Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 5

Chapter 5:

Events in Dongpi Village (Part 5):

“Be good, Grandpa will take you home…”

Chen Henian’s lips were bloodless, his mouth slightly open, weak breaths escaping his lungs. As the black mist enveloped him, it turned into black snow, cold and harsh against his cheeks.

Suddenly, a hand emerged from the void, touching his face, catching a tear that fell from his eyelashes.

The black mist paused beside him. It had no distinct human form, only swirling snowflakes, like a surging tide or flapping banners, merging into the vast darkness of the night sky.

The crimson moonlight descended, a cold wind whistling across the lake. The hand moved to the wound on Chen Henian’s forehead, making him shudder. The decaying flesh of the hand revealed a finger bone, then turned into black water, flowing into Chen Henian’s flesh.

It became a viscous black liquid, clinging to his skin, seeping into his body.

Chen Henian reacted instantly. His eyelids fluttered, he gasped, and coughed awake.

His first sensation was cold. The temperature by the lake was like an ice cellar. He hugged himself, shivering, touching his head, feeling only hair and sweat. Incredibly, his eyes were dry, the ache in his nose gone.

He sat up, looking up at the red moon, an eerie sight, just like in his dream. He took a few tentative steps, feeling an itch on the back of his neck, but nothing when he touched it.

The only difference was his hand. A red string had appeared on the ring finger of his left hand, tightly wound without a knot, like a serpent constricting its prey. He tried to pull it off, but the harder he pulled, the tighter it became.

Alone by the lake, Chen Henian stood there, his lips pursed, disappointed that he hadn’t found what he was looking for. But the sky was darkening, and he had to go home.

He trudged towards the shore, leaving muddy footprints. He intended to return the way he came, but the path had completely changed.

The tall grass was gone, replaced by towering locust trees. The path was clear, winding up the mountain, no mist or damp coldness, only endless tree trunks.

Chen Henian walked slowly, glancing around. There was no giggling, no weasels. But after a few steps, he heard a sharp cry.

A human cry, perhaps a child’s. He wasn’t wrong. A baby girl appeared on the ground, her face blue from crying, wrapped in a cloth, the umbilical cord still attached.

The baby wailed, unable to move or speak, lying on the muddy path. A single twig could crush her. Her cries, sharper than a cuckoo’s, pierced Chen Henian’s ears.

The strange baby had sparkling eyes. Chen Henian hesitated, then approached, reaching out to pick her up. But his hand went right through her, grasping nothing.

The baby’s cries intensified, her mouth opening wide, then turning purple. The sound stopped. She was dead, her body and umbilical cord decaying, a blue shadow separating from her formless body.

But the crying didn’t stop. One baby died, and more appeared, the cries coming from all directions. Blue shadows clung to the branches, like will-o’-the-wisps in the forest.

The crying made Chen Henian dizzy. Suddenly, something cold covered his ears. If it was a hand, it was the hand of a dead person. He flinched, and the sensation vanished. The crying stopped.

The babies were gone.

Chen Henian turned, but the path behind him was empty, silent.

His finger grew warm. The red string uncoiled slightly, pointing in a direction.

It wasn’t harming him, so he followed. He rounded a bend and saw a dark figure climbing the mountain. He quickly hid behind a tree.

As the figure drew closer, Chen Henian recognized it as a man, a villager. He heard the man say, “Mother, I’ll leave you here.”

He gently lowered the bamboo basket on his back. Inside sat an elderly woman.

She didn’t speak. The man knelt and kowtowed twice.

“Your son is unfilial.” He then walked down the mountain without looking back.

The man had abandoned his mother. She sat in the basket, her wrinkled face and clouded eyes suggesting blindness. She didn’t move, like a baby in the womb, breathing weakly, her gasps barely audible above the wind, before finally closing her eyes.

She hadn’t noticed Chen Henian. He took a few steps forward. A cold wind blew, and the old woman vanished. The towering trees began to wither, blue flames engulfing the mountain, growing stronger, revealing twisted shadows within, faceless, their mouths gaping holes, spewing mournful cries.

Hands covered Chen Henian’s eyes, an icy chill spreading through him. He gasped, calling out, “Mother?”

He wasn’t sure. The hands disappeared. He opened his eyes, and he was home.

“Grandpa!” He saw a figure and called out, running towards it, but stopped, unsure.

His grandfather looked younger, his back straight, wearing clean clothes and shoes, his hair not yet gray. He recognized him by his expression, his grandfather’s furrowed brows conveying anger.

Chen Henian was startled into silence. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be there, but a man emerged from the inner room and knelt before his grandfather. “Father, let me go. You’re old, don’t suffer anymore.”

Grandpa Chen pointed at the man, trembling with rage. “You want our Chen family line to end?!”

“Isn’t this our Chen family’s fate? We must pay for the sins of our ancestors.” The man knelt resolutely, his expression firm.

Grandpa Chen grabbed a bamboo stick, raising it to strike the man. “That’s the rule passed down by our ancestors!”

