Chapter Six: The Fire

After checking Old Liu the Undertaker’s room and confirming it was all just my imagination, the oppressive heaviness in my chest eased a great deal.

Aunt Hui even killed a chicken and put it on to simmer in the pot.

She went on to tell me that earlier, while working in the fields, Grandpa had set up a few feng shui formations, ensuring that our family’s fortunes would only get better from now on. Although Grandpa wasn’t much for words, she treated me like her own son, and he thought of me as his real grandson. Everything in the future would be left to me.

Embarrassed, I smiled and said I shouldn’t wait until evening. I’d go find Wang Erjun now and explain everything, then invite him and his father over for dinner to have a few drinks with my dad—otherwise he’d just come home and scold me again tonight.

Aunt Hui thought it was a good idea.

I dashed out of the house and was soon at Wang Erjun’s door.

I went to knock, but the door swung open suddenly, and I nearly collided with Wang Erjun.

His chubby face quivered, and his small eyes darted about as he asked how I was.

I smiled and recounted everything that had happened.

Wang Erjun’s tense expression softened into relief. He slung an arm over my shoulder and said, “See? You’re always making a fuss out of nothing! Nearly scared your fat grandpa to death.”

“My family couldn’t afford to feed a grandpa as fat as you. Even the outhouse wouldn’t be enough for you.”

I shot back at Wang Erjun.

Then I asked where he was off to in such a hurry.

Wang Erjun widened his eyes and pointed toward the edge of the village. “Seriously, Xie Yuan, you just ran over here and didn’t see?”

I paused, then turned to look in the direction he pointed.

Thick, rolling smoke was rising into the sky—someone’s house was clearly on fire over there.

A jolt of fear shot through me. With smoke that thick, the blaze had to be huge; I could even see tongues of flame leaping into the air.

“Don’t just stand there! Let’s go see what’s going on and help put out the fire! I think that’s the village chief’s house!”

Wang Erjun urged me on, dragging me along.

A strange anxiety gnawed at me. How could the chief’s house be burning?

Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind—his father died with grievances unresolved, and now, with his father’s corpse left exposed in the wild, was this retribution?

As we hurried along, Wang Erjun mocked, “Xie Yuan, you’re always getting worked up over nothing. You should learn from your fat grandpa here, keep a cool head in a crisis.”

“If I hadn’t taken you to see Old Liu the Undertaker’s room, you’d probably be too scared to sleep for days, and your dad would give you a good thrashing!”

“Nonsense! You’re the one who gets thrashed by your dad! And where on earth did you pick up that kind of talk?”

I shot back, “Who was it that bolted at the sight of the straw mat, scared out of his wits? Who knows if you even wet your pants?”

Wang Erjun sneered, “Your fat grandpa was just reacting on the spot, not scared. My ears are sharp, you know—I heard Old Liu was coming early on. Otherwise, wouldn’t your house have been turned upside down?”

I rolled my eyes at him, not bothering to argue.

Before long, we reached the source of the smoke—the house with flames shooting up to the sky was indeed the village chief’s.

There were already more than a dozen villagers with buckets, splashing water onto the fire. By now, the flames had completely taken over; the buckets could only put out the outermost fire, while the charred beams and gate had already collapsed, making it impossible for anyone to get inside to fight the blaze.

Wang Erjun and I grabbed water buckets and joined the others.

Villagers kept arriving, but not many actually helped. Most stood at a distance, coldly watching, whispering among themselves.

Wang Erjun grumbled, “A bunch of good-for-nothings. The chief’s always been good to everyone, but look at them now—ungrateful wolves, the lot of them.”

I quietly told him to keep his voice down. Most villagers blamed the chief for being too harsh with his old father—that’s why things were like this.

A heavy feeling settled over me again. What the chief had done couldn’t be separated from Old Liu the Undertaker.

Wang Erjun snorted, “Xie Yuan, it’s not that complicated. They just can’t stand the chief getting rich.”

I fell silent and kept hauling water.

It took two or three hours before the flames finally began to subside.

Just then, thunder rumbled overhead.

A torrential downpour crashed down, plunging the sky into darkness.

The weakened fire was snuffed out completely by the rain.

A few villagers sighed, saying if only the rain had come sooner, the chief’s house wouldn’t have burned like this.

A chill ran through me as I gazed at the blackened ruins, the old thought rising again.

Retribution…

The village hadn’t seen a fire in decades, and now the chief’s house had burned in broad daylight, beyond saving.

Was the whole family inside?

The rain grew heavier, and the villagers scattered for shelter.

The cold rain raised goosebumps all over me, a chill running down my spine.

Wang Erjun tugged at me to take cover.

But an urge surfaced in my mind, and I told him we couldn’t leave—we had to check if the chief’s family was inside.

Wang Erjun looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Xie Yuan, are you crazy? If they weren’t home, going in would be pointless. The house could collapse and bury us alive. If they were inside, after hours in that fire, they’d be nothing but ash.”

I shook my head hard, my voice hoarse, “But what if they’re still inside? Maybe we can still save someone?”

Wang Erjun frowned, gave me a long look, and sighed, “Fine, we’ll do it your way—and get out of the rain, too.”

By now, the downpour had soaked us through.

I stepped over the charred, collapsed gate. The ground inside was slick with rainwater, seeping cold into my feet.

Hurrying across the courtyard, I made for the main hall.

Here, only four walls remained, the roof completely fallen in. Fragments of tile crunched underfoot, unable to bear any weight.

I shouted for the chief.

My voice was feeble in the rain, quickly drowned out.

Rain had soaked me to the skin, making everything feel unbearably heavy—especially in the burnt-out house, the sense of oppression was stifling.

“Xie Yuan, we can’t stay out in this rain! We’ll catch our death if we don’t find shelter,” Wang Erjun panted, pulling me without waiting for an answer into a side room off the main hall.

This room had been less damaged; most of the roof remained.

A stench of charred wood and flesh filled my nose, unbearable.

While Wang Erjun wrung water from his clothes, I shivered with cold, squeezing out the rain.

At the same time, I looked around the room.

No one could have survived the main hall—I’d been to the chief’s house before, and vaguely recalled this was a bedroom.

Against the far wall was a bed, half-collapsed and burnt. I let go of my wet clothes and, holding my breath, approached the bed.

“Xie Yuan, what are you doing? That part of the roof has caved in…” Wang Erjun’s voice sounded behind me.

I stopped about a meter from the bed, not stepping into the puddle.

There, amid the wreckage, lay a charred corpse.

The clothes had burned almost completely into the flesh, the scalp bare, the skin like blackened coal—a wretched sight.

The ears were nearly gone, the face unrecognizable.

The mouth hung open, the eyes wide, shriveled and sunken, the expression twisted in agony—one could only imagine the suffering endured before death.

Dripping footsteps sounded as Wang Erjun approached. His face turned ashen, and without a word, he ran off to the side and vomited.

I didn’t feel like vomiting; perhaps I was too shocked, too numb for even that.

With the body burned beyond recognition, there was no hope anyone inside had survived.

At some point, the rain stopped.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the courtyard.

Wang Erjun’s voice trembled, “Xie Yuan, let’s get out and let the village committee handle this.”

I forced myself to nod.

The footsteps drew closer, and I instinctively looked up to see a hunched figure, a roll of straw mat on his back, standing in the middle of the courtyard.

He stood motionless, head bowed; from this distance, with his mottled, aged skin, he looked for all the world like a corpse standing upright.