Chapter 7:
Events in Dongpi Village (Conclusion):
He would listen to his grandfather, striving to grow…
Chen Henian heard the crackling of flames. He opened his eyes to a burning fire, the bright red stinging his eyes, bringing him to full consciousness. He curled up, shivering.
His grandfather had said fire was nourishment, guiding the deceased, bringing warmth and light. But it was also a disaster, its burning touch like a thousand ants gnawing.
He inhaled softly, realizing it was a small fire, fueled by meager wood. He sat up, a large black coat sliding off him.
A moment of confusion passed over his face. He was covered by someone else’s coat. He held his breath, looking at the broad back before him. His grandfather was thin and never wore such clean, new clothes. A stranger sat by the fire.
The man noticed Chen Henian’s movement. As he sat up, the man turned, smiling. “Child, you’re awake?”
The smile was stiff, forced. Chen Henian didn’t respond.
He frowned, irritated by his dashed hopes. He stood, looking around. The sky was still dark. He was in a small grove, unfamiliar, silent, still.
The man, ignored, stroked his beard. “There’s water in the gourd, drink it.”
Chen Henian’s head throbbed, his throat raw, a strange taste on his tongue. He spat out a piece of yellow paper.
“You slept for a whole day, your fever wouldn’t break, so I fed you talisman water. It’s good for shock.” The man said, “Child, are you feeling better?”
Chen Henian didn’t reply, his head spinning as he stood. A more pressing matter occupied his mind. He couldn’t see the way home. He tried to walk uphill, but his legs were weak, his steps slow.
The man sighed. “Child, that village is probably burned to the ground. You can’t go back.”
Chen Henian ignored him, continuing to walk. The man followed, catching him just as he stumbled.
“Child, I’m not lying. How old are you? Do you understand me?” The man tried to communicate.
Chen Henian didn’t know him, didn’t understand why this man was blocking his way.
“I want to go home.” He looked up, staring intently at the man, his voice raspy.
“Little child, when I arrived, there were no other survivors besides you.” The man didn’t beat around the bush. “Everyone is dead, the houses are burned down. More importantly, there are many ghost hunters here. If you go back, they’ll mistake you for a ghost and capture you. Do you understand? It’s very scary!”
The man made exaggeratedly frightened faces. Chen Henian simply repeated, “I want to go home.” He glared at the man, his eyes red, not screaming or crying, just stubbornly defiant, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, like a small, snarling animal.
A toothless tiger was no match for pecking chickens and ducks, but the presence within Chen Henian made the man wary.
Chen Henian felt a sudden warmth on the back of his neck. Like a cocoon, a large black shadow erupted from behind him. The man immediately released him, jumping back, revealing the Bagua symbol on his coat. A golden light shielded him from the swirling wind.
“Thank the ancestors for their protection.” The man touched his nose, looking at the massive, shadowy figure before him, almost pleading, “Hey, I’m not trying to harm him, don’t hurt me, I’m a good guy!”
The man, Zhou Xianzhi, was a Daoist practitioner. His arrival wasn’t a coincidence. His yin compass had led him here. He had arrived too late, the village already destroyed. He was surprised that such a remote place harbored a ghost mountain, its resentment palpable even from afar.
The red moon, a sign of bloodshed, ghosts roaming. His compass only reacted to extremely evil entities. This would be a difficult battle.
The ghost wasn’t at the center of the storm, its form elusive, its hand holding the only remaining life, a small child.
To become a powerful ghost, it must have died at least a century ago, an ancient spirit. Zhou Xianzhi felt a sense of foreboding. He tried a peaceful approach. “May I ask this senior your name?”
The ghost didn’t respond.
A ghost without resentment, without resentment, there was no humanity, making it even more dangerous. No desires, only immense power, killing without reason.
Zhou Xianzhi took two steps closer, and a fierce wind blew, swirling ashes around him. Countless tentacles extended from the ghost’s body, forming an impenetrable cage. The ghost held the child protectively, a faint whimper escaping the child’s lips.
Was the ghost going to kill? No. It didn’t attack him, didn’t show any aggression. Zhou Xianzhi realized this ghost wasn’t responsible for the village’s destruction. On the contrary, its presence must have been suppressing the evil on the mountain. Now, with the ghost king unleashed, the lesser spirits ran rampant.
This was a centuries-old ghost, able to detach from its physical form, unbound by the rules of yin and yang. Its head was constantly turned towards the child, as if protecting him. But why would a ghost protect a human?
Puzzled, Zhou Xianzhi performed a quick calculation.
The result surprised him. He laughed. “Unbelievable, truly unbelievable!”
One mountain, two evil entities!
A Tai Yin body, this child was also incredibly sinister!
He wasn’t just trying to rescue a child from a powerful ghost, he had to do it before other cultivators arrived!
Zhou Xianzhi had reached his limit. The ghost was warning him. His compass spun wildly. Any closer, and he would be torn apart.
But the ghost suddenly made a low, mournful sound, a sound of pain.
The child was special to the ghost. The child’s face was flushed, his brows furrowed in pain.
Zhou Xianzhi spoke. “Great ghost, you can read minds. You know I mean him no harm. Give me the child.”
“Is his face burning up? The living don’t react like this. Do you want to see him die?”
