Chapter 51: The Drought Demon! (3)

The night was dark and windy, with gusts howling through the air and dust swirling so thickly that it stung the eyes. Cold wind seeped down the collar of Chen Quezi’s coat, making him shiver uncontrollably. He pulled out a half-jin flask of strong baijiu and took several large swigs. With the fiery warmth spreading through his chest, his courage surged. At that moment, Chen Quezi felt like a true hero. Who else would dare to sneak out to the riverbank in the dead of night, let alone dig up a grave? Only he, Chen Quezi, had the guts. Thinking this, he let out a loud, triumphant laugh, imagining himself as Guan Yunchang, the legendary general. The shovel on his shoulder transformed into Guan’s famed Green Dragon Crescent Blade, and with a few bold swings, he strode forward toward the embankment.

With Zhang Deli’s death, no one dared to stay overnight on the riverbank anymore. Li Yang, who had downed half a jin of strong liquor at dusk, reluctantly stepped out of his house to organize the workers. He tried every method to convince someone to stay, but no one would. They all insisted they’d rather lose work points than remain. With no choice, Li Yang had to organize five or six donkey carts, making three trips back and forth to haul the machines and tools. The next morning, they would have to bring everything back again. So, that night, the riverbank was completely deserted.

Before long, Chen Quezi arrived at the burial ground where Alang had been laid to rest. The area was desolate and eerie, with rows of graves densely packed together. The wind rustled the wild grass on the mounds, making a rustling sound like ghostly figures waving their arms and legs in the dark.

Even Chen Quezi, who prided himself on having a face so handsome that even ghosts would fear him, felt a chill of fear. He quickly downed the rest of the baijiu in his flask, shouted a few times to steel himself, and approached Alang’s fresh grave. He raised the shovel and began digging. After only a few scoops, a strange, eerie laugh suddenly echoed from above. Startled, Chen Quezi’s legs gave way and he plopped down with a thud. A crow cawed and flew overhead.

It had been a false alarm, but the scare had nearly made Chen Quezi’s heart leap out of his chest. All his earlier bravery had vanished like mist. Guan Yunchang had almost turned into a trembling coward.

Once he had calmed himself, Chen Quezi picked up the shovel again and resumed digging. Soon, the coffin lid began to emerge. His heart leapt with excitement, and he dug even harder. Before long, the entire coffin was exposed. Panting heavily from exhaustion, Chen Quezi didn’t stop for a moment. He jammed the shovel into the crack and pried with all his might. The coffin nails popped off with a creak, and with a few loud groans, the lid flipped to the ground. There lay Alang, motionless as if asleep. The grotesque expression of her hanging had vanished, leaving only a deep red mark around her neck.

Chen Quezi swallowed hard, his heart pounding with a mix of lust and wickedness. All thoughts of fatigue and fear were gone. If he had to describe his thoughts in one sentence, it would be: “Better to die on a corpse than live without passion.”

In a flash, he tore off his pants and leapt into the coffin.

A long while later, cries echoed from inside. If you thought it was a ghost wailing, you’d be wrong—it was Chen Quezi sobbing uncontrollably. Why was he crying?

Let me explain.

There he was, naked, sobbing over the lifeless body of the woman. He was crying from joy, from excitement. In his heart, he thought: “Today is the day! My greatest wish in life has finally come true. I’ve finally known a woman, become a real man!” Overcome with emotion, he kissed her from head to toe. In just two hours, he had climaxed five times. Finally too exhausted to move, he collapsed on top of Alang, panting heavily. The sky was about to lighten, but he couldn’t bear to leave. What should he do?

Suddenly, inspiration struck. He had an idea—he would take Alang’s body home.

The next day passed quickly. Li Yang felt unusually tired. When he returned home at dusk, he brewed a pot of tea and sat in a chair, panting. It seemed that as he aged, his stamina was no longer what it used to be. He sighed inwardly, sipped his tea, and after a while, felt a little better, though he had broken into a cold sweat.

After a deep breath, Li Yang slowly walked to the vegetable patch in front of his courtyard and picked a handful of coriander. Back inside, he chopped it finely, added a little oil and salt, a spoonful of soy sauce, and mixed it all together. He dipped scallions into the sauce and began drinking. With the weather getting colder, soon there would be no more coriander to enjoy.

After a few rounds of drinks, the night deepened. The alcohol eased his fatigue, and his eyelids grew heavier. He bit into a steamed bun and crawled into bed, soon drifting off to sleep.

In his dream, Li Yang suddenly felt someone lying beside him. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a pale, naked body next to him. Fear gripped him—he wanted to get up and light a lamp, but his body wouldn’t obey. It was as if controlled by desire, he stripped naked and climbed onto the body.

