Chapter Thirty-Eight: Waiting for You

Carefully examining the scrap of cloth, I noticed black threads entwined around it, resembling strands of hair. Old Lady Li kept walking, and I thought to wait until she stopped before investigating what this thing truly was.

My heart was weighed down, shrouded in confusion. I could not accept that my father and Aunt Hui had ended up like this, nor did I want to simply escape and leave everything behind. Matters in the village were never as simple as fleeing. Mr. Wang refused to intervene; he would not even tell me the truth. Old Lady Li’s words were half-understood; most of them eluded me. Yet, she claimed someone could help me and urged me to return to Hundred House Village, filling me with gratitude.

I could not let my father and Aunt Hui continue to suffer in the village.

Sunlight baked my face, warm and soothing, finally dispelling some of the chill that clung to me. By the time we reached Wang’s Pass, it was already three or four in the afternoon.

Wang Erjun said he would first take his mother home. Old Lady Li nodded and suggested Wang Erjun rest at home as well. She led me to her own house by the fish pond, intending for me to rest there until tomorrow, when we would meet the person she spoke of.

Wang Erjun’s gaze was still tinged with regret; he forced a smile, then guided his mother down the forked path to their house.

I followed Old Lady Li back to her house by the fish pond. The large black dog, called Little Black, bounded with joy upon her return, running back and forth by the pond, no longer inclined to bite me as it had before.

Though the bamboo house appeared to consist of only one room from the front, another small chamber lay behind. Inside was a simple bamboo bed.

Old Lady Li urged me to sleep, promising to take me to find that person tomorrow. I hesitated, refraining from questioning her further about the ghost fetus or the affairs of Wang’s Pass. I understood nothing; even if I asked in detail, it would be useless. As long as Old Lady Li was willing to help, I still had a chance to go back.

I did not immediately show her what Aunt Hui had given me. After all, it was the last relic she left me.

Old Lady Li departed the small room, saying she, too, would rest for a while.

I sat on the bamboo bed, carefully placing the bundle of cloth at my bedside and opening it. Inside was a rough piece of paper, folded together. I unfolded it; it was icy cold, with a frictional texture, almost as if touching bare skin. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I focused on the writing.

“When your fate nears its end, take another’s lifespan and use it as your own—that is borrowing life.”

“The forbidden shadow law: do not enter the Book of Life and Death. Use another’s fate for oneself; exchange fate for fate, lifespan for lifespan.”

“Take three-year-old aged rice, one coin’s worth of the borrower’s blood, three coins’ worth of the lifegiver’s blood, mix into the aged rice.”

“Take three-year-old aged rice, three coins’ worth of the borrower’s blood, one coin’s worth of the lifegiver’s blood, mix into the aged rice.”

“When the lifegiver consumes it, their Yang lifespan may be taken at will. The former burns three sticks of incense to take the fate; thus, the exchange is made.”

“A warning: to borrow life, use only the food bowls commonly used by both borrower and lifegiver. Do not borrow from relatives. Do not borrow from infants. Do not take from two people in succession. Violation brings unforeseeable consequences.”

My eyes widened. The last thing Aunt Hui gave me—

It was a method for stealing life!

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A chill swept through me. Though the paper spoke of borrowing life, it was plainly theft—violent and forceful. People were utterly defenseless; eat the wrong thing, and their life would be stolen without warning.

Where did Aunt Hui get this? Did she steal it from Liu of the White Funeral? Or—

Had she always known that Liu stole life? Only, unwilling to believe it, she kept silent?

Confusion gripped me, along with a twitching ache. I lay back, sighing. What was the point in agonizing over this now? Aunt Hui was dead, and even at the end, I knew she never meant to harm our family. Her ghost still helped me escape the village.

I wrapped the paper containing the method for stealing life back in the cloth, hiding it close to my body.

I did not intend to tell Old Lady Li. Nor anyone else.

I would never steal life.

How could forcibly taking another’s fate be called borrowing? If you borrow a life, can you return it? Once someone is dead, what could possibly be returned?