The ghost touched the child’s face with its large, rough hand, a gentle touch. The child was delirious. The ghost made a soft, mournful sound.
Zhou Xianzhi continued, “I can save him.”
The ghost turned its head, its eyeless face fixing on Zhou Xianzhi. He felt his soul captured for a moment. The ghost lowered its body, like a puddle of water, placing the child in his hands.
Zhou Xianzhi took the child and left.
But the child wasn’t easy to handle. He disliked the ghost even more than Zhou Xianzhi.
Chen Henian kicked and punched, his eyes filled with hatred, tearing at the black mist. The mist simply dispersed and reformed, taking on a human shape, towering over him. It reached out, then retracted its hand.
The ghost and the child were bound by a pact. The child’s emotions affected the ghost. Understanding this, Zhou Xianzhi lifted the distraught Chen Henian into his arms.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, holding him awkwardly. “This ghost won’t harm you.”
The ghost stood, its featureless face watching silently, then shrinking, returning to Chen Henian, entering his body.
Zhou Xianzhi said, “You have family, right? I sensed the scent of a soul lamp on you. It’s not hard to guess. Your loved one lit a soul lamp to guide you. Do you want to return and make their efforts in vain?”
Chen Henian calmed down, becoming still, only his breathing audible.
Relieved, Zhou Xianzhi watched as Chen Henian asked cautiously, “Can that person be reincarnated?”
Zhou Xianzhi replied, “Of course.”
Chen Henian became completely quiet, the tension leaving his face. Then, his stomach growled.
“Hungry? Don’t worry, I have food.” Zhou Xianzhi took him back to the fire, poking the embers with a stick, retrieving a roasted sweet potato.
He wrapped the sweet potato in a cloth, letting it cool slightly, then peeled the blackened skin, revealing the steaming orange flesh. He held it in his hand for a moment before offering it to Chen Henian. “Child, eat.”
“Eat slowly, don’t burn your mouth, and don’t choke. Do you know how to drink water?”
Chen Henian devoured the sweet potato, gulping down water, some of it going up his nose, stinging.
He felt hunger, he felt pain. He was alive.
Seeing him calm, Zhou Xianzhi relaxed. “Child, listen to me, and you’ll be alright. By the way, what’s your name?”
Chen Henian wiped his mouth, leaning against the fire. “Chen Henian.”
“Which characters?” Zhou Xianzhi asked. “Can you write? How old are you? You look smaller than my youngest disciple.”
He waited, but there was no answer. Chen Henian’s breathing evened out. He sighed, adding more wood to the fire, and draping the coat over Chen Henian.
His name had been given to him by his grandfather.
Henian meant longevity.
Grandpa Chen had found it in an old dictionary, choosing it for its auspicious meaning.
Chen Henian’s fate was ill-starred, his yin energy heavy, born without parents. His grandfather had traded their valuables for milk, their life difficult with an extra mouth to feed, carrying the baby while working in the fields, protecting him from hunger, thirst, and the sun. Since his birth, Grandpa Chen’s world had revolved around him.
Chen Henian stood in his familiar house, the red string on his finger glowing strangely. He opened the door and saw the person he longed for.
“Little Nian.”
“Grandpa…” Chen Henian’s lips trembled.
“Just in time, I’m mending your winter clothes. Come and thread the needle for Grandpa.” Grandpa Chen sat on the bed, rummaging through the nightstand, beckoning him.
Chen Henian hesitated. His grandfather held his clothes. Grandpa Chen had always sewn his clothes, but his eyes were failing with age, and he often asked Chen Henian to thread the needle for him. The small eye of the needle, a bit of saliva on the thread, and it would pass through easily.
Once the needle was threaded, his grandfather wouldn’t let him touch it again. Chen Henian had wanted to make a small pouch for incense ash for his grandfather, but he had pricked his finger before he could finish.
He took the needle.
“Child, what’s wrong?”
His grandfather was looking at him.
Chen Henian said nothing, quickly pricking his finger with the needle. There was no blood, no pain.
He understood.
His eyes were dry. He held the needle in his hand, asking, “Grandpa, what do you want me to do?”
Grandpa Chen smiled. “Of course, Grandpa wants Little Nian to grow up healthy and strong.” He patted Chen Henian’s head. “Grow taller than Grandpa, stronger than a tree. Even without Grandpa, you must live a good life. Promise Grandpa, okay?”
Chen Henian looked at his grandfather, wishing he were taller so he could see his face clearly.
“Okay,” he nodded earnestly.
“Then Grandpa has to go.” Grandpa Chen’s hand left his head. “Be good, don’t worry about Grandpa.”
“Okay.”
“Be good, take care of yourself.”
“Okay.”
His grandfather’s smile turned into a white light, blurring Chen Henian’s vision. His grandfather, in clean clothes, turned away.
He didn’t look back.
He was leaving.
Chen Henian knelt silently, kowtowing to his grandfather’s retreating figure, whispering, “Grandpa, go in peace…”
…
Chen Henian woke up again, lying in a bumpy ox cart. The dirt road stretched before him, the sky above a clear blue.
Zhou Xianzhi turned, smiling brightly. “Child, from now on, you’ll follow me. I’ll be your master, and you’ll never go hungry.”
Chen Henian fiddled with the red string on his finger, nodding.
He thought, he would listen to his grandfather, striving to grow.
