Chapter Thirteen: The Silver Bowl

When I got home, Aunt Hui went into the room to tidy things up, while I stood in the courtyard, catching whiffs of the stench of corpses from time to time.

It was early summer now, and though the weather was cool, it was by no means suitable for keeping corpses. Even in autumn and winter, a body would start to smell after a day.

I didn’t dare approach the woodshed, just stood there in a daze, waiting in the yard.

Before long, Aunt Hui came out carrying a large bundle. Her face was still pale, her eyes unfocused.

I understood; it was because my father suddenly stopped trusting White Liu, and it had upset her deeply.

“Xie Yuan, you stay here at home. I’ve put something in the woodshed; those bodies shouldn’t have any issues. The village chief has already notified people about such a big matter—they should arrive soon.”

She was almost repeating what my father had said.

There wasn’t anything more I could say. Even if I wanted to go, my father would only drive me away.

Soon, I was left alone in the empty courtyard.

Sitting on the edge of the well, I felt an indescribable sense of oppression and, now that things were quiet, a deep regret.

I didn’t believe Carpenter Wang would commit murder. Deep down, I had a vague sense… that something would happen to the Wang family… Could it be related to us having been seen by White Liu?

Otherwise, how could things be so coincidental…?

If I’d gone to find Wang Erjun last night, maybe none of this would have happened—maybe I could have stopped it.

I sat by the well for a long time, with a constant feeling of dread in my chest.

Remembering all the doubts from these past two days, and White Liu’s strangeness, I couldn’t help but stand up and walk again to the door of his room.

My hand touched the cold brass lock. Hesitating for a moment, I steeled myself and pushed the door open.

The room was spotless. The cement floor gleamed as if freshly swept. The bedding was neatly folded on the bed. The cabinet by the head of the bed was empty, nothing on top.

My gaze landed on the cabinet doors.

My heartbeat suddenly sped up. I strode over and pulled them open.

A moldy odor wafted out. Inside were two pitch-black objects, shaped like donkey hooves.

My heart skipped a beat—black donkey hooves for warding off evil?

Except for these, the cabinet was empty.

I hesitated, then stuffed the two black donkey hooves into my pocket.

Looking around the room, I was still unwilling to give up. I knelt and peered beneath the bed.

A chill crept up my spine—a silver bowl sat right there, with only a few grains of rice and some burned incense stalks left inside.

This, too, was one of the old chief’s keepsakes. If White Liu had really been clearing out relics, surely this was the most important thing—why hadn’t he taken it?

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I stared at the silver bowl.

After warring with myself several times, I pulled the bowl out.

Not daring to stay in White Liu’s room any longer, I had to show the bowl to my father and Aunt Hui, let her judge if there was anything wrong.

But I dared not walk out with it in plain sight. If any villagers saw it, there would be hell to pay. I decided to grab a piece of clothing from my room to wrap it up.

Pushing open my door, I immediately saw the edge of a garment sticking out from under my bed. My face changed; I quickly shut the door and walked over.

“Wang Erjun?”

I called in a low voice.

The garment shuddered, and then Wang Erjun’s round, tear-streaked face emerged from beneath the bed, his eyes frighteningly red.

“Xie Yuan, my father is dead.”

His voice was thick with pain, and his face was etched with agony.

“The chief’s youngest son is a dead man—he’s terrifying. I don’t know how he got into our house, but he grabbed my father by the neck and just wouldn’t let go.”

Seeing his expression, hearing his voice, my heart ached for him.

Erjun’s voice broke: “My father told me to run. I was scared out of my mind and bolted. When I came back, he’d already been bitten to death, and the chief’s youngest son wasn’t moving, either. I hid by the courtyard wall. Some villagers saw my father’s body, and soon the whole village came.”

“Xie Yuan, you have to believe me—my father never set that fire. Someone framed us! He died unjustly.”

As he spoke, his gaze fell on the silver bowl in my hands. He shuddered, stumbling back several steps, his face growing even paler, his eyes full of fear.

“The chief’s father’s rice bowl… Why is it in your hands?”

I gritted my teeth and said I’d found it in White Liu’s room.

Wang Erjun’s lips trembled; he spat out fiercely, “It’s him! White Liu must have set the fire. If not for him, my father wouldn’t be dead…”

My heart skipped a beat. “Did you see anything else? Did you see White Liu?”

Wang Erjun’s eyes flashed evasively; he lowered his head. “No… I didn’t see…”

I pressed him, asking what else he hadn’t told me, to hurry and speak up.

But he just wouldn’t say another word. He sat there, face drawn in sorrow, staring blankly at the window.

I sighed, no longer pressing him. Instead, I told him to hide out in my room; the whole village was looking for him, saying his family was to blame for the chief’s family’s deaths. Only then did Erjun rasp out, “Xie Yuan, I had nowhere else to go. If the villagers saw me now, they’d tie me up.”

I whispered that it was safe here—our house was full of the chief’s family’s corpses; no one would want to come near.

Wang Erjun was silent for a while, then stared intently at the bowl in my hands and said, “Xie Yuan, can you do me a favor?”

I hesitated. “What is it?”

His voice was hoarse: “I know you’ve been suspicious of White Liu all along. Now I’m sure it’s him—because we saw what he did, and told Aunt Hui. He wants to kill us. When the chief’s youngest son broke in, his face was twisted, and he lunged straight at me! He wanted to bite me, not my father! My father died saving me…”

My expression changed. Indeed, it was Wang Erjun and I who’d told Aunt Hui about the relics.

Some villagers had seen White Liu too, which had forced Aunt Hui to reveal the story.

Suddenly, I remembered what Erjun had said about the incident in the neighboring village.

My family knew about it, but the other villagers didn’t. Could it be that White Liu wanted to silence witnesses? Was he afraid Erjun and his father would spread the word?

Before I could answer, Erjun grabbed my arm. “Two years ago, when my parents quarreled, my mother went back to her family home. She doesn’t know what happened to my father. Please, go find her, and ask her to take you to Granny Li. As long as Granny Li is asked, we’ll know if White Liu is behind this.”

His face turned even more ashen. “Xie Yuan, I don’t think he’ll let us go. Only Granny Li can save us.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Granny Li, the shaman who came to your village later?”

He nodded. “Yes. Last night I told my father I’d fetch her, but he stopped me—said it was none of our business, didn’t want to get involved, and since it concerned White Liu, he was afraid to ruin things with your family.”

“But this can’t wait any longer, or we’re both doomed!”

Erjun slumped to the ground. “I can’t leave the village—only you can go. Our lives are in your hands.”

I hesitated, a feeling of dread rising in me.

“I have to tell my father and Aunt Hui…”

“Xie Yuan, you can’t! Your father’s fine, but can you be sure about Aunt Hui? White Liu’s her father! She tries to see the best, but if he really stole longevity or set the fire, who would she help? She’s not your real mother—would she let you fetch Granny Li? Maybe she only pretends to be on our side…”

His jowls trembled as he spoke.

“Enough! You can’t talk about Aunt Hui like that!”

My own face darkened.

Aunt Hui had always stood with us, and done so much for my father.

But Erjun just shook his head, his voice rough and low: “Xie Yuan, you really can’t tell her. If you treat me as a brother, I beg you, just save my life—bring Granny Li here.”

With that, he dropped to his knees and kowtowed hard before me.