When Li Yang woke up, it was still dark. He looked around—no one was there. He pulled back the blanket and found himself naked again, just like the night before. The events felt like a dream, yet too real to be one. If it was real, why was the woman gone?

From then on, Li Yang had the same dream every night. In his dreams, he made passionate love to the naked woman, unable to stop even if he wanted to. But what puzzled him was how real the dreams felt. Each night, he would fall asleep and then wake up to find a naked woman beside him, and he would lose control of himself, making love to her wildly. At some unknown point, he would fall asleep again, and when he woke, the woman would be gone. He had never seen her face clearly in the dark, and he couldn’t bring himself to get up and light a lamp, for whenever the woman appeared, he would be completely entranced.

Before long, Li Yang had lost weight, his eyes sunken, his face pale, and his steps unsteady. Villagers who saw him thought they were looking at a ghost. Li Yang became anxious, constantly checking his reflection in the mirror. Each day, his face grew paler, his skin paler. He began to itch, an unbearable, maddening itch that wouldn’t stop no matter how much he scratched. Eventually, dark spots appeared on his skin, growing larger until they were the size of bottle caps. When he scratched them, yellow pus oozed out.

One day, Li Yang rode to town on Old Hu’s tractor and visited an old herbalist. The old man examined him closely, poking and prodding, and finally declared he had a venereal disease that couldn’t be cured. He gave him some anti-itch medicine and sent him away. After leaving the old man’s house, Li Yang bought some rouge in town. When he returned home and got off the cart, he was so weak he could barely stand. Leaning against the wall, he dragged himself into the house and collapsed onto the kang. After catching his breath, he pulled out the bottle of rouge, applied it to his face in front of the mirror, and admired himself. His face now had a rosy glow, no longer the sickly pallor of before.

The next morning, Li Yang, his face painted red, walked out of his house with a cane. The villagers were stunned. Just yesterday, he looked like a ghost with no color in his face, and now he looked like a monkey’s red butt—could he have been possessed by Guan Yu? They looked at each other in confusion.

Lao Liu, who was collecting eggs from his chicken coop, happened to see Li Yang and couldn’t help but laugh at his appearance.

“Hey, Secretary Liu, good morning! Where are you off to?” Lao Liu smirked.

“Hmph…” Li Yang grunted weakly, ignoring him and continuing forward, hunched over like an old man of eighty.

“That’s what you get for acting so tough. This is your punishment!” Lao Liu muttered to himself, smugly watching Li Yang walk away. Soon, he reached his chicken coop. He usually removed the stone blocking the entrance, and the chickens would jump out noisily. But today, there was no sound. Feeling uneasy, he leaned close to the entrance, but it was too dark to see anything. Suddenly, he smelled a strong stench of blood.

Lao Liu’s heart sank. He rushed home to fetch a flashlight and returned to the coop. Shining the light inside, he gasped in horror. Dozens of chickens lay motionless, their bellies ripped open, their organs missing.

During the Liberation era, chickens were precious treasures. Lao Liu was both heartbroken and shocked. How could they have died like this? He examined them carefully—there were no signs of struggle. It was as if they had lain down and let someone kill them. Their organs had been removed. If a person had done this, how could they have entered the coop through such a small opening? There were rumors of a fox in the village, but the stone was wedged tightly in place. Even if a fox had gotten in, it couldn’t have eaten all the chickens. And why only the organs? Chickens wouldn’t just lie there and let a fox eat them. It was like a ghost had done it.

Lao Liu’s mind raced back to the strange events his son had experienced. He sighed, thinking the village had become unsafe. Without hesitation, he gathered iron and wood to reinforce his front door. He didn’t want to be sleeping at home only to be attacked by a ghost.

The story didn’t end there. The next day, two more families reported their chickens and ducks had died overnight, their organs removed. It spread like an epidemic. Soon, more and more poultry died the same way, including geese. The villagers were terrified, convinced it was the work of a chicken-eating ghost. No one dared to go out at night or check their coops. They tied their dogs next to the coops, but it made no difference. The chickens still died. Strangely, the dogs didn’t bark at night. The next day, they looked depressed, refusing to eat or bark. The chicken-eating ghost seemed only interested in poultry, leaving other animals and people alone. Within a week, all the village’s poultry had died—except for one chicken belonging to Ma Erpi.

Why was Ma Erpi’s chicken still alive? There was a reason. Ma Erpi was over sixty, had lost his wife two years ago, and had no children. His only nephew was nicknamed “Ma the Bold.”

