Chapter Seven: Offering to the Spirits

“White-Funeral Liu?”

Wang Erjun gripped my shoulder, mumbling under his breath.

I instinctively reached out, covering his mouth with my hand.

He tried to break free, but I yanked him down with me, sweat beading on my forehead as I shook my head cautiously and gestured for silence.

Wang Erjun’s eyelids twitched; he said nothing further.

White-Funeral Liu stood in the courtyard for two or three minutes before finally lowering the straw mat from his back. A heap of old clothes scattered to the ground. He picked up a few pieces and slowly made his way toward the main room.

Soon, Liu was out of sight, but unease gnawed at my heart. There’d been a fire at the village chief’s house—someone had died—so why was White-Funeral Liu bringing the old man’s belongings here? His expression betrayed not the slightest surprise, only utter indifference.

Suddenly, someone gripped my arm fiercely. Startled, I turned to find Wang Erjun, face ashen, body trembling.

A chill ran through me. I whispered, “What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip, forcing out two words: “Let’s go!”

As he spoke, his eyes darted around the room, finally landing on the collapsed bed.

He pointed.

I saw it too—a large hole in the wall above the bed.

In the countryside, houses faced south with doors to the south and a window in the north wall for ventilation. Beds were usually placed under that window. That was the window hole of this house.

Wang Erjun gave me a shove—so forceful I almost fell, stumbling toward the scorched, unrecognizable corpse.

To escape through the window, we’d have to climb over the body. The closer I got, the more pungent the stench of scorched flesh and excrement became.

The terror that had been pressing on me for days threatened to erupt again at the sight of White-Funeral Liu. Wang Erjun’s strange behavior only made my heart pound harder.

Gritting my teeth, I stepped over the corpse and scrambled up to the window opening.

Wang Erjun tried to follow, but he was too heavy—it took him ages to climb through. I braced him so he didn’t fall.

Behind the village chief’s house ran a small river, swollen and rushing from the recent rain. The ground was slick; the least misstep could send us sprawling.

Wang Erjun’s face stayed ghostly pale as he gripped my arm, dragging me away from the house, up a side path in the opposite direction from the main door.

Instinctively, I looked back at the window.

A cold shock surged through me.

White-Funeral Liu had somehow appeared inside the very room we’d just left. He stared straight at us, face utterly blank.

Ice water seemed to pour through my veins, goosebumps rising all over my body.

Wang Erjun, oblivious to Liu’s gaze, kept pulling me forward. I dared not linger, let alone glance back again, and soon he had hauled me along another path.

After winding through several narrow alleys, we reached Wang Erjun’s house. He pushed open the gate, dragged me inside, and slammed it shut before collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath.

I was just as winded, coughing and clinging to the wall.

It took a long while for me to recover enough to ask why we’d run so fast.

Clutching his chest, Wang Erjun’s mouth twitched as he finally spoke. “Don’t you know what White-Funeral Liu is doing?”

I shook my head, bewildered.

Cold sweat drenched his forehead as he stared wide-eyed at me. “He brought the old chief’s belongings—he’s making an offering to the dead!”

Another chill stabbed through me. I demanded he explain, not leave things half-said.

Wang Erjun took a deep breath and told me a story.

His mother had come from another village where there once lived a witch who raised little ghosts. The villagers shunned her, refusing even to let her pass their doors.

One day, the wife of a Wang clansman was caught with a lover in the haystacks. The Wang family, merciless, beat her to death in front of the whole village and threw her body and belongings to the lover.

The lover, devastated and bitter, sought out the witch.

Soon after, calamity struck the Wang family—they all died unnatural deaths. People saw the witch carrying the dead woman’s belongings to the Wang house.

For a time, every night, the sound of a woman weeping haunted the village. Misfortune plagued the villagers: houses were haunted, accidents abounded, even fieldwork led to broken legs.

The lover moved into the empty Wang house; no one dared interfere.

The witch declared that the Wangs had acted too cruelly, and the villagers were heartless. She had helped the dead woman become a vengeful ghost, and the Wangs’ deaths hadn’t eased her resentment. If they wanted peace, they’d have to make offerings and show proper respect—no one could afford to take chances.

The villagers who’d watched the beating all went to offer incense and make offerings, and only then did things gradually settle down.

His mother had been so terrified she broke off her engagement with someone from that village and later married Wang Erjun’s father instead.

Her whole family had considered moving to our village, but later a spirit medium arrived in her old village, the witch kept to herself, and eventually vanished—perhaps died at home. In a few years, no one saw her again, and the matter faded away.

Wang Erjun wiped his brow and clutched my arm. “Xie Yuan, this isn’t a joke! The chief wouldn’t let his father’s body into the house—that’s heartless, unfilial! His father’s sure to be filled with resentment. How could it be a coincidence that after his father was dumped in a wild grave, their house caught fire? Now White-Funeral Liu brought the old man’s belongings there—he’s got to be involved!”

I wasn’t stupid. Even before Wang Erjun mentioned offerings to the dead, I’d sensed something off about White-Funeral Liu.

Whether or not he’d stolen the chief’s father’s lifespan—something even the old man himself might not have realized—there was something wrong here.

The chief’s father would surely resent his family, especially the chief himself.

White-Funeral Liu had insisted the body must not enter the house, yet now he brought the old man’s belongings in. Combined with Wang Erjun’s story, I was certain: something was wrong with White-Funeral Liu.

Was the fire really just a coincidence? Or had White-Funeral Liu set it himself?

But why would he do that? If he’d stolen the old man’s lifespan and no one knew, the family would be grateful to him. Why set the fire and create a vengeful ghost?

It didn’t add up. Or maybe he hadn’t stolen the lifespan at all, and the old man’s death had another cause?

A thousand thoughts whirled in my mind, turning it to mush.

“Xie Yuan, you’d better tell your aunt and your father right away. You can’t stay at home—White-Funeral Liu has to be driven out of the village, or we’ll all be in for disaster!”

Wang Erjun clung to my hand, trembling as he spoke.

Before I could reply, my aunt’s voice suddenly called from outside. “Xie Yuan! Erjun! Are you two in there?”

We looked at each other.

Wang Erjun signaled with his eyes and whispered, “Should we tell her together?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

He opened the gate. My aunt stood at the threshold, smiling. “Erjun, come on, have dinner at our place with Xie Yuan. Your dad went to town for timber, Xie Yuan’s father went to buy seeds—they just got back and are drinking spirits on the heated bed. Hurry up.”

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to say, “Auntie, did you know? The chief’s house burned down—completely destroyed.”

Whenever something happened in the village, my aunt was usually the first to know and get involved. How could she not know about the fire? Her ignorance made me wary, especially after what I’d just seen with White-Funeral Liu.

Was she truly unaware? Was she on our side?

She stared, surprised. “What did you say, Xie Yuan?”

I took a deep breath. “The chief’s house burned down—completely. Erjun and I went to help, but it started raining, and everyone else left. We sheltered in the house, and saw Liu—the old man—with a straw mat. He brought all the chief’s father’s belongings and left them in the house.”