Chapter Seven: The Peddler Returns

When I first met him, the Taoist was clad in a black robe, immaculate to the point of spotless purity. His hair was neatly tied in a topknot, pierced through with a jade hairpin. He carried an air that was truly unique.

Upon seeing me, he was momentarily surprised, then his lips curled into a faint smile.

“May I ask if Elder Lin is at home?”

He was the first to speak. I was startled and quickly replied, “He isn’t! My grandfather has gone out to attend to some business and won’t be home for several days.” My grandfather rarely left the house. Villagers had questioned this, some even offered money hoping he could resolve the affair concerning my cousin-in-law. But I had already coordinated with Niu Dahuang, and we both claimed grandfather was away working for an important figure and wouldn’t return soon. So, I told this Taoist the same story.

The Taoist smiled calmly and said, “You may deceive them, but not me. Elder Lin has always been inside, he hasn’t left.”

His words shocked me. He stared at me as though he could see straight through me. Yet, this was a matter of my grandfather’s life or death; I could not admit the truth, so I remained stubborn.

Just then, from inside the house, came a loud clatter as something fell. I paused, told the Taoist to wait outside, and went in to investigate. I found grandfather’s ruler had dropped from the nightstand.

As I bent to pick it up, grandfather’s voice suddenly sounded, “Lin Yi, let him in. I have something to say to him.”

I hadn’t heard grandfather’s voice in days; I’d worried myself sick. The sudden sound startled me—more than anything, I felt elation.

I picked up the ruler and turned to see grandfather had opened his eyes. Yet, he hadn’t eaten for days, and looked gaunt, his spirit faded and his gaze dull.

“Grandfather, you…”

Before I could finish, he waved his hand and said, “Lin Yi, not another word. Let him in. You go out!”

Though I didn’t understand, I nodded. In the courtyard, the Taoist still wore that faint smile. As I approached, he walked straight into the house before I could say a word, and even barred the door behind him.

I sat alone in the courtyard, watching grandfather’s room anxiously, unease twisting within me. I had no idea what the Taoist and my grandfather discussed.

Their conversation lasted over two hours. Villagers who had summoned the Taoist grew impatient and came to my house, but I had already locked the gate from inside. They knocked, but I did not answer. When they were nearly ready to break down the door, the Taoist finally emerged, opened the gate, and addressed them with a gentle smile: “It’s settled. Lin Yi has explained everything to me. The matter is not difficult. Come, let’s go to the burial ground and take a look!”

“The burial ground?” someone asked, confused.

“Yes, aren’t you here to resolve the issue? I’ll take care of it now!” With that, the Taoist led the villagers away. As he departed, he glanced back at me with a meaningful smile.

After the Taoist left, I quickly secured the gate and returned to check on grandfather.

He had finally awakened, but I had so many questions. Yet, as soon as I entered, grandfather had slipped back into his previous state. No matter how I called, he would not wake, leaving me frustrated and worried in equal measure.

Later that afternoon, I heard from Er Pang that the Taoist had led the villagers to dig up a new grave near the ruined temple. They poured gasoline over the red coffin inside and set it ablaze.

Once the coffin was burnt, the Taoist told the villagers their problem was resolved. He spent the night in the guest room at the village committee and left Old Jieling Village the next day.

I surmised that grandfather must have told the Taoist the location of my cousin-in-law’s grave, and the burning of the coffin—the raging flames—meant the eradication of the “joyful curse” she had become. I could not understand why grandfather allowed the Taoist in or revealed the grave’s location. My cousin-in-law died unjustly; deep down, I felt this should not have been her fate. Certainly, after such a lengthy discussion between the Taoist and my grandfather, there must have been secrets I did not know.

Unable to comprehend, with no one to ask, I felt suffocated by my confusion.

Yet, the Taoist’s actions seemed to have truly dispelled the curse. In the days that followed, the village was peaceful, and no further incidents occurred except for the deaths of my aunt and Chen A-da.

I wondered if this Taoist was the one who saved me years ago.

My heart was full of questions, but grandfather remained unconscious. His body grew thinner, and my anxiety intensified. Niu Dahuang could offer no explanation, only feeding grandfather a black pill every two days.

I asked what the pill did. He said it merely kept him alive.

