Chapter 27: The Cowbell Guides the Way

Niu Dahuang shook his head with a gentle smile and waved his hand, as if unwilling to dwell on the subject any longer. He began to puff on his tobacco pipe with soft, deliberate clicks. I had no desire to pursue the matter either, for at that moment, I simply wasn't in the frame of mind to consider such things. My grandfather still had not awakened, and Er Pang was now in grave danger. It felt as though stone after heavy stone was being piled upon my heart, making it difficult to even draw breath.

The situation in the entire village was grim; waiting here was tantamount to sitting and awaiting our doom. Moreover, He Xiaojing had already brought news: Ma the Lame was preparing to act. In recent days, Ma had vanished as if into thin air, but he was surely scheming something from the shadows. After so much preparation, his actions were bound to be anything but trivial. And the Ma family He Xiaojing spoke of, that Daoist clan with scattered priests in residence, would not be easily dealt with.

I still did not know whether Granny Wang was aware of this news.

With these thoughts, I turned to Niu Dahuang and asked if he had any way to deal with the situation. He took a deep drag from his pipe, let out a bitter chuckle, and said, “Yi’er, you think too highly of this old man. What I did earlier was out of sheer desperation. The fact they didn’t drag me off and force me to drink that merit soup was just luck. I’m just an old country doctor, not half the man your grandfather was. Truth be told, I don’t have any brilliant ideas.”

I could only nod. Whether or not Niu Dahuang was hiding his true abilities, I knew I had to take action. Granny Wang had promised to help me, yet she hadn’t shown up; something must have gone awry.

So I resolved that I had to make a trip to Dongwa Village.

I needed to act first, to gain the upper hand. But just as I was preparing to leave, Niu Dahuang stopped me. “Yi’er, it’s pitch dark outside now. Don’t go out at night, no matter what. Whatever needs doing, wait until morning.”

“But it’s urgent. I need to find Granny Wang and discuss this,” I replied, my anxiety mounting.

Niu Dahuang motioned for me to calm down and gestured for me to sit at the stone table in the courtyard. “Mice are creatures of the night,” he said. “That affects the villagers under their control—their habits get turned upside down, too. If you go out now, you’re walking right into their trap. There’s no rush. Wait until the sun’s up, then head to Dongwa Village.”

His words made sense, so I resigned myself to waiting.

I asked Niu Dahuang if, now that Ma Weiguo and the others had fallen, the rat-demons would notice and send other villagers to seize us.

He thought for a moment and admitted that was entirely possible.

Furthermore, Niu Dahuang said the water spinach trick had already been used once; if we tried it again, it might not work. I asked him what we should do, and he assured me there was another way.

Thanks to my grandfather, our house was never short of ink, brushes, paper, or inkstones. Niu Dahuang had me fetch a piece of red paper, which he cut into a strip. Then he wrote four characters upon it: “Prosperity to All Livestock.”

Prosperity to all livestock? What on earth was this?

I had expected him to reveal some secret Daoist talisman, but no—he wrote those four words, and I was utterly baffled. Weren’t such phrases the sort of couplets people pasted on barns during the New Year? And anyway, my grandfather was a fortune-teller and geomancer, not a livestock keeper; we didn’t even have a barn or chicken coop. Where was this couplet to be posted?

When I asked him, he only looked mysterious and said, “This method must not be spoken aloud. If it’s revealed, it loses its power.”

My grandfather had once told me that some Daoist techniques were mysterious indeed, and sometimes their efficacy hung by a thread—one word, a drop of blood could break a spell. So when Niu Dahuang said this, I understood the rule and asked no further.

After finishing the couplet, Niu Dahuang fetched two cowbells from the room where he’d been staying. He strung them together with a piece of cord and hung them near the front gate. The clear, resonant chime seemed to bring calm and contentment, especially in the silence of the countryside.

Then, peering out through the crack of the door, he carefully stepped outside and pasted the “Prosperity to All Livestock” couplet on the outer wall. He hurried back in and shut the door tight.

While the door was open, I glanced outside and saw that Ma Weiguo and the other villagers had vanished without a trace. Niu Dahuang was right—the water spinach could only fool them for so long. The villagers were merely under the rat-demon’s control, their hearts lost, but not literally removed like Bi Gan’s.

