The scent of something burnt drifted from the grave, and Bai Jingren seemed to have quieted down for the moment. Thankfully, I hadn’t brought any tools to pry open the coffin—otherwise, I’d have been a goner for sure. If Bai Jingren had any lingering resentment that hadn’t dissipated, he would’ve torn me to shreds.
I scrambled to my feet, fumbling for my phone in the bag to use as a light. After several attempts, I finally managed to light the lantern with my lighter. A few mountain spirits tried to approach again, but I angrily shouted, “Get lost!”
The little black dog whimpered, its neck severely wounded, blood streaming down. Tears poured from my eyes as if I were mourning a longtime friend. “If you survive this,” I choked out, “from now on, whatever meat I eat, you’ll eat too. You’ll be my brother.” The little black dog whimpered twice in response, struggling to stand before collapsing into a pool of blood like a warrior fallen in battle. Human emotions can be strange, and I was no exception. I pressed a hand to the dog’s neck, lifting it into my arms. It was light—barely over ten pounds—and cradling it felt like holding a child. With the dog in my arms, I grabbed the lantern from the tree and tucked it under my arm, rushing down the mountain.
Soon, I reached my grandfather’s house. I turned on the lights and fetched clean water. Following an old folk remedy, I pulled down the dried mugwort that had been hanging above the doorframe since last year, found a copper basin, and burned the mugwort to ashes.
The little black dog’s breathing grew weaker. As I burned the mugwort, tears fell. The dog, lying beside me, seemed to sense my grief and licked my ankle as if to comfort me.
Through my tears, I scolded, “Are you saying goodbye? I won’t let you die. If I don’t agree, you can’t die.”
Once the mugwort was fully burned, warm ashes remained in the copper basin. When I was a child and cut my hand, my mother would treat it with dried mugwort ash. I prayed it would work this time too. I cleaned the wound with a towel, then gently applied the warm ashes to the dog’s neck. Tearing strips from my clothes, I bandaged the dog tightly, leaving only its nose and mouth exposed.
It looked ridiculous—but endearing.
Laughing and crying, I feared losing this little black dog I’d known for less than half a day. I gathered a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it out in the living room, and made a simple bed for the dog, carefully placing it down.
I begged the King of Hell not to take Xiao Hei away.
Perhaps because of the lingering red corpse energy, I fell asleep soon after tending to the dog. When I woke, there was knocking at the door. Outside, the sky was overcast, thick with gloom.
Passing through the living room, I glanced at the sleeping dog. Its big, dark eyes blinked open when it saw me, and it let out two weak barks, wobbling as it tried to stand. Overjoyed, I scooped it up.
“From now on, you’re my brother,” I cheered. But then I noticed something odd—the bandages on its neck looked neater and more precise than I remembered. Strange.
The knocker was Shen Yihu, his leather shoes covered in dust. He eyed the little black dog in my arms with curiosity. “Nothing happened last night, did it?” he asked.
Petting the dog’s head, I replied, “Nothing much. I’m fine. Give me a minute to change.” Time was of the essence—the sooner we resolved this, the better. “You can come in and wait.”
Shen Yihu lit a Huanghelou cigarette and shook his head. “No need. I’ll wait outside.” Leaning against the doorframe, he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.
I threw on one of my grandfather’s robes, packed a cloth bag with essentials, and stepped out. The sky was oppressive, like a heavy lid pressing down, making me restless.
Shen Yihu was a man of few words, and walking beside him felt stifling. The little black dog in my arms let out a couple of barks, breaking the silence.
We had breakfast at Uncle Bai Guangde’s house. After the meal, Shen Yihu handed over twenty yuan for the two of us. Bai Guangde accepted it politely. The dog lapped up some rice porridge, its eyes lively—clearly recovering.
I told Shen Yihu, “Now’s not the time to arrest Bai Jingshui.” He frowned. “I’ve already brought the arrest warrant. What’s there to fear?”
I recounted what had happened at Bai Jingren’s grave the night before. Bai Guangde, despite his age, gaped in shock before finally saying, “I told you that grave was cursed. Now it’s come true. Grandson of the Long family, what do we do now? We’ll follow your lead.”
I glanced at Shen Yihu.
He crushed his cigarette and thought for a moment. “You’re looking at me like that—what’s the problem? Just say it. I’ll follow your plan too.”
