Chapter 36:
A Strange Case of Male Pregnancy (Part 1):
“Him?” Jiang Wan Pointed…
6:00 AM. The Gates of Hell had closed, the wandering spirits returned to the underworld. The sun rose later than usual, the streets still covered in ashes from burnt offerings. Chen Henian woke up, the great ghost having retreated back into his body. He got out of bed, washed his face, dressed, and went downstairs. The shop was silent, the air heavy with yin energy. He opened the door to let in some fresh air, then saw a figure lying by the entrance.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Jiang Wan, ignoring the perfectly good bed upstairs, had slept by the door, a burnt brazier beside her. She opened her eyes, startled.
“Despicable, utterly despicable—”
The voice came from his right, loud at first, then fading into a weak grumble. He turned, not recognizing the figure at first.
“Da Huang.”
“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice laced with disgust.
The mirror ghost, its form emaciated, resembled a mummy wrapped in white cloth, not the usually flamboyant opera singer. Mirror spirits needed the nourishment of the mirror.
“Hah…” It glared at him resentfully, then, as it drifted towards the mirror, it hesitated. Chen Henian understood. The great ghost had created a barrier, locking them out.
Jiang Wan sat up, rubbing her eyes, brushing the dust off her clothes, then handed him a cardboard box she had been using as a pillow.
Chen Henian didn’t take it, and the box fell to the ground, its lightness suggesting it was empty.
“What?” Jiang Wan looked up. “It’s yours, not mine.”
“Mine?”
“You were sleeping soundly,” she said, a playful smile on her lips. “Someone came by in the middle of the night, delivering this for Chen Henian. That’s you, right? I held onto it for you, didn’t even peek inside. I’m quite considerate, don’t you think?”
Chen Henian picked up the box. “You only saw one person?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Nothing important, just a messenger.” She walked inside. “I’m thirsty, where’s the water?”
Chen Henian placed the box on the table. “Tap in the downstairs bathroom.”
Jiang Wan went to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later, finding Chen Henian holding a piece of paper and a few bills.
Yunan Town, take the bus.
Six characters, written in elegant calligraphy.
“Who sent this?” Jiang Wan asked. “Your master?”
“Yes,” Chen Henian replied. “We’re leaving for Yunan at noon.”
“Yunan? Where’s that?”
“We’ll find out when we get there.”
“Is your master telling you to hide?”
“No.” Chen Henian was certain. He knew Zhou Xianzhi. “There must be something there, something valuable.”
The money Zhou Xianzhi had left was enough for a round trip. Knowing his master’s frugality, he was either nearby, aware of Chen Henian’s situation, or he had foreseen his encounter with Jiang Wan.
Jiang Wan, at least, was a valuable asset.
They took the 1:30 bus. Yunan was a remote, unfamiliar town, a six-hour journey through mountains and forests. They were the only passengers left when the bus reached its final stop, a mountain road, at eight in the evening. The ground was muddy from recent rain, the grass knee-high.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the driver, an older man with a graying beard, said, turning off the engine. “There’s no gold in these mountains. Do you even know where you are? Kids these days, no respect for their own lives.”
“We don’t know where we are, Uncle. We were visiting family, but we took the wrong bus,” Jiang Wan replied smoothly. “You seem like a kind person, can you help us? Our family will be worried.”
The driver looked them up and down. “The next bus leaves at 5:30 tomorrow morning. You can go back then.” He locked the bus doors. “You’re lucky you met me. It’s not safe to wander around here at night. Come with me.”
He gestured in one direction, but Chen Henian pointed towards a distant village, a stone marker visible in the distance. “We’re going there.”
“You can’t go there!” the driver said.
“Why?” Jiang Wan started to ask, but Chen Henian simply said, “Let’s go,” and walked towards the village without looking back.
The driver scoffed. “Looking for death. Don’t blame me.”
He walked away in the opposite direction.
Jiang Wan followed Chen Henian. “What do you know?”
He didn’t answer, and she looked around, noticing the compass in his hand. “A compass? A Southern Daoist artifact? How did you get your hands on that? Your skill, or your master’s?”
“Shut up,” Chen Henian replied, his gaze fixed on a specific direction, the compass needle spinning. It was somewhere in this village.
