Chapter Fifty-Three: Mistaken Identity

I dared not make a sound, merely watched, feeling a chill sweep through my heart. The evil spirit had changed into its current form—clearly because it had drawn back into itself the lingering resentment and shadowy energy. The missing ear, I suspected, was the handiwork of the black cat.

My heart pounded rapidly. Liu of the White Funeral passed by our doorway, oblivious to me and mother. Was it because mother had just waved her hand?

Liu set his bamboo basket on the ground, placing several bowls beside it. From the basket, he took a bag of rice, filling the bowls to the brim and even scattering some onto the earth. Then, he sliced open his palm, allowing blood to soak into the grains.

The head of the evil spirit inside the basket slowly rose, hovering above the bowls. To my horror, it spat several mouthfuls of blood into them. The spirit retreated into the basket, this time fully hidden from view.

Liu took out a bundle of incense, muttering under his breath as he planted them in the bowls. After finishing these rites, he suddenly lifted one bowl of rice and flung its contents toward the entrance of Wang Erjun’s house. The blood-soaked rice scattered across the ground, sending a wave of goosebumps over my skin.

Earlier, Grandpa Wang and Old Lady Li had been discussing how Liu would not act on his own initiative—that our target should be him. Had I not witnessed it myself, I would never have known Liu could carry out such deeds in silence.

Whatever he was doing, it could not be a good thing.

Liu paused, shouldered the basket, and walked along the alley beside our home, vanishing from sight. Out on the road, at some unknown hour, another figure appeared, hunched over, greedily devouring the rice, inhaling the burning incense through his nostrils. His face radiated satisfaction.

Then another villager emerged, crawling to eat rice and incense.

“He’s feeding ghosts,” my mother suddenly whispered. “He splashed blood rice at Erjun’s door; when these ghosts finish the incense and rice, they’ll go there to feast on the living.”

“He’s gone for now and won’t be back soon. Xiaoyuan, let me look at you properly,” she said, cradling my face, trembling, her eyes full of reluctance.

My heart ached; I could not help but want to cry again.

“Mother… I’ve been unfilial, all these years never visiting you,” I murmured hoarsely.

Her face broke into a gentle smile. Stroking my hair, she said, “You’re just a child. It’s not your fault. Now that I’ve seen you, I am content—no matter how long I had to wait.”

Outside, the ghosts on the road multiplied—three or four dozen now, densely packed, all crouched over, consuming the blood rice and incense. With so many souls, the rice was not enough; they began to tear and fight among themselves, the scene unbearably bleak.

Despite the joy of seeing mother, I worried for Old Lady Li and Grandpa Wang. Erjun remained unconscious; should these ghosts break in, they would surely be in danger.

---

“Mother, why don’t you wish to see Grandpa Wang and Old Lady Li? Didn’t Grandpa Wang say you told him—”

Mother smiled again, shaking her head. “You know, I know almost everything. It was indeed I who told Uncle Wang he could come back to find me. But now, I don’t want to see him or anyone else. I only want to speak with you.”

Biting my lip, I whispered, “Mother, I wish I could always be with you, but I must go back now—otherwise, Old Lady Li and Grandpa Wang—”

Mother glanced outside, speaking softly, “I know you want to warn them of the danger, but these restless villagers will take some time after eating the blood rice. I need to tell you some things and give you something.”

I was startled, looking at her. “What is it?”

Mother let go of my face, reached into a bamboo basket, and took out an old wooden case.

“Open it and see.”

A sudden agitation seized me as I saw the box; images too blurred to grasp flashed in my mind. My breath grew rapid as I picked it up.

There were bloodstains on its surface, reminiscent of the box Grandpa Wang once showed me. Inside was a brush, its shaft dark gold, tip pale green. A roll of paper, as thick as a handkerchief, lay beside it. At the bottom, a round inkstone perfectly fit the box’s width. The inkstone, too, bore black-red stains, as if the ink inside were blood.

Instinctively, I reached for the brush. A shudder ran through me, and the blurred visions suddenly sharpened.

There stood a man in a blue robe amidst a village of countless corpses. Rotting bodies, twisted faces—one glance would break the spirit of any sane person. The corpses were not the most terrifying thing; what truly inspired dread were the swarms of ghosts along the houses and village roads, innumerable, all staring at the man with boundless hatred.

Suddenly, one ghost surged forward, and the others followed in a rush.

The man lifted his hand lightly; in it was a dark gold brush. He drew in the air, and a talisman formed. A flash of blood-red light, and the lone talisman met the charging ghosts.

The scene froze.

In the final instant, all the ghosts collapsed together.

Shock filled my heart.

In the vision, the man’s back was turned—he never looked my way, his features obscured. Yet my soul insisted there was a profound connection between us.

I gasped several times, slowly returning to myself.

---

Mother stroked my face, smiling. “What did you see?”

I gritted my teeth. “A man, drawing a talisman.”

“Do you remember the talisman he drew?”

I hesitated, but the lines and strokes of the talisman were branded clearly in my mind.

“Mother didn’t meet Grandpa Wang because I am not what he thinks I am, and you are not what he thinks you are. I sensed the aura on you—you must have met her, right?”

As she spoke, mother handed me another object.

My whole body trembled. It was the hairpin that had pierced Liu’s chest and was later stuck in the peach tree.

“Mother… do you know Chanshu?”

But her words only increased my anxiety and confusion.

“I am not who Grandpa Wang believes, nor are you. Why? What is the reason?”

My heart raced; I felt the mystery that had plagued me was about to be unraveled.

Why did Chanshu seek me out?

Why did Grandpa Wang show me certain things, as if he knew something?

Why did Chanshu say she had always been waiting for me?

Just as she said—returning here made me remember things.

Whether these memories came from myself or from mother, I was about to know.

Yet mother’s expression grew somber, with a trace of guilt in her eyes.

“These matters are complicated, but I can tell you: Chanshu will not harm you, provided she does not learn the truth.”

“When I tell you everything, you must make a choice: continue as you are with Chanshu, let things follow their course. But what I tell you must be kept secret, never revealed—even if it means deceiving her.”

“Or leave this place, change your name, and start anew.”

My heart skipped a beat. Had mother seen my hidden affection for Chanshu?

But why—why did she say such things?

Why must I deceive Chanshu if I wish to stay with her?

Mother sighed again, stroking my head. “Xiaoyuan, they see you as someone else.”

“You were meant to be him; but I could not bear for you to die before birth, so I quietly intervened. You absorbed that person’s soul.”

“I failed my friends, failed those who trusted me—but I have been true to you, my son…”

My confusion deepened; I muttered, “Mother, what is really happening? Why… why can’t I understand?”