and what Chan Shu had said—that this journey would help me remember things I’d long forgotten.

Lost in thought, time seemed to fly by. At last, we arrived at the entrance to Hundred House Village.

Standing just outside, we saw a lively scene—children playing, a woman picking peach blossoms under a peach tree by the gates.

My eyelids twitched. This was what met our eyes now, but what would we find once we stepped inside?

Suddenly, Old Man Wang Jiu said, “There can be no living soul left in Hundred House Village. Once inside, remember—do not listen to anything anyone says. Ghosts only speak lies. Xie Yuan, even if you meet your father, the gray ghost, or anyone you once loved, do not trust them. Do you understand?”

“Our purpose is to go to the back mountain, to deal with Liu the White Mourner and the shadow fetus. The four of us alone are not enough for this task. Do not act rashly. This is something that was destined twenty years ago.”