Ma Erpi was a well-known figure in the village, famous for his stinginess and greed. To illustrate his character, there was a well-known story: One rainy day, Ma Erpi’s neighbor needed to go to town but had a broken boot. He borrowed Ma’s boots, promising to return them after buying a new pair. Ma reluctantly agreed, but as the neighbor walked away, he stepped into a puddle and twisted his ankle. Ma watched in agony. When the neighbor returned, Ma was furious to see mud on the boots. He vowed to get revenge.

When it rained again, Ma rushed to his neighbor’s house and borrowed the boots, claiming his own were broken. He wore them into muddy areas, deliberately getting them dirty. When he returned home, he put them in his bed and kicked them all night. The next morning, he returned the boots, now gleaming clean. The neighbor was shocked to find his bed full of mud.

That was Ma Erpi—always seeking revenge for every slight. He kept only one chicken because he couldn’t afford to feed more. He made the chicken forage with other chickens for food. When the other chickens began dying mysteriously, Ma panicked. He locked the chicken in his house, feeding it bite by bite, treating it like a treasure. He even slept with it, believing that if the chicken lived, he lived, and if it died, he would die too.

One night, Ma Erpi fell asleep holding the chicken. In the middle of the night, the chicken slipped out the window, which Ma had forgotten to close.

The next morning, Ma Erpi woke to find the chicken missing. He ran barefoot into the garden and found it dead, its organs removed. The chicken stared at him with accusing eyes, as if saying, “You couldn’t even hold me tight, and you left the window open, letting me escape and get eaten!”

Ma Erpi was so heartbroken he fainted. When he woke, he cried uncontrollably, then tied a belt around his neck to hang himself in grief. Villagers tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.

Liu Dashao heard the news and rushed to the scene. Seeing the old man crying bitterly, he couldn’t help shedding tears. Liu Dashao had always dreamed of being a hero. Once, he had even spent a night in a graveyard to prove his bravery. Now, with villagers terrified by the deaths of chickens and ducks, Liu Dashao secretly laughed at their cowardice. Now that even the stingy Ma Erpi’s chicken had died, it was time for him, the hero, to step in.

He secretly decided to find the culprit and become a hero to the villagers.

After comforting Ma Erpi, Liu Dashao made a bold declaration in front of everyone: he would capture the chicken-eater alive! He decided to start at the riverbank, a place known for foxes and ghosts. Whether it was a fox spirit or a ghost, none would dare defy him, Liu Dashao. He felt a surge of confidence, imagining himself as a mighty warrior. But Liu Dashao was perhaps too confident. He didn’t consider that he had no martial arts skills or magical knowledge. If he really encountered a ghost or fox spirit, he would be helpless.

That night, Liu Dashao changed into a patched robe, tied a straw rope around his waist, and wrapped a piece of cloth around his head, instantly feeling like an ancient warrior. He grabbed a short iron fork as a weapon, took a few practice swings, and set out. Before leaving, he took a flask of strong baijiu from the cupboard and tucked it into his robe. Why always baijiu? Because in old northeastern traditions, it was a popular drink—strong, cheap, warming, and courage-boosting.

But did Liu Dashao really need courage?

Pfft. He had made a bold claim in front of everyone. If he backed out now, he’d have to change his name to Liu Xiaodan.

That night was clear, with a gentle breeze and a crescent moon hanging in the dark sky. Everyone was asleep, the world silent. The pale moonlight cast eerie shadows on the trees. Liu Dashao soon arrived at the riverbank. The moon was high, everything clearly visible. He took a few swigs of baijiu and wandered the embankment with his iron fork, but saw nothing but graves and fallen leaves. Feeling tired, he sat down, pulled out the baijiu, and was about to drink when he heard a “gak!” sound. Startled, he dropped the bottle and fell to the ground. Then another “gak!”—this time clearly coming from a nearby graveyard. Liu Dashao lay still, unsure what to do.

Suddenly, a white shadow shot out of the graveyard like lightning, heading toward the village. It moved so fast that Liu Dashao couldn’t even see what it was before it vanished.

Was it really a ghost? Cold sweat poured down Liu Dashao’s back. But he had come this far—he had to investigate. With a determined nod, he stood up, saw the white shadow heading toward the village, and followed.

Liu Dashao sneaked around the village for a long time, even suspecting he was the chicken thief himself. The moon was setting, and dawn was approaching. He had seen the white shadow heading this way, but now it was gone.

As Liu Dashao walked, puzzled, he reached Old San’s house. Suddenly, a “swish!” sound came from Li Yang’s house next door.

Just as Liu Dashao turned the corner behind Old San’s house, a white shadow shot out of Li Yang’s window and vanished into the northeast.

Liu Dashao rubbed his eyes, stood on tiptoe, and looked in the direction the shadow had gone. Nothing. Could it be the same shadow he saw on the riverbank? But how did it come from Li Yang’s house?