“I know,” the man said. “But what’s the point of living like this? If I had a child, I couldn’t bear to see him suffer like this, guarding that mountain for his entire life.”

Grandpa Chen’s raised hand didn’t fall.

The man kowtowed to his father. “I’m young and full of yang energy, so I have the best chance of success. That mountain must be sealed, no more deaths. I’m unfilial, I can’t take care of you in your old age.”

“Xiuxiu.”

A woman emerged from the inner room, her head lowered, hiding her red, swollen eyes.

The man stood and embraced her. “Take care of my father. If you find a suitable man, remarry. You don’t have Chen blood, you can leave. I’ll fill that coffin. It’s decided.”

Grandpa Chen closed his eyes, sighing heavily, leaning on his chair.

These weren’t real people. Chen Henian stood in the middle of the room, watching them pass through him. He followed, passing through the brightest part of the house.

He opened his eyes, standing at the foot of the mountain once more.

It was afternoon now, the sun casting a golden glow on the ground. The familiar black-bellied grass was gone.

Chen Henian didn’t know that his family were the guardians of the mountain, bound to Dongpi Village for generations.

His family had always dealt with death, a consequence of an ancestor’s encounter with an evil entity. Each generation had only one child, unable to have many descendants. Thus, sons took wives from outside, and daughters married into other families. This was their tradition.

The ominous mountain wasn’t inherently evil. It was covered in yang-rich locust trees. But villagers abandoned unwanted baby girls and elderly there to die. Over time, the accumulation of death and resentment turned the mountain sinister.

Those who ascended the mountain never returned. The mountain’s miasma was spreading down the slopes. If it continued, the entire village would perish at the hands of the evil entities. The only solution was to seal the yin gate with a red coffin buried in the yellow earth, along with a living person, creating a yang gate to prevent the evil from descending.

Grandpa Chen’s son was the living sacrifice. Only Chen blood could complete the ritual. He lay in the coffin, wearing burial clothes, as the craftsman sealed it shut.

Chen Henian saw his mother weeping inconsolably, surrounded by villagers. His grandfather, his eyes bloodshot, watched silently as the coffin was lowered into the ground, handfuls of earth burying it.

The coffin was buried at the foot of the mountain. Only after the last handful of earth leveled the ground did Grandpa Chen realize he had lost his son. He almost collapsed, caught by the villagers.

His wife, Xiuxiu, stood, her eyes swollen, and said, “Old man, it’s time for the ritual.”

Grandpa Chen nodded, sprinkling chicken blood on the mound, and lighting three incense sticks. When the incense burned out, the miasma at the foot of the mountain disappeared, the yang gate formed.

A funeral was held in the Chen house. Chen’s wife would sometimes visit the foot of the mountain, standing at a distance, speaking to the grave. Gradually, lush black-bellied grass grew on the mound.

One day, when she visited again, her belly was swollen. Chen Henian knew at first glance that it was him.

His mother cried again.

“Mother…”

Chen Henian tried to call out to her, but she couldn’t hear.

So this was his mother. Her long, black hair, her gentle eyes, her hand caressing her belly with anticipation, telling the yellow earth that this was her child.

Her eyes told Chen Henian how much she loved him. Besides his grandfather, no one had ever looked at him like that.

Chen Henian’s eyes stung. He ran towards her, but his arms embraced only air, and he fell to the ground. He must be dirty and smelly, like an unwanted stray dog.

Without his grandfather, he truly would be a stray dog.

He had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have listened to Fatty Hu and gone up the ominous mountain. He had caused his grandfather’s death. Chen Henian wanted to cry.

“Little Nian, Little Nian, wake up.”

Chen Henian lay on the ground, dazed, hearing his grandfather’s voice, feeling his familiar calloused hands.

He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or awake. He was lying in the black-bellied grass, at the foot of the mountain. He saw his grandfather’s worried face, but he wasn’t sure.

…

Grandpa Chen had searched the entire village, finally finding Chen Henian at the foot of the mountain, lying motionless on the ground. Terrified, he rushed over, lifting his grandson’s head.

He rarely felt such fear, worried that his grandson’s soul had been taken. He checked his pulse, calling his name. Finally, Chen Henian woke up.

“Be good, Grandpa will take you home.” Grandpa Chen held him tightly in his arms.

The warmth of his grandfather’s body, the embrace, was real. Chen Henian burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably, the salty taste of tears on his lips.

“Grandpa, I was wrong!”

“I was wrong, I’ll change, I’ll listen to you from now on, don’t leave.” Chen Henian cried even harder, remembering the cold coffin buried in the yellow earth in his dream, the hole growing larger and larger, large enough to swallow him whole.

Grandpa Chen patted his back, afraid he would faint from crying. Chen Henian’s tears flowed, his sobs muffled against his grandfather’s shoulder.

His eyes were swollen, his vision blurry. Grandpa Chen continued to comfort him.

But then, the miasma on the mountaintop began to spread rapidly, the gray mist reaching halfway down the slope.

The moon turned blood-red, just like in Chen Henian’s dream. The red string on his finger darkened, tightening imperceptibly.