Chapter Twelve: The Blood-Stained Marriage Contract

Sssst—

A flicker of flame leapt up, instantly dispelling a small pocket of darkness.

The old men in funeral robes faltered, pausing in their advance.

The flames from the spirit money burned an eerie bluish-green. Though it was fire, there was no warmth at all. At the same time, I felt several of them fixing their dead gaze on me, as if I’d fallen into an icy abyss.

Click… click…

One of the old men stretched his rotting neck, twitching, and let out a strange guttural sound. He stared greedily at the half-burned spirit money in my hand. His face was furrowed with deep lines, long and narrow, mottled with corpse spots, lips so black they were terrifying.

I didn’t dare look again. Just one more glance and I’d be paralyzed with fright. When the spirit money was burned to ash and scattered by a gust of ghostly wind, I noticed that the coins, which should have been consumed, reappeared as they were, drifting across the ground.

The old men in funeral robes immediately crouched down to scoop them up.

Honestly, it was the first time I’d ever seen anything like this, and it was deeply unsettling. I couldn’t fathom why the paper money, clearly burned, would reappear elsewhere, ready for them to collect. But at that moment, I had no energy to puzzle it out. Once the money was gone, they didn’t leave, but stood there, staring at me, insatiable in their greed.

If I stopped burning more spirit money, they glared at me, even taking menacing steps forward.

I had no choice but to keep burning.

But it made no difference—the result was always the same. They didn’t leave, only watched, waiting for me to continue. And their numbers kept growing. What had started as a dozen soon became thirty or more, with even more crawling out from the burial mounds. Some old women fixed their eyes on the paper dress by my side, making gurgling, guttural noises.

That was not meant for them, and I certainly wasn’t going to burn it for them. I could only keep burning the spirit money. But the paper burned quickly—one basket of coins was nearly gone in less than half an hour.

Yet the number of ghosts surrounding me only increased.

I realized that the method Granny Wang had taught me was worse than useless—it had trapped me in a siege of ghosts.

Didn’t Granny Wang say she was nearby? Now that things had gotten so dire, where was she?

I felt I’d been deceived again. The ghost bride wouldn’t be mine—instead, I’d be devoured alive by these phantoms. I was filled with regret; I should never have trusted Granny Wang.

But now, regret was pointless.

I burned the last handful of spirit money. There were still more than thirty minutes until the auspicious time Granny Wang had mentioned. The funeral-robed ghosts kept gathering, more and more of them. At first, they only picked up the spirit money; later, they began to stare at me, lolling their tongues, black drool dripping from their mouths, revolting in the extreme.

The way they looked at me was as if I were something especially appetizing.

It seemed I was even more tempting than the spirit money.

The base of the nameless stele was packed tight with shifting shadows.

Suddenly, I remembered the talisman Granny Wang had given me. I took it out and tried it, but it was useless—they weren’t afraid in the least.

Especially those old women, who stared at the paper dress beside me, muttering and almost pouncing. I thought, If I’m about to lose my life, what use are these paper clothes anyway? I might as well burn them, perhaps to buy myself a few more minutes.

I immediately struck a match to burn the dress, but just then, I heard the sound of hoofbeats.

The hoofbeats echoed through the air, ethereal and clear. It was as if they came from a great distance, yet also felt close, resonating like music lingering in the rafters.

At the sound, the ghosts in funeral robes froze.

At first, they seemed confused. But within half a minute, their faces contorted as they stared at the summit behind the nameless stele.

I could swear I saw terror in their expressions.

Then, almost comically, they scrambled and scuttled, vanishing headlong into the burial mounds. Even if they had faced the King of Hell himself, they couldn’t have fled faster.

Then—

On the old burial slope, behind the nameless stele,

A wisp of blue smoke coiled upward.

From the smoke stepped a tall white horse.

I recognized the horse at once—it was surely the paper horse I had burned at dusk. The bridle around its neck had been specially dyed red by Granny Wang, an uncommon feature, and very striking.

On the white horse sat a woman dressed in red, her face veiled with scarlet gauze. She held the reins, her blood-red gown and wide sleeves snapping in the mountain wind, and in that instant, she radiated a certain heroic spirit.

I stood at the base of the nameless stele, gazing at her, momentarily transfixed. I couldn’t see her face, but my heart began to pound inexplicably. She looked at me from atop her white horse, also somewhat dazed, as if I had wandered into her dreams, or she into mine.

Truthfully, I never imagined she would be so breathtaking.

After a moment, she dismounted.

I heard no footsteps, but suddenly she stood before me.