I closed my eyes as exhaustion overtook me. Since bringing Old Lady Li back to the village, I had not shut my eyes once. Now, letting down my guard, I could no longer resist and slipped into sleep.

I dreamed—a dream in which the ghost fetus born by Aunt Hui lay beside my ear, whispering softly.

What he said I could not quite make out. I strained, tilting my head to bring my ear closer, struggling to hear.

At last, I caught it: “Brother… living is meaningless… give your life to Father.”

The voice was faint and eerie; goosebumps covered my body, hairs standing on end.

I jerked awake, gasping for breath.

Cold sweat drenched me, and my mouth felt parched.

The small room was pitch black; I had no idea how long I’d slept. Night had fallen.

I sat up from the bed, my temples throbbing, my mind clouded.

Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I waited until clarity returned.

The ghost fetus, my father and Aunt Hui’s deaths—these weighed so heavily on me that even in sleep, they haunted my dreams.

I stood and opened the door of the small room, planning to find water in the main house.

The night sky was dark, but the moon shone, stars scattered sparsely. Cold light pierced the gaps in the bamboo roof, illuminating the house. On the table lay a large bowl of water and a few pieces of hard bread.

I drank deeply, ravenously devoured the bread. The gnawing hunger vanished; I burped, then noticed Old Lady Li was nowhere to be found.

Wasn’t she supposed to rest as well?

Where had she gone?

The bed in the main house was empty, the reclining chair vacant.

The house was so small—there was nowhere for anyone to hide.

I hesitated. I had not intended to go out; this was Wang’s Pass, Old Lady Li’s home, and she was free to go wherever she wished. I had no reason to ask.

Just then, a piercing bark erupted outside the bamboo house!

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The sound was loud and abrupt, almost splitting the night sky.

Startled, I hurriedly pushed open the door.

The big black dog stood taut beside the fish pond, fiercely barking in another direction. With each bark, its body trembled, its eyes bloodshot and red, its cold teeth bared and menacing.

“Black dogs rarely bite people… what they bite… is not human…”

Alert, I looked toward the opposite side of the pond, expecting some ghost to have followed us.

But what I saw was a figure in white—

“Chan Shu!”

My heart leapt. I had worried she might not have escaped the village, but seeing her now, all my unease and doubt faded. I rushed toward the pond.

She walked slowly in another direction. Her movements seemed unhurried, yet I could not catch up no matter how fast I ran.

Sweating profusely, I was far from Old Lady Li’s bamboo house when she finally stopped.

Only then did I realize I stood outside a courtyard of black bricks and tiles, beside a grove of bamboo.

By day, the bamboo forest blocked the sunlight; at night, the moonlight fell entirely into the courtyard.

The black, weathered courtyard walls were marred with cracks. The house inside was even more chilling.

Chan Shu stepped lightly onto the steps before the gate.

Suddenly, my vision blurred—

The black-brick, black-tile courtyard vanished—

Before me, the courtyard had become blue bricks and tiles.

Chan Shu, her back to me, murmured, “Come in.”

A shiver ran through me; goosebumps and cold sweat covered me. Gritting my teeth, I steeled myself to step inside.

Just then, a loud shout rang in my ear: “Xie Yuan! Why are you down there? Come up! Don’t go in!”

The shout jolted me awake.

A soft sigh sounded: “I’ll be waiting here for you. You can come anytime. I have something to tell you.”

“Remember—only alone can you enter.”

The voice faded; Chan Shu vanished.

The courtyard reverted to black bricks and tiles, sinister and haunted.

A hand gripped my shoulder tightly; a panting voice sounded: “Xie Yuan! Didn’t you hear me shouting? You must never go inside—there’s the corpse of the ghost widow in there!”

Forced to turn, I was stopped by Wang Erjun, his face pale with fear.

He whispered, “Thank goodness I got up and saw you! Do you know, if you went inside, you’d never come out! The ghost widow died many years ago, but her house is cursed—those who entered before have all gone mad.”