There was another oddity: Uncle Old Gen, who went into the mountains for firewood, found a heap of dead yellow weasels, dried their skins, and sold over thirty pelts to a peddler he met on the road to the county. The price was good, and Uncle Old Gen was delighted, boasting of his windfall to everyone.

After hearing this, Niu Dahuang came to my house again, reiterating that no strangers should see grandfather, especially after sunset.

For safety, I moved my bedding into grandfather’s room.

That evening, as the afterglow faded and the air grew stuffy with signs of changing weather, I sat alone at the stone table eating dinner. The gate was open when suddenly the sound of a rattle drum echoed from outside.

Thump-thump-thump… Thump-thump-thump…

At first, I paid little mind, thinking it was the neighbor’s children playing. But soon the drumbeat drew closer. I looked up and saw a person at the gate. He carried a pole with baskets at either end, covered in heavy black cloth, contents unknown. His clothes were pitch black, reminiscent of the shrouds worn by elders in their final rites, and he wore a bamboo hat, revealing only half his pale face, perhaps ghostly due to the dusk.

The sight startled me, a chill creeping up from my feet.

Without a word, he set down his load and entered, asking for water.

For some reason, my mind was muddled and I began to prepare some water, but as I picked up the bowl, Niu Dahuang’s warning flashed in my mind. I put the bowl down and said, “There’s no water here. Leave!”

He paused, then said, “Is that so? I see your water jar is full. Young man, are you unwilling to share water with me?”

“No water means no water. Get out!” I stood, ready to drive him away.

“Don’t be hasty, young man. I have a folk rhyme for you—have you heard it?”

“What nonsense rhyme? Get out!” I retorted. His odd demeanor hinted at ill intent.

He chuckled coldly and began to recite:

“A tree is but wood; a man cannot decide. The King of Offerings must be an assassin, clothed in hemp must be a monster. Tell me, if you drape your grandfather in hemp, is he a man or a monster?”

He refused to leave, reciting the folk rhyme.

I had no recollection of this man—after all, it had been more than a decade since I was a child. Yet, I remembered the rhyme vividly. He must be the same peddler who once came seeking water!

I looked up, the more I looked, the more certain I became.

“So, you remember me?” he asked.

I ignored him.

A tree is but wood—it refers to the Chinese character for locust tree; a man cannot decide—it refers to puppet; the King of Offerings must be an assassin—rose was called assassin in ancient times, referring to its Chinese character; clothed in hemp must be a monster—this points to the character for demon. Locust, puppet, rose, demon—when you strip away the radical components, all point to one word: ghost.

So, years ago the peddler left a note, saying there was a ghost in my home.

Now he returned, his accusation aimed at grandfather—implying he was a ghost. Pure nonsense. After all these years, grandfather and I depended on each other—I knew for certain he was human. This peddler meant harm; I would not let him hurt grandfather. So when he asked, I answered resolutely: “Even draped in hemp, my grandfather is no monster. You have no shadow—tell me, what manner of thing are you, to dare enter my home? There are door guardians at the gate, household gods in the courtyard, and a bone-reflecting mirror on the roof. If you know what’s good for you, leave at once!”

The bone-reflecting mirror was a bagua mirror placed there on Niu Dahuang’s advice.

I glanced at the peddler’s feet—indeed, no shadow. He wore yellow hemp soles and white paper shoes, like those of the dead.

His feet hovered two inches above the ground; he was certainly not alive.

My rebuke made him pause—this was the method grandfather taught me, as he dealt with such spirits in the past. I was merely following his example.

Yet, the peddler sneered, his gaze fixed upon grandfather’s room.

My words seemed to have no effect.

“Young man, living with a corpse brings you nothing but harm. I advise you to stay out of your grandfather’s affairs, or else I’ll take you along when I leave!” His lips curled, his voice grew colder.

With that, he strode toward grandfather’s room.

A gust of icy wind swept through, chilling the courtyard.

Seeing this, I knew trouble was afoot. Somehow, I found the courage to confront this sinister peddler, stepping forward to block his path.

Niu Dahuang’s warning referred not to the Taoist, but to this peddler!

Now, less than half a meter separated us in the deepening night. Only at this proximity could I see his face clearly.

That single glance nearly made my legs give way.

His eye sockets were hollow, lips black as pitch, his face streaked with blue veins and decaying flesh.

“Men walk the path of men, ghosