Chapter Three: The Bridal Chamber on the Wedding Night

Grandfather pinched a cigarette between his fingers, took a deep drag, nearly smoking it down to the butt. After a while, he exhaled a long plume, then remarked offhandedly, “Oh… nothing much.”

Nothing much? That always meant something was wrong.

I wanted to press him further, but Grandfather spoke first. He said, “Lin Yi, the paper effigy I made yesterday will only hold for one night at most. Your simple-minded cousin is unreliable. Today, you must personally keep vigil in your sister-in-law’s mourning hall. For those who died an untimely death, the vigil lasts three days. Today is the last. If all goes well tonight, the calamity will pass.”

His words startled me. This time, I couldn’t hold back and asked, “Grandfather, didn’t you say my birth chart isn’t strong enough? If I go keep vigil for my sister-in-law, won’t… something happen?”

“No, that’s your sister-in-law. She’s family. Of course nothing will happen.” Grandfather waved his hand dismissively, his tone light as a breeze.

Family?

I murmured an acknowledgment, a bitter smile playing at my lips.

“What’s wrong? Are you afraid to go?” Grandfather countered.

I was speechless. Before I could reply, Grandfather lit another cigarette, rose, and walked off to his room, clearly unwilling to say any more.

That morning, I had no choice but to go to the mourning tent alone.

The daylight was gloomy; mist from the river crawled ashore, swirling restlessly, as if heralding a torrential rain or perhaps foreshadowing some other ill omen.

I considered myself fairly brave, and since it was daytime, I wasn’t bothered much. But when night fell, no matter how bold I fancied myself, I couldn’t maintain my composure.

The night wind was seductive and strange, raising goosebumps on my neck. The eternal lamps flickered, their flames unsteady, barely holding back the oppressive darkness that seemed to devour everything like phantoms.

Next to my sister-in-law’s body, the paper effigy Grandfather made still stood, its belly bulging.

At dusk, Grandfather brought me food. He said nothing, simply turned and left in haste, as if he too was wary of something.

I began to doubt whether Grandfather’s actions were truly just to ward off the wedding calamity.

Under the shroud of night, time felt thick and viscous, unmoving, unbreakable. After what seemed an eternity, it was barely past nine.

The endless night stretched on, and I didn’t know when it would end.

The chill deepened, no matter how I wrapped myself in my coat. Suddenly, a black civet cat appeared at the entrance of the mourning hall.

It fixed its green, eerie gaze on me.

A cat in the mourning hall is taboo. I got up at once to chase it away. Usually, a shout would send a cat running in fright, but this one refused to budge no matter how I tried.

Helpless, I grabbed a bamboo pole and threatened to hit it. Only then did it hiss, fur bristling, eyes wide, and retreat outside.

I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but it felt as though something was watching me from where the civet had retreated. But the night was too dark; I could see nothing. I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and stared into the darkness, trying to discern what was there.

After a couple of minutes, the sensation of being watched faded.

Relieved, I turned to sit down, only to find that the black civet I’d chased away had somehow climbed onto the offering table and was gnawing at the ritual meat.

The ritual meat was usually roast chicken or pig’s head, with chopsticks stuck in it—an offering to the dead. If it was disturbed, it was said to offend the spirit.

The civet tore into it, making guttural sounds.

As if dealing with a wedding calamity wasn’t enough, now a black civet was eating the ritual meat—surely trouble was at hand.

I brandished the bamboo pole and swung at it.

The civet flashed away in a streak of black, leaping from the offering table and vanishing.

Just as I was about to hurl the pole after it, I realized someone was standing at the entrance. The civet leapt up in two bounds and landed on his shoulder.

The man was dressed in black, somewhat disheveled, leaning on a cane, his face weathered, wrinkles carved deep as if by a knife. The corners of his mouth curled in a shadowy, sinister smile.

Crippled Ma!

I was so startled I couldn’t speak.

“Yi’er, what’s wrong? Don’t recognize your Grandpa Ma?” His voice was hoarse and weak, like bamboo scraping.

Crippled Ma wasn’t that old—ten years younger than Grandfather—but looked far older. Grandfather had said before that fortune-tellers suffer five woes and three lacks; Ma suffered a lack of fate, which aged him quickly.

Regaining my composure, I asked, “Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

“I came to save you!”

As he spoke, Ma hobbled into the mourning hall.

I’d heard he wasn’t on the straight path, and bringing a black civet was a bad sign. I stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need your saving.”

Ma smiled bizarrely, stopped, and changed the subject. “Your grandfather and I are in the same trade. He has no son, only you as a grandson. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

This jabbed straight at my sore spot—my parents.

Still, I held myself back and told him to leave.

Ma shook his head, regretful. “Your uncle was adopted by your grandfather, not of his own blood. You can see it in his looks and temperament—you, Yi’er, should know it better than I. And that general’s tomb on the village’s old burial hill isn’t your Lin family’s ancestral tomb. What’s inside isn’t even human. Of course, you may not believe me. But your grandfather, like me, suffers five woes and three lacks. He was born with the solitary lack. Have you ever wondered where you came from?”

