Chapter Twelve: Bowing to the Elder Village Chief

Zuo Panlong parked a battered golden van in front of the shop. The inside was plastered with amulets, and a strange sandalwood scent hung in the air, giving me the creeps—it felt as if I were boarding a hearse.

Back then, mobile payments weren’t a thing, and seventy thousand yuan was no small sum; I had to go to the bank in person to withdraw it.

My herbal shop was some distance from the nearest bank. I was exhausted as soon as I got in the van—rocked by the motion, I dozed off almost immediately. I don’t know how long I slept before I was roused by the blare of a suona and the noisy bustle of a crowd. When I opened my eyes, I realized the van had stopped in a village.

Weren’t we supposed to be getting money?

Where was this place?

I slid open the van door and was struck by a wave of familiarity. It took me a moment to realize: wasn’t this the ancestral hall of Wax Dao Kou Village?

There was a coffin inside the hall, with mourning couplets pasted on the door. Outside, a dozen or so tables and chairs were set up—a funeral was clearly underway. People bustled about, and a few villagers I recognized greeted me, “Pi, it’s been years since you came back! You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

Uncle Duan, who had once confronted me with a homemade musket, looked much older now. He handed me a cigarette. “Little Pi, you’re finally back... Changgeng, Little Pi’s home.”

Uncle Changgeng hurried out from the ancestral hall, grasping my hand. “My dear nephew, we’ve been waiting for you!”

I was still foggy with confusion, and that fat Zuo Panlong was nowhere to be seen. We were supposed to get money—how had I ended up back in my village?

“Uncle, where’s Zuo Panlong?” I asked, baffled, then pointed at the coffin in the hall. “Who in the village passed away?”

Uncle Changgeng’s face was mournful. “My father is gone. Master Zuo is handling some matters and will be back soon.”

The old village chief was dead?

It had been over a decade since I’d left the village—the old chief had lived into his eighties, a good, long life. The dead must be respected, and despite our history, I understood the essential etiquette of the countryside. Years ago, though the old chief had wanted to drown me in the Yellow River, when I fell ill, he offered five hundred yuan to hire Granny San to save me; our debts had long since been settled.

I told Uncle Changgeng, “Uncle, my condolences. Let me pay my respects and offer incense to the old chief.”

He seemed deeply touched. “When my father was dying, he kept mentioning you, said he owed you in this life. If you could kneel and offer incense, he’d be smiling in the afterlife.”

I waved him off and went to wash my hands at the basin nearby.

But Uncle Changgeng stopped me. “No rush, my good nephew. When Master Zuo comes to recite the funeral rites tonight, you can pay your respects then.”

I glanced over. Indeed, there was no incense before the coffin; it seemed everyone was waiting for the evening ceremony. I nodded in agreement.

It all became clear. Zuo Panlong was here as the ritual master for the old chief’s funeral. I recalled him mentioning that he’d tried to exorcise a ghost and ended up bedridden—was that ghost the old chief? And why had that fat man brought me here? I reached into my pocket to feel for the dog’s bezoar I carried; reassured it was still there, I felt a little more at ease.

Uncle Changgeng sat me down at a table for the meal. The village’s elderly women chattered, asking where I’d been all these years and why there had been no news of me.

Someone brought up the events at Wax Dao Kou years ago, sighing that it was fortunate the madwoman Ping’s wife drowned in the Yellow River, or more villagers would have suffered.

I responded with polite murmurs.

Glancing into a corner, I caught sight of a disheveled, filthy woman squatting on the ground, eating from a bowl.

Seeing my puzzlement, a villager explained, “That’s Junjun’s mother. She’s been mad for years. After Junjun’s father died, no one cared for her, and she survives on the villagers’ charity.”

A pang of sorrow struck me. I walked over and pressed two hundred yuan into her hand.

At first, she slurred, “You’re a good man.” But then, as if recognizing me, her expression froze, her face twisted, and she spat at me, cursing me as a bringer of harm, doomed to die in the Yellow River one day.

The villagers told me not to take it to heart.

After the meal, dusk had fallen. Most people drifted away; only Uncle Changgeng’s family, a few close relatives, Third Uncle, and Uncle Duan stayed to keep vigil.

Zuo Panlong still hadn’t returned.

Uncle Changgeng and the others told me, “No telling when Master Zuo will be back, Little Pi. You should go pay your respects now. Tonight, you can sleep at our house.”