Once the door was shut again, Niu Dahuang let out a sigh of relief and said, “Yi’er, go to bed. With these things in place, we’ll sleep soundly tonight. Whatever comes, we need our strength. If we’re exhausted and something unclean takes advantage, we’re done for.”

I was genuinely curious about all these rituals with couplets and cowbells, but since I couldn’t ask, I had to suppress my questions.

Back in my room, exhaustion swept over me the moment I lay down. So much had happened lately; I hadn’t rested properly in days. Thoughts drifted through my mind, scene after scene, making sleep elusive.

Around midnight, I was suddenly roused by noises outside.

My room was near the main entrance, so I could hear everything clearly. Voices approached, and I realized the villagers were likely under orders to seize us again.

But hadn’t Niu Dahuang said we’d sleep well? Why had they returned?

I grew alert, ready to call for Niu Dahuang. But the group halted outside our door, murmuring among themselves instead of knocking or trying to force entry. After a while, one said, “Huh, that’s odd. Wasn’t there a house here before? How’s it a cowshed now? Did we come to the wrong place?”

Another replied, “I can’t quite recall either. I thought it was right here!”

A third said, “No, it’s definitely a cowshed. Listen, you can even hear the cowbells inside.” As he spoke, the cowbells at the gate chimed softly.

“Strange, it really is a cowshed!”

“Forget it, let’s look elsewhere. Maybe we lost our way.”

Then came the sound of departing footsteps.

Only then did I understand the purpose behind Niu Dahuang’s couplet and cowbells. Their effect was astonishing. In that moment, my admiration for Niu Dahuang was absolute. I was so moved I wanted to get up and tell him so, but knowing he was likely already asleep, I settled down and drifted off.

Thanks to Niu Dahuang’s measures, the night remained calm, and sleep came swiftly.

And that night, I dreamt of her again. She was dressed in red, shrouded in night mist, riding her white horse and gazing at me from afar. The wind was cold and bleak. Suddenly, the red veil on her face fluttered away. Just as I was about to see her clearly, I awoke.

Why did I dream of her yet again?

Stretching and shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, I noticed the sky outside had already brightened.

Niu Dahuang was up early, bustling about the kitchen. After eating the breakfast he’d prepared, I set off for Dongwa Village.

Niu Dahuang assured me that my grandmother’s side of the family in Dongwa Village might have a solution. I could only hope so. Before I left, he took one of the cowbells from the door and handed it to me, warning that even in daylight, I mustn’t let my guard down. He instructed me to ring the bell every few steps as I walked. If I saw anyone, especially those carrying black umbrellas, I was to ignore them, ring the bell, and keep walking.

I nodded, committing his advice to memory, and set out with the cowbell in hand.

My uncle’s house was not far from mine. Since today should have been the third day of keeping vigil and the day of my uncle’s burial—but his body was missing—I thought I should at least pay my respects.

So, carrying the cowbell, I headed to my uncle’s place.

Normally, there’d be villagers out by now—fetching water, harvesting vegetables—but today the village was silent, not a person in sight, not even a dog barking. Clearly, Niu Dahuang was right; the villagers’ habits had been inverted under the rat-demon’s influence.

My uncle’s door was ajar. I went in, set a bowl of rice before his memorial tablet, and lit incense. Then I remembered the two ancestral tablets in the house, which my uncle used to venerate daily. Now that he was gone, I should offer incense for him as well.

But when I reached the tablets, I found the offerings had been replaced and the incense sticks were freshly lit.

Who had come to replace the offerings and tend the incense?

Was it just my imagination, or did it feel as if someone was watching me in that room?

As goosebumps crept up my arms, the front door suddenly creaked open. At the sound, I quickly slipped into an adjacent room and crouched beneath the window, holding my breath.

Most of our villagers were now under the rat-demon’s control. It was best not to be seen, to avoid unnecessary trouble.

From my hiding spot beneath the window, I peered out and saw a figure approaching, holding a black umbrella.

When I recognized who it was, my surprise grew even greater.

It was Er Pang’s mother, carrying a black umbrella in one hand and a small basket in the other.