I only wanted to know about my parents; I’d never thought to doubt my grandfather. His words made me uneasy, and I didn’t want to hear more.

“Enough!” I didn’t dare meet Ma’s eyes, my heart in turmoil.

“One strikes, one endures. Since you’re unwilling, I can’t help. In a few days, you’ll turn eighteen. Fate turns at that age; eighteen is the limit. I meant to save you, but you refuse. Forget it. Pretend I never said anything.”

With that, Ma snorted, turned, and left.

His words left my mind in chaos. I had barely sat down to try and sort my thoughts when a gust of cold wind swept through.

The eternal lamp flickered wildly, shade and all, and before I could shield it, the flame hissed out.

Everything was swallowed by darkness.

At the same time, I heard a rustling, creaking from the mourning bed…

Creak… creak…

Every hair on my head stood on end. I jolted upright, knowing disaster had struck, and immediately turned on my flashlight, shining it at the bed. It was empty. Even the paper effigy was gone.

Had the dead run away?

The scene before me shattered everything I thought I knew.

This feeling went beyond fear. My legs felt weighted with lead—I couldn’t move for a long moment.

No matter how much I wanted to dispel the calamity, after what had just happened, I dared not stay in the mourning tent a moment longer. I bolted, running for home without stopping once, feeling as if something was chasing me, too afraid to look back.

I pounded on the door for some time before Grandfather finally opened it, yawning. He asked what had happened, and I poured out everything I’d just experienced.

“So, even Crippled Ma came to join the fun?” Grandfather asked.

“That’s not important. Grandfather… my sister-in-law ran away. That’s the real issue!” I emphasized, deeply shaken by what had happened.

“Is that so? Well then, let’s go to the mourning hall and have a look.” Grandfather seemed unfazed, his expression calm.

“I’m not going!”

I refused outright. All I wanted was to stay home.

Grandfather didn’t insist. He said, “Alright, you go rest. I’ll have a look… Oh, and if you hear anyone knocking, no matter who it is, don’t open the door!”

“What do you mean? Who would come knocking?” I asked, unsettled by his words.

“No one. Whatever you hear, ignore it. I’ll lock the door from outside when I leave; I won’t need to knock to come back.” He paused, then added, “Lin Yi, don’t worry too much about your sister-in-law. It’s just a wedding calamity, not a corpse rising. The site for the mourning hall was chosen by me—it’s saturated with yang energy, enough to suppress the yin. With the three-day vigil to dissolve resentment, even if she harbored the greatest of grudges, they should be resolved by now.”

I nodded. His words sounded strange, but I understood the gist, though I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to comfort me. Grandfather then left, carrying a hatchet.

Seeing him go like that, I was worried.

But I knew nothing of his arts and didn’t know how to help.

After half an hour, someone really did come knocking. As they knocked, they called, “Lin Yi, open up! There’s nothing wrong at the mourning hall—it must’ve been your eyes playing tricks. Your sister-in-law’s body is still there.”

I heard the voice clearly—it was Grandfather’s.

But I remembered his warning before he left.

So, whoever was outside, it wasn’t Grandfather.

If it wasn’t him, then who was it? And why did his voice sound exactly like Grandfather’s? I didn’t dare think further and stayed huddled under my blanket, silent.

The knocking and calling lasted two or three minutes before finally stopping.

Only then did I let out a long breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead. But just as I relaxed, the lamp in my room began to sway in the wind, creaking, the light flickering. Even the roof above me rustled, as if something was crawling overhead.

Next came the sound of the bulb buzzing and sputtering.

The next moment—

The light went out, darkness expanding to fill the room.

A cold wind howled through, buffeting the closed windows and doors. Even wrapped in my quilt, I couldn’t fend off the terror, as if I were being dragged into a deep well. Just as I was about to break, a shaft of light spread from the old desk in the corner.

That light was like a lifeline.

Peeking from beneath my blanket, I saw two red candles burning on the desk, their glow casting onto the wall. There, a bright red “Double Happiness” character was pasted. The mosquito net I had neglected to take down since last autumn had transformed into red gauze curtains.

The most bizarre of all—

A woman sat at the edge of my bed, draped in red, her head covered with a bridal veil adorned with mandarin ducks and double happiness.

She was dressed as a bride.

I was utterly bewildered. From this angle, I could only see her back and couldn’t tell who she was. But instinctively, I knew it had to be my cousin’s wife—the sister-in-law whose body had vanished from the mourning hall. I’d seen her die by the bamboo grove with my own eyes—there was no mistaking it. So, what was she now?

She didn’t move, and I hardly dared to breathe. Time seemed to congeal.

Finally, after several minutes, she spoke.

“On our wedding night, isn’t the groom going to do anything?” she asked, her voice thick with grievance—a woman’s resentment.

Yes, it was the sorrow of a wronged bride.