I couldn’t reach Zuo Panlong by phone, and my own house had been abandoned for over a decade—too dilapidated to even clean up. I had no choice.

Uncle Duan went into the ancestral hall to light incense.

Suddenly, a shriek rang out from inside. Uncle Duan burst from the hall, terror on his face, clutching his right elbow with his left hand—blood pouring down his arm.

I cried out, “Uncle, what happened?”

His face was ashen. He lifted his elbow—there was a neat row of bite marks, blood trickling from each tooth mark. Stammering, he said, “The old chief… bit me…”

I wondered—how did an eighty-year-old man still have such perfect teeth? Then it hit me: wasn’t the old chief lying dead in the coffin? Had he risen from the dead?

So the ghost Zuo Panlong was supposed to handle was the old chief after all!

I turned to run.

But several villagers grabbed me. Uncle Changgeng dropped to his knees, tears in his voice: “Dear nephew, don’t go! Before my father died, he said he owed you for wanting to drown you in the Yellow River. He can’t rest until you come back, kneel, and forgive him at his coffin. Whoever tries to pay respects gets bitten—several villagers have already been bitten. Please, save us—just go kneel before him!”

So Fat Zuo had brought me back just for this!

The old man was persistent, to say the least.

There was no way I dared go in.

“Uncle Changgeng, tell the old chief I forgave him long ago—him and his ancestors, all eighteen generations! He should move on and not cling to the past!” I tried to push Uncle Changgeng away as I backed toward the door.

But he clung to my legs, refusing to let go. “Pi, Master Zuo said you have a dog’s bezoar that can suppress the old man. If you go in, he won’t dare rise. Pay your respects, and he’ll stop biting people—the whole village is counting on you!”

Everyone chimed in, including Uncle Duan, who’d just been bitten.

Back then, I was young, and hearing “the whole village is counting on you” stirred a sense of duty. Besides, with the dog’s bezoar on me, I thought I’d be safe from harm. I hesitated.

Uncle Changgeng, Third Uncle, and the old chief’s relatives half-dragged, half-carried me to the entrance of the ancestral hall.

Just as we arrived, screams erupted from inside.

The black coffin lid had been thrown open. The old chief was standing atop his coffin, eyes wide and round, blood from biting Uncle Duan still smeared at the corners of his mouth, his teeth stained a ghastly red as he grinned at me—a smile so chilling it could freeze the soul.

All my courage evaporated; I turned to flee.

But a massive shove from behind sent me stumbling over the threshold—I tripped and landed sprawled at the old chief’s feet.

Immediately, with a thud, the ancestral hall doors slammed shut and were locked.

“Master Zuo, what are you doing? Little Pi’s still inside!” cried Uncle Changgeng in panic.

“Quit your whining! If you villagers don’t want more deaths, let him stay in there and have a proper chat with your father!” Zuo Panlong’s voice rang out.

The exchange outside made it clear—Fat Zuo had kicked me in and locked the door.

Cursing Zuo Panlong’s ancestors under my breath, I scrambled to the door, but the old-style ancestral hall doors were made of solid camphor, locked tight with huge bronze padlocks—no way I could budge them.

No matter how much I yelled or cursed, nobody outside responded.

Turning back, I saw the old chief jump from his coffin, smacking his lips, his throat making guttural noises, as if he’d spotted a feast. His cloudy eyes bored into me, his mouth stretched into a grin that nearly reached his ears.

Terror seized me.

The old chief, face full of mockery, spoke in a shrill, almost feminine voice: “Pi, you’re finally back!”

I nearly lost my mind—my head buzzing, close to fainting, every hair on end.

At this point, I didn’t care about dignity. My knees buckled, and with a thud, I knelt before the old chief, bowing my head to the floor, hands pressed together and raised above my head, trembling as I said, “Old Sir, Little Pi is kneeling before you! Wishing you eternal life—no, everlasting peace and a swift ascent to paradise!”

The old chief chuckled, his shrill, eerie voice echoing again: “Pi, how old are you now?”

Why was the old man suddenly interested in my age? Was he trying to introduce me to someone?

I immediately squashed that ridiculous thought, keeping my forehead pressed firmly to the ground, not daring to lift it even half an inch. Hands shaking, I replied, “To answer you, sir, in a few days I’ll be twenty years old.”

No sooner had I spoken than a chill ran down my spine.

Twenty years old?

Before she left, Sister Jiu had repeatedly warned me—never set foot in the village before turning twenty!