Chapter Fifty: Soulless

Sweat beaded densely across my forehead—Mr. Wang was actually dead?

The corpse beneath him was clearly his own! His clothes were tattered, and at his neck gaped a bloodied wound, so deep the bone was visible.

Seeing the body for what it was, and then watching Mr. Wang continue to speak to us, an overwhelming chill crept through my bones.

Grandpa Wang had solemnly warned us as we entered the village: Never believe a ghost’s words—they exist only to deceive.

These thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant, and by then Grandpa Wang was already ascending the mountain. I hurried to follow at his side.

Granny Li and Wang Erjun trailed behind us. Out of fear and panic, Wang Erjun gripped the butcher’s knife with white-knuckled determination. The deathly silence on the mountain deepened.

All around us, the trees seemed as though they were on the verge of dying, leaves falling steadily to the ground.

Yet it was only early summer—far from autumn’s decay. The world should have been vibrant and alive. This starkly contrasted with the radiant peach blossoms at the village entrance.

The hillside was dotted with countless graves, each mound pressed close to the next. There wasn’t a single headstone; only the memories of descendants and yearly rituals allowed us to find their positions.

When we’d climbed about halfway up, my memories grew hazy—I couldn’t recall where my mother’s grave was at all.

Grandpa Wang pressed on without hesitation, winding through the woods. At last, he stopped.

Before us stood a solitary grave, overgrown with weeds.

Compared to the other mounds, this one was pitifully small. No trace of offerings marred the earth before it, just a few scattered sticks of incense stuck in the soil nearby.

These were left by others, following custom—offering a few sticks to neighboring graves as a gesture, letting the ancestors and their neighbors know not to quarrel over the tribute.

Grandpa Wang exhaled slowly. “This is your mother’s grave,” he said.

A bittersweet ache welled up in my heart. It had been more than a decade since I last came here.

“Dig it up.”

“We can’t use iron or steel tools. I didn’t bring a shovel for that reason—metal wounds the soul that still sleeps within.”

“Use your hands.”

Grandpa Wang made a gesture toward the grave, his voice low. “Niece, you’ve waited so many years. Baihu Village is almost gone, and your son has grown up. I have brought him to you.”

Granny Li copied Grandpa Wang’s gesture and paid her respects.

I dropped to my knees and bowed again and again before the grave.

“Mother…your son has been unfilial, never once coming to pay respects all these years, and now I must come only for this…”

My voice was hoarse, my chest tight with grief.

Wang Erjun knelt as well, bowing several times. His voice was loud and clear: “Auntie Xie, don’t worry. In the future, I’ll keep an eye on Xie Yuan. If he ever neglects to come, I’ll drag him here myself to bow before you!”

Lifting my head, I couldn’t say why, but I felt as if a gaze from within the grave was watching me.

“Dig,” Grandpa Wang commanded, and began to claw at the earth.

I took a deep breath and joined him.

Wang Erjun worked quickly; within minutes, the small mound was nearly flattened.

After a dozen minutes, the coffin lid emerged from the soil.

Unable to hold back my sorrow, I wept openly.

That sense of being watched only grew more real.

Once the soil was cleared, a red coffin appeared in the pit.

Several talismanic papers were pasted on its surface. The lid hadn’t even been sealed with nails.

Grandpa Wang drew a deep breath and instructed Wang Erjun and me to open the coffin.

He consoled me: My mother had waited all these years, not reincarnating—for the sake of Baihu Village, he said.

But in truth, what did Baihu Village mean to her?

Wasn’t the real reason me?

The village’s calamity would ultimately fall upon me, so my mother refused to leave, even in death.

I had never dared think this way before, but as Grandpa Wang spoke, my tears fell harder.

Wang Erjun silently grasped one corner of the lid. I joined him, and together we lifted it.

Cold moonlight spilled into the coffin.

I stared, unable to believe what I saw.

A faded homespun dress, laundered white, not a speck of dust.

My mother’s hands folded at her abdomen.

Her eyes closed, her features tranquil as if only sleeping.

After all these years, her body was utterly uncorrupted.

Tears streamed down my face as I knelt by the coffin, voice hoarse as I called for my mother.

Wang Erjun stood dumbfounded.

Granny Li muttered, “Impossible. Even if the soul lingers, the body cannot remain unspoiled. There’s no yin energy, no malice—she’s no vengeful spirit, and hasn’t risen…”

I looked up. Memories of childhood surged back—my mother’s face, so achingly familiar.

“Grandpa Wang, why hasn’t my mother awakened?”

Grandpa Wang frowned, voice rough: “I don’t know. Before she died, she told me her soul would wait here. Could it be she’s already awakened?”

Unease gnawed at my heart.

The air around us grew markedly colder.

Then, a child’s laughter sounded by my ear.

The suddenness of it made my skin crawl.

How could a child be laughing here, on this mountain?

The people of Baihu Village were long dead. Who else could laugh, save for a spirit born of the underworld?

Terror seized me.

Just then, Grandpa Wang’s gaze snapped to a spot in the woods.

I followed his eyes. Amid the tangled thicket stood a gaunt man, his face drawn tight over bone, two jet-black eyes fixed on us.

A child of about three was cradled in his arms.

The child’s skin was deathly pale, the smile on its face chilling to the core.

“Father…”

A shudder ran through me, and tears welled anew.

“Xie Yuan! That’s not your father anymore! He wants to kill us!”

My father stared at us with a sinister intensity. Suddenly, he patted the child on its back.

The child vanished instantly.

All around, the forest rustled as if something writhed within it.

A cold, dreadful fear consumed me.

But Grandpa Wang suddenly produced a handful of black rice grains, scattering them forcefully around us.

At that moment, the cloth bundle on Wang Erjun’s back began to tremble.

The rooster burst out, landing among the scattered rice.

It pecked furiously, its eyes blood-red with excitement.

Then, tiny footprints appeared on the rice, one after another, moving swiftly forward.

The rooster let out a shrill crow, raised its head, and pecked at the empty air.

A piercing wail rang out.

A few meters before us, the child materialized, clutching its arm and wailing, “Father!”

The next instant, it vanished; glancing to the side, I saw it once more in my father’s arms, sobbing bitterly, the sound echoing through the mountain.

My heart pounded wildly.

Grandpa Wang spoke in a grave voice: “Carry your mother’s body. We must find shelter. If her soul is not here, she must have awakened early. The underworld child was not seized by the evil spirit—something else must have happened in Baihu these past days.”

I had seen many ghosts before, even fought for my life against the ghostly woman, but never anything like this.

Were it not for the rooster, who knows what that underworld child might have done to us.

The memory of Mr. Wang’s gruesome death sent chills down my spine.

I lifted my mother’s body from the coffin.

Cold and rigid—the very touch of death.

“Down the mountain!” Grandpa Wang ordered sharply.

“Xie Yuan, your mother has been dead so many years, and still you dig her up. You’re no better than a beast.”

My father’s icy voice exploded in my ears.

“You will not leave this mountain…”

A moment later, his voice grew strange and echoing.

Grandpa Wang replied coldly, “A wraith steeped in resentment dares to boast so?”

My father fell silent, leaving only the sinister echoes of his laughter drifting under the night sky.