I sighed. “The weather’s bad. Overcast days are tricky. If it were sunny, I’d go alone without fear. But this eerie gloom makes things difficult.” I knew they were in a hurry. “Alright, Village Chief, gather some people for me. I have a plan…”
Bai Guangde hesitated. “Most of the young men have left to work in the cities. I can round up forty or fifty old men, but finding a dozen strong young ones might be tough.”
I smiled mysteriously. “Call the village’s butchers—the ones who slaughter pigs and dogs. And gather the most foul-mouthed, fearless women you can find. I need them.”
Just then, Wu Zhen came panting up, interrupting us. “Bad news—the men who kept watch last night are all shivering, sniffling, and weak. Could they be poisoned?”
I chuckled. “Not poisoned, but staying there too long would’ve been bad. Have them replaced and rest for a few days. Ginger soup to sweat it out will help. And if they have wives… well, they should hold off for a few days to recover their yang energy.”
Bai Jingshui’s house was steeped in yin and evil energy. The men on watch had been bathed in it all night, sapping their vitality. In severe cases, it could disrupt their minds, causing nightmares. But since they were young, rest would suffice—no medicine needed.
Wu Zhen nodded in relief and hurried off to make arrangements.
Bai Guangde took about half an hour to gather three butchers—burly men with thick brows and an air of brutality, their bone-cleaving knives dangling at their waists. “Village Chief,” one boomed, “what’s this about? We’ve got three pigs waiting to be slaughtered.” One of them had piercing eyes, and the hilt of his knife was embedded with an ancient coin…
The coin, polished by years of lard, gleamed brightly. My eyes lit up—that was a fine blade.
Fifteen village women, loud and boisterous, crowded together. “Village Chief,” one cackled, “what’s this about? Are we getting free money?” I was pleased. The butchers were fierce, and the women were notorious for their sharp tongues—steal a single green onion from their gardens, and they’d curse you for a full day.
They were exactly who I needed.
Bai Guangde said, “It’s not me calling you—it’s Long Youshui’s grandson.” At the mention of Long Youshui, the butchers and women fell silent. The butcher with the coin-embedded knife leisurely pulled out a pack of cheap BaiSha cigarettes and lit one.
Shen Yihu offered him a Huanghelou, but the butcher waved it off. “Mine’s stronger.”
I smiled. “Nothing major. Just come with me.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances, sensing this was about the madman. Reluctantly, they agreed—but only after I promised each a hundred yuan for half a day’s work.
At exactly ten in the morning, led by Bai Guangde, the group headed up the mountain.
Halfway there, I announced, “We’re not going to Bai Jingren’s grave yet. We’re visiting Huang Shi—the madman’s wife.” Bai Guangde paled. “I’ll take you, but don’t let Bai Jingshui find out. He’d kill me.” I assured him I’d take full responsibility.
The women started grumbling. “A hundred’s too little! Pay more, or we’re not going. We don’t want to mess with that lunatic.” My temper flared. The gloomy weather was bad enough—now these women were backing out. “Shut it,” I snapped. “Or I’ll haul you all in.”
They quieted down. Shen Yihu didn’t ask why I suddenly wanted to open Huang Shi’s grave. We turned toward her burial site.
When we arrived, I grabbed a hoe and started digging. Shen Yihu grabbed my arm. “Digging up graves curses your descendants!” I shook my head. “It’s fine. The grass on the grave says there’s no one inside—it’s empty.” Bai Guangde nervously puffed on his pipe. The butchers trembled—grave-robbing was terrifying. After a few swings, Shen Yihu finally joined in.
The women craned their necks, torn between curiosity and fear. I was scared too—what if a female corpse leaped out and “embraced” me? I’d end up a corpse myself. Clearing my throat, I called out, “Masters, aunties, sisters—don’t just stand there. Pretend a dog stole your pork or someone uprooted your green onions. Start cursing!”
I’d brought the butchers and fierce women for courage. At first, they didn’t get it. But soon, the butchers drew their knives. “Damn it! Whoever did this, I’ll chop you into eighteen pieces!” The women’s curses grew louder and more creative, turning into a lively competition. Encouraged, I swung the hoe faster.
Sure enough, we soon uncovered the grave. Beneath the dirt lay an old, red coffin. “Hand me the axe,” I ordered. Gripping it, I took a deep breath—and swung with all my might.
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