Liu Dashao was baffled. Though he couldn’t see what it was, he was now convinced it was either a fox spirit or a ghost. A chill ran down his spine. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed the direction the shadow had gone.

Soon, Liu Dashao reached the eastern edge of the village. There was only an old willow tree behind the house where Alang had lived. The moon was bright, the stars clear, and the wind rustled the leaves, as if countless insects were crawling inside. It was said that this ancient tree had become a spirit, home to an old fox spirit.

Liu Dashao crouched behind a bush, peering into the darkness, listening to the wind. He suspected the white shadow might be the fox spirit hiding in the tree. After much thought, he decided that even if it were a spirit, it could only bewitch people. He, Liu Dashao, wouldn’t be easily fooled. Gripping his iron fork, he felt a little braver. “No matter what fox spirit or ghost it is, I’ll beat it to a pulp the moment it appears!”

He tightened his belt, gripped the fork, and cautiously approached the willow tree. Every step was careful, as if walking on soft mud. Suddenly, he stepped on something hard and round. He pressed down, and it moved. Startled, he let out a loud fart and turned to run. The thing squeaked. It was just a hedgehog.

Liu Dashao patted his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He poked the hedgehog with his fork, and it scurried away.

Liu Dashao thought to himself, “Even a hedgehog can’t scare me. I’m still the brave one.” But he remained cautious, using the fork to probe the ground as he searched deeper into the reeds. After a long search, he found nothing but dead leaves and unknown insects. No sign of fox fur. Disappointed but relieved, he gave up.

After a long search, Liu Dashao’s back ached. He stretched, and as dawn approached, dew formed on the grass. He had no choice but to return, dragging his fork behind him, and knocked on Village Chief Tian’s door.

After drinking three large cups of tea and recounting the night’s events, Village Chief Tian shook his head. Though he found the story suspicious, he couldn’t keep suspecting ghosts and foxes every day.

But the strange events continued—today, Zhang’s chicken was missing; tomorrow, Li’s duck was gone. Villagers began discussing the incidents, pointing fingers at the willow tree. The elders claimed it was the tree’s spirit demanding offerings. Otherwise, the entire village would suffer misfortune.

Hearing the rumors, Village Chief Tian pondered, “If the strange events really stem from the willow tree, then it must have some mystery. But scientifically, even the oldest tree can’t become a spirit.”

Still, he decided to personally investigate the tree.

At dawn, Village Chief Tian arrived at the willow tree. Villagers gathered, sharing their experiences. Zhang Cheng from the west side said, “I’ve offered many chickens to the tree, but still, small animals near it disappear. Maybe we should cut it down!”

Liu Dashao suggested, but was immediately scolded by the elders.

Village Chief Tian proposed testing the tree with chickens. Zhang Cheng volunteered a chicken. But no one wanted to stay with him at night, fearing divine wrath. Fortunately, Liu Dashao volunteered.

They tied the chicken under the tree and returned home. Village Chief Tian and Liu Dashao set up a table about ten feet away, drinking tea and chatting while watching the tree.

They waited until the early hours of the morning with no sign of anything unusual. Both were drowsy. Liu Dashao complained that Village Chief Tian was making things up. Village Chief Tian began to doubt the whole thing, thinking Liu Dashao might have fabricated it.

Just then, he glanced at the tree—and froze.

The chicken was gone.

At first, Village Chief Tian was surprised but soon calmed down. He gently woke Liu Dashao, who, upon seeing the chicken missing, exclaimed, “Damn! It really ate it! What kind of god is this, just causing trouble for the village!”

Village Chief Tian signaled him to be quiet and walked to the tree, circling it.

Suddenly, he saw a red-clothed figure sitting in the tree hollow, facing away from him. The entrance was small—how had she gotten in?

The figure sat motionless, like a statue. Time seemed to stop. The air was thick with tension. Village Chief Tian dared not breathe, his heart pounding.

He didn’t know how long passed before the figure slowly turned. As she turned, he saw her profile, then her full face. To his shock, it was Alang—the woman who had died long ago.

Alang sat there, her eyes hollow, wearing a red wedding dress. Her body was slender and graceful, but in her hands, she held a mass of dark, bloody organs. She slowly raised them to her mouth and began chewing, blood dripping from her lips. She licked her hands clean, savoring the taste.

The scene was surreal. Village Chief Tian stood frozen, trembling uncontrollably. Suddenly, he bumped into a branch, making a loud “thud.” Alang stopped, her eyes locking onto him.

Village Chief Tian couldn’t stand any longer. He fled in terror.

A few hours later, a group of militiamen with rifles arrived in the village. The villagers were startled to see Village Chief Tian among them.