After burying Alang’s body, the strange incident in the village finally seemed to come to a close. Initially, villagers remained anxious and hesitant to go out at night, making sure all doors were securely locked, fearing that Alang’s corpse might rise again—not content with eating chicken and duck entrails, perhaps now craving human hearts and livers. However, their fears proved unnecessary. After watching cautiously for several days and observing no further disappearances or deaths among the village animals, the villagers’ worries finally eased.
Yet there was a small incident: Li Yang fell gravely ill upon returning home, his face pale and sickly. Several doctors were summoned, but none could help, and soon he passed away. As a local party secretary, and with family members holding positions in the county government, Li Yang’s family was far from impoverished—in fact, they were among the wealthiest households in the region. Thus, for any one of these reasons, his funeral could not possibly be a simple affair.
Not long after, the Li family proceeded with the funeral rites. Determined to honor his son one last time in grand fashion, Old Li spared no expense. More than a dozen skilled laborers were hired to dig the grave, and ample gold and silver paper money was prepared, along with a high-quality mahogany coffin. Naturally, they also needed a ritual master to perform the rites. Since the elderly Madame Fan, known for her expertise, lived too far away and couldn’t be reached in time, Old Li invited Master Wang from Xiushan Village to preside over the funeral.
Master Wang, whose full name was Wang Weizhen, was indeed a man of some presence, seemingly possessing the air of a true Daoist immortal. He had some talent, which was why he had managed to establish a reputation in the northeast, a region known for its many ghostly tales. He claimed to have once been a Daoist priest of the Quanzhen sect before returning to lay life. Though his skills had recently declined somewhat compared to Madame Fan’s, he was still eager to serve when Old Li summoned him, rushing over joyfully with his two apprentices in tow.
At the head of the funeral procession were guides who placed “road flags”—small triangular flags made of five-colored or white paper—along the way, scattering guiding paper money to appease the spirits along the path. Behind them came a paper effigy of a child, since the funeral required a filial son to hold the mourning staff, and Li Yang had no offspring. Thus, a paper figure was used instead, carried by Li Yang’s uncle. Following them were those carrying the “dragon staff,” and behind it came the red sandalwood coffin. Behind the coffin walked the Li family members, all wailing bitterly. Whenever the procession reached a crowded area or a major crossroads, it would halt for a brief mourning ceremony, and the music would cease.
Upon reaching the village outskirts, the mourners stopped while the son performed the ritual of “Xie Xiao” (expressing gratitude for mourning). Li Yang’s uncle, holding the paper effigy, bowed three times before the coffin. After this ceremony, the coffin cover was removed and the formalities concluded. Only the family, along with paper offerings and sacrificial items, continued on to the burial site.
The burial site lay in a valley northwest of the village. The funeral procession walked along the dam, with people in front beating drums and gongs, and others tossing white paper rings. Following the river, they arrived at Li Yang’s final resting place. It was time to dig the grave.
First came the ritual of “Kai Shan” (mountain opening), where the filial son burned incense and lit candles to perform the ceremony. Li Yang’s uncle, still carrying the paper effigy, lit three sticks of incense and two large red candles facing the eastern side of the mountain. Next, Master Wang marked the “Tai Sui” (Grand Duke), as the direction of the grave had to avoid the Tai Sui’s position; otherwise, it would be considered “digging on the head of the Tai Sui,” bringing disaster to the family.
After marking the Tai Sui, Master Wang instructed people to drive wooden stakes into the “Zi,” “Shen,” “Mao,” and “Chen” positions of the mountain. Then, Wang Shi, carrying the paper effigy, dug the ground three times within the stakes—an important ritual in northeast funeral customs. Then the “Eight Immortals” (Ba Xian), symbolic figures represented by eight people whose birth dates did not conflict with the deceased, stepped in to dig the grave. Once the grave was completed, the image of the Tai Sui was burned. After this, Old Li ordered the bottom of the grave lined with lime and charcoal to prevent decay of the coffin and body.
