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Qianjin Village lies at the foot of Baekdu Mountain, home to several hundred families scattered across the mountainside.
Today marks the day of mourning for Lao Wei's daughter-in-law, and it is a sorrowful occasion. Lao Wei lost his wife early on and raised his son all by himself, enduring the hardships of parenthood. Although his son lacked great talents, he was honest and hardworking. A few years ago, with some help from others, he married a beautiful woman from a neighboring village.
By all accounts, their lives should have taken a turn for the better. However, misfortune struck when Lao Wei's son ventured into the mountains during winter to hunt, hoping to provide some nourishment for his pregnant wife. Tragically, he encountered a pack of wolves. When the villagers found him, there was nothing left but blood and torn clothing scattered across the ground.
His wife, heavy with child, was inconsolable, weeping endlessly. After the mourning period ended, strange occurrences began. The daughter-in-law lost her sanity, talking to thin air as if invisible companions were living with her.
Though unseen, Lao Wei understood well what was happening; it was undoubtedly his son returning in spirit, worried for his wife and unborn child. Concerned that the presence of a wandering spirit could harm both his daughter-in-law and grandchild, Lao Wei traveled several dozen miles to invite a Taoist priest to perform a ritual at their home.
The priest had some success in exorcising the evil spirits, and for a time, the daughter-in-law returned to normalcy. However, after a while, she fell silent and withdrew into her room, avoiding contact with others.
A few days later, while working in the fields, Lao Wei sensed something was wrong upon returning home at noon. A strong smell of blood permeated the air.
Rushing into the room, he felt an icy chill wash over him. His daughter-in-law had committed suicide by cutting her wrists; blood pooled on the bed, soaking the sheets.
To his horror, he noticed slight movements in her swollen abdomen. He hurriedly called for a midwife from the village, but it was too late. When she emerged holding a lifeless baby boy in her arms, Lao Wei felt as if the ground had vanished beneath him and fainted.
Just as he had lost his son, now he faced the double tragedy of losing both his daughter-in-law and grandchild. The blow to Lao Wei was unimaginable; his once lively home was now left with only him. The villagers sympathized with him and offered their support—those with money contributed financially while others lent their strength. They hastily arranged a simple funeral.
There were no drums or mournful music; only a few firecrackers were set off as they scattered yellow paper offerings. Several men from the village carried the coffin to Ancestral Graveyard.
According to village customs, children who die young cannot be buried in Ancestral Graveyard. Thus, Lao Wei placed his grandson's body in a wooden box and buried it on the hillside behind their home. His daughter-in-law's grave was situated beside her husband's. Looking at the two mounds of earth rising before him, tears could no longer flow from Lao Wei's weary eyes.
According to tradition, the deceased should rest in peace, but ever since the funeral, strange occurrences have plagued the village. In the dead of night, the sound of a baby's cries can be heard, and livestock at home inexplicably die without any visible wounds.
Thus, the braver men in the village decided to keep watch, with Sun Er Pangzi assigned to patrol the area around the Village East.
The moonlight quietly slipped behind the clouds, and what was once a night illuminated by a faint glow was suddenly engulfed in darkness. Sun Er Pangzi, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, held a thick stick in one hand and a flashlight in the other. The beam of light danced around in the darkness, making it particularly conspicuous.
"Damn it, if I catch that prankster, I’ll skin him alive," Sun Er Pangzi muttered as he flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and stomped on it with his foot, as if crushing the very person who had been making those ghostly sounds at night.
How wonderful it would be to be at home, cuddling with his wife and perhaps even getting some exercise. Just thinking about it made Sun Er Pangzi restless; he reached down and adjusted himself.
As he walked along, Sun Er Pangzi began to sense something was off. The night was too quiet. The mountains had never been this still; there were usually insects chirping and birds flitting about.
A cool breeze suddenly swept past him from behind, causing every hair on his body to stand on end, as if someone were blowing gently on his neck. But this air was not warm; it felt damp and chilling.
Sun Er Pangzi spun around abruptly, shining his flashlight in all directions as he shouted, "Who’s there? Come out!"
It seemed that the louder he yelled, the bolder he became. Yet all that answered him was the endless blackness of night.
"Brother Cheng?"
"Cui Mei's place?"
Sun Erpang shouted into the distance. The village was not particularly large, but in the stillness of the night, his booming voice could be heard by everyone in the village.
At that moment, however, there was not a single echo, just an eerie silence.
Sun Erpang swallowed hard, his heart racing as if it would leap out of his throat at any moment.
“Hehehehe…”
The laughter of a child rang out, almost right next to Sun Erpang's ear. He shouted loudly and ran into the dark night.
Sun Erpang exerted all his strength, running with his eyes closed, muttering to himself: "Amitabha, God bless, True God bless."
Yet the laughter seemed to have wings, echoing persistently in Sun Erpang's ears.
He didn't know how long he had been running when he could no longer move. Bent over, he gasped for breath and opened his eyes, only to be horrified by the sight of a cigarette butt on the ground.
Sun Erpang felt as if he had been doused with a bucket of ice water, muttering to himself: "Impossible, impossible."
Then he plopped down onto the ground, instinctively scooting backward as if searching for something to lean against for comfort.
“Mmm… ah… mmm…”
The laughter of the baby transformed into cries—sharp and piercing—seeming to penetrate Sun Erpang's eardrums and strike straight at his heart. He covered his ears and shouted: “I can’t hear! I can’t hear!”
However, the baby's cries grew closer and closer.
Suddenly, the sound stopped abruptly, and the world seemed to return to calm. Sun Erpang slowly opened his eyes. But what lay before him was an image that he would never forget. With a scream, Sun Erpang's head tilted and he fainted.
A baby floated about fifty centimeters in front of Sun Erpang, its body wet and stained with blood, a long umbilical cord trailing from its belly button. The baby's eyes were a ghastly white, devoid of pupils, and its mouth was filled with tiny teeth.
The journey down the mountain was just as arduous as the climb up. By the time I reached the village of Shan Xia, it was already midnight.
As I stepped into the village, I noticed a house in the distance with its door wide open, warm orange light spilling out onto the ground.
I felt a surge of relief, grateful for my luck in finding a household still awake at this late hour. Just as I was about to head that way, however, my shoulder companion, Fo Zhang, suddenly began to chirp and leaped off my shoulder, darting towards the eastern part of the village.
A sense of foreboding washed over me; Fo Zhang was particularly sensitive to malevolent entities. I hurriedly followed Fo Zhang as it raced eastward.
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