At such close distance, neither of us spoke. I didn’t know what to say, but she abruptly raised her hand, gently brushing my cheek, her brows faintly furrowed as she asked, “Does it hurt?”

“What?” I had no idea what she meant.

Her appearance meant the auspicious hour had arrived, marking the final deadline for my grandfather’s fate. Only if I secured her hand in marriage would my grandfather stand a chance. There was no time to waste. With that in mind, I immediately produced the red wooden box and the marriage contract.

“You must be Weiyang. My name is Lin Yi. I… I have admired you for a long time… I want… I wish to marry you. Will you consent?” I stammered awkwardly, and even made myself blush. She listened, her autumn-water eyes trembling, her painted brows finally drawing together in a frown.

Though I couldn’t see her face, she matched Granny Wang’s description so perfectly, I realized the old woman hadn’t exaggerated in the least.

In this moment, I even forgot she wasn’t among the living.

After I finished, she remained motionless.

Seeing this, I took out the marriage contract to show my sincerity.

But still she didn’t move. I couldn’t tell if she was hesitating or if something else held her back. She just looked at me, her gaze making me uneasy.

Granny Wang had instructed me: if the bride refused, open the red wooden box and present the betrothal gift inside.

I did as told. Inside was a pair of vermilion hairpins—exquisite, priceless objects. I’m not sure if it was my imagination, but as I brought them out, she seemed to tremble slightly, as if something about the hairpins touched her deeply.

So Granny Wang was right—this would seal the marriage.

Indeed, upon seeing the hairpins, she stepped forward, slender fingers extending from her blazing sleeves, as if to write her name.

But just then, a wild wind rose, howling through the cypress grove like the wails of ghosts. A bolt of lightning split the night sky, turning darkness to day and making the land appear monstrous.

Drip!

A drop of vivid blood splattered onto the marriage contract.

The blood spread, as if to swallow the entire contract. Meanwhile, the two hairpins in the red box snapped in half.

“You’re not him!” Her eyes flared with anger.

“Who?” I didn’t understand.

“Why did you deceive me?” she demanded.

“I didn’t…” I was utterly bewildered.

The storm raged, thunder and lightning shattered the black sky, clouds churning as if a deluge would come at any moment.

She said no more, mounted her white horse, and rode away toward the old burial slope. At the summit, she paused and looked back at me. But with the next flash of lightning, she and the horse vanished without a trace.

She left so quickly I didn’t even have time to beg her to stay. She was gone—what would become of my grandfather?

I chased after her all the way to the top of the burial slope, but saw no sign of her.

Just as I was about to continue searching, I suddenly saw, not far ahead under a cypress, a man standing stiffly like a blackened wooden post, utterly motionless.

In the flicker of lightning, his face appeared and vanished, chilling and sinister.

It was Lame Ma!

I’d recognize him even if he were reduced to ashes—he was alive, after all.

“A maiden wants a true heart, but you came with a wolf’s heart and a dog’s lungs. If I were her, I wouldn’t accept your proposal either!” Lame Ma’s voice was dark as he stepped toward me.

I couldn’t refute him. If not for saving my grandfather, I would never have risked proposing to a ghost bride. My motives were indeed impure.

But what choice did I have? I couldn’t abandon my grandfather.

“Yi, think carefully—what do you have? What can you offer her? To become a son-in-law of the Ye family, you must have some foundation. You don’t even know who you are or where you come from. Isn’t it ridiculous to be here proposing marriage?” His words were loaded with meaning.

“What do you mean?”

“Yi, do you think the villagers of Old Jieling are really your kind? Of course, you think so. But let me ask—do you have parents? Have you ever drunk alcohol? Has your grandfather ever answered you about that, or let you touch wine, even a drop?”

Lame Ma pressed on, his words striking a nerve.

My grandfather always avoided speaking of my parents, no matter how much I pressed. Besides forbidding me from visiting the graves on the second day of the second month, the most important taboo for me was alcohol. Once, as a child, I sneaked a sip with Fatty Er, and was unconscious for three days—I have no memory of what happened.

When I awoke, my grandfather sternly warned me that if I ever touched alcohol again, he would disown me. I took it to mean I was severely allergic and simply never drank again.

I didn’t understand why Lame Ma brought this up now.

“Yi, have you ever wondered what you really are…?”

“Enough! I don’t believe you!” Lame Ma was skilled at sowing confusion. I refused to listen to his nonsense.

“Is that so? You’ve never doubted? Fine. On the tombstone beside you is a cup of wine. If you truly believe you’re human, then drink it!”

Sure enough, on the green stone tomb, there was a cup of wine—a red porcelain cup, just like those used at weddings.