It was nearly the hour of the Rooster (around 5–7 PM), the designated time for burial, which had to coincide precisely with sunset. As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the “Eight Immortals” swiftly lowered the coffin using ropes, placing it gently and steadily into the grave. Family members then scooped up soil and threw it onto the coffin. Afterward, Master Wang instructed the “Eight Immortals” to cover the coffin with a thin layer of earth, then scatter the soil swept from the grave on top. A bowl was placed on the grave, known as the “Yi Fan Wan” (clothing and rice bowl), to ensure gentleness during any future exhumation, avoiding disturbance to the spirit and preventing misfortune.
“Old Li, the deceased is now laid to rest, but there is one more thing I must ask of you and your family,” Master Wang said.
Old Li, pale and silent, had clearly been overwhelmed by grief. Only after hearing Master Wang’s words did he seem to snap out of his daze.
“Master, what is it?” he asked.
“The soul of the deceased may escape from the grave and follow the living home. Therefore, I ask you, your family, and all who helped with the burial to walk around the grave three times before returning. On the way home, you must absolutely not look back. Otherwise, seeing the traces of the deceased’s soul in the netherworld could bring harm to both sides,” explained Master Wang professionally. In truth, this was also a way to help the mourners cope—otherwise, the family might linger, unable to leave.
Old Li looked at his wife, patted her hand, and sighed. “Alright.”
“Also, when you return home, you must wash your hands to cleanse any bad luck. Tonight, everyone must come to the Li residence for a religious ceremony to honor the deceased. That is all for now—please return home.”
“No… let me see my son one last time, just one last look!” Li’s wife cried.
“Madam Li, have you forgotten what I said? Please return home. Otherwise, your son will not rest peacefully,” Master Wang quickly intervened.
“Dear, let’s go back. Our son wouldn’t want to see you like this. Come, let’s go,” Old Li urged her.
Eventually, Li’s wife was pulled away by her husband. Master Wang completed the final rituals, leaving his two apprentices to watch the grave before heading toward the Li residence.
It was now the hour of the Dog (around 7–9 PM), and the sky had turned completely dark. The Li mansion had been transformed into a mourning hall, with Li Yang’s black-and-white photo placed in the center. Family members gathered below as Master Wang presided over the ceremony. His chanting echoed: “Heavenly time descends suddenly; earthly time opens and closes tightly. The departed embarks on the journey, while the living bid farewell. Farewell from the mortal world, remembered forever in the hearts of the living…”
The village of Xiushui was unusually quiet that night, with only the croaking of frogs and the whispering of wind.
The wind grew stronger, and soon it began to drizzle—just a light, misty rain.
“Damn it, this is pure torture! If it weren’t for those five bucks, I’d be home sleeping already. Now I have to stay out here guarding the grave in this freezing weather. What kind of cursed weather is this?” one of Master Wang’s apprentices grumbled, pulling his coat tighter around him.
“Stop complaining. Don’t I have to stay too? Just wait until morning—then that money will be in our pockets. Here, take a sip. Then we can sleep.”
“Alright, sounds good. Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
After finishing their drinks, the two lay down in their makeshift grass shelter. The rain continued to fall, yet strangely, the grave of Li Yang remained completely dry. Raindrops that touched the grave seemed to vanish into thin air.
“Cough… cough…” an unexpected cough startled a few crows into flight.
“Ho… ho…”
“Ho…!!”
“Bro, did you hear that? Hey, wake up! Brother!”
“Ugh, what’s the matter? Can’t a guy get some sleep?”
“It’s not that—listen!”
“Listen to what? Go to sleep!”
“Listen!”
“What?”
“Good Lord Almighty!”
A voice not their own echoed in their ears. Startled, both apprentices turned toward Li Yang’s grave. Yet the night was pitch black, with no moonlight to guide their eyes. Still, having been apprentices of Master Wang, they had seen many strange things before. Armed with torches, they cautiously approached the grave.
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