The muddy path was narrow, the houses lit, but the streets were deserted. The compass led them uphill, to a house surrounded by a tall fence, the only house on this small hill.
As Chen Henian considered how to enter, Jiang Wan simply knocked on the gate. She waited, then knocked again, louder.
Villagers rarely welcomed outsiders.
Chen Henian put away the compass, bending down to examine the ground.
“What are you looking at?” Jiang Wan asked.
“Quicklime,” he replied. “Freshly sprinkled.”
A white line circled the house, the ground damp, but the powder dry. He touched it, confirming his suspicion.
“What’s it for?”
“It can’t ward off evil,” he said.
Just then, the door opened.
“Who is it?! Do you want to die?!” A middle-aged man, holding a cleaver, glared at them menacingly.
“Excuse me, we’re so sorry to disturb you,” Jiang Wan said, ignoring the cleaver. “My brother and I got lost, took the wrong bus. The driver said we have to wait until tomorrow morning. We have nowhere to stay, and it’s scary out here in the mountains. Your house is so big, could we possibly stay here for one night? We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
The man looked them up and down.
Jiang Wan continued, her voice pleading, “We’ll be no trouble at all, Uncle, please, can you help us?”
“Outsiders?” the man asked. “Where are you from?”
“Chen Village,” she replied. “Have you heard of it?”
“That’s miles away.” His expression softened. “Come in.” He placed the cleaver in a nearby basket. “But I have to ask my wife first. Come inside, it’s not safe out here.”
Chen Henian and Jiang Wan entered the courtyard. The man closed the gate behind them. Chen Henian noticed it was a simple wooden gate, easily secured with a wooden latch.
The man hurried inside, calling out, “Honey, honey! We have guests!”
“Guests? Who the hell are they? Why did you bring them in without asking?” A woman’s voice, sharp and irritated, came from inside. She emerged, barefoot.
“Don’t mind her, she always speaks like this,” the man said, walking towards her. “They’re lost, and it’s not safe for them to be outside. Don’t we have a spare room?”
“Outsiders…” The woman’s harsh expression softened into a smile. “Yes, yes, we have a spare room. Don’t mind the mess.”
“Thank you, you’re so kind,” Jiang Wan said.
The woman led them inside. “Have you eaten? The roads are muddy, it must have been a difficult journey.”
Chen Henian observed the courtyard as Jiang Wan chatted with the woman, her friendly demeanor saving him the trouble of explaining.
There were three people in the household: the man, Yang Dali, his wife, Yang Juan, and their twenty-seven-year-old son, Yang Zhen.
As they talked, Yang Juan turned to Chen Henian. “How old are you, young man? Are you an adult?” She looked at him intently.
Chen Henian, maintaining the role Jiang Wan had assigned him, replied, “I am.”
“Good, good, you’re very handsome,” Yang Juan smiled. “Not like my son, fat and clumsy.”
Her son was eating inside. Chen Henian had seen his back; he didn’t seem particularly fat, just a noisy eater.
“Are you hungry? Join us for dinner?” Yang Juan offered.
“No, thank you,” Chen Henian declined, his voice cold.
“We don’t want to trouble you any further,” Jiang Wan added. “We ate on the bus. We’re just tired and need to rest.”
“Alright,” Yang Juan said. “Husband, take them to the spare room.”
Yang Dali led them along a concrete path to a small building beside the main house. “This room hasn’t been used in a while, it’s a bit dusty, please bear with us.”
He opened the door, switching on a single lightbulb, illuminating the small, dimly lit room.
“Do you need hot water?” he asked.
“No,” Chen Henian’s expression remained unchanged.
“Then rest well. Let me know if you need anything. But I have to warn you, don’t go outside after midnight! Keep the doors and windows locked. This is not a joke. Our village is… troubled. It’s not safe.”
“What do you mean?” Jiang Wan frowned, her voice laced with fear. “Are there… ghosts?”
“Not exactly, but don’t tempt fate,” Yang Dali said. “You’re leaving anyway, the less you know, the better.”
“I saw quicklime outside. What’s that for?” Chen Henian asked.
“To ward off insects,” Yang Dali dismissed his question. “Rest well, you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”
He closed the door and left.
Jiang Wan immediately pressed her ear against the door, listening to his footsteps. When he was gone, her expression changed. “Is there something wrong with this house? I don’t sense any yin energy.”
Chen Henian’s compass wouldn’t be wrong. He said, “It’s not a ghost.”
“Perhaps a spirit, or some other entity.”
“We’ll find out tonight,” he said.
But he didn’t approach the dusty bed with its faded red floral bedsheet, his disgust evident. He wouldn’t sleep on that.
Jiang Wan, understanding, rolled up the thin blanket, placing it on the bed, creating the illusion of a sleeping figure.
Chen Henian, dressed in black, sat in a dark corner of the room. With the lights off, he was invisible from outside.
The door was locked.
They closed their eyes, the night dark and silent. They didn’t have to wait long. They heard footsteps.
Chen Henian and Jiang Wan opened their eyes simultaneously, neither speaking nor moving.
It was a human.
The sound was unmistakable, coming from outside the window.
A shadow appeared, a hunched figure peering through the window, its movements furtive. It was Yang Dali.
He moved cautiously, as if not wanting to wake them, a faint rustling sound coming from the window.
He didn’t stay long, leaving quickly, his task completed. When he was gone, Chen Henian went to the window. Yang Dali had removed a stone that had been blocking a small hole in the corner.
The stone lay on the ground outside.
Chen Henian touched the hole, just large enough for a fist to pass through. He chuckled coldly.
Warning them to keep the doors and windows locked, then sneaking around to create an opening.
“What do you think it is?” Jiang Wan asked.
“We’ll find out when it comes in,” Chen Henian replied. “I’m waiting for it.”
Neither of them bothered blocking the hole.
“Alright, you go to sleep,” Jiang Wan said. “I’ll keep watch.”
Chen Henian didn’t argue, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes.
The village was dark at night, no streetlights, nothing visible outside the window.
A long, thin shadow approached, bringing with it a strong smell of damp earth.
Its shadow on the wall had four legs.
A four-legged snake, not an ordinary snake, but a snake spirit.
It slithered through the hole, flicked its tongue, and vanished.
Jiang Wan checked, but it was truly gone.
“That’s it? Just an ordinary snake, barely an adult, coming and going? What are they so afraid of?”
“We’ll find out tomorrow,” Chen Henian said, closing his eyes again.
Whoever was trying to harm them would know the answer. He wasn’t in a hurry, sleeping for a few hours, then awakened by the sound of snakes.
He opened the window. Four small snakes, different colors, lay intertwined on the ground below.
Four snakes, a sign of death, a common belief in this rainy region.
Chen Henian and Jiang Wan exchanged glances.
Jiang Wan suddenly ran outside, yelling, “Snakes! Snakes—!”
Her cries brought the Yang family out.
They rushed to the courtyard, Yang Dali and Yang Juan wielding sticks, beating the snakes. “You’ve ruined everything!” Yang Dali yelled.
The snakes, intertwined but not biting, bled from the blows.
“That’s so cruel, don’t kill them,” Jiang Wan said, approaching them. “Why don’t you let them go?”
“Let them go?” Yang Juan scoffed. “Do you know why they’re here?”
“Why?” Jiang Wan asked.
“To lay eggs!” Yang Juan’s voice was sharp. “Those beasts sneak into houses, looking for men to impregnate!”
“What do you mean?” Jiang Wan asked. “Men giving birth to snakes?”
Yang Juan nodded.
“Why didn’t you close the window last night?” Yang Dali said. “Now you’ve been targeted! You can’t escape! Pregnant men, their bellies filled with dozens of snake eggs!”
“Men?” Jiang Wan was stunned.
“The snakes only target men,” Yang Juan said, her eyes turning to Chen Henian. “The pregnancy will show in two days, and the birth will happen in a month. The snakes will tear through your belly.”
Chen Henian remained silent. “Him?” Jiang Wan pointed at him. “He’s pregnant with snakes?”
“There’s no mistake,” Yang Juan said, her voice firm. “He’s the one, he’s been chosen.”
Jiang Wan wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. She bent over, slapping her thigh, feigning distress.
“What are we going to do?” she cried. “My brother is so young! He can’t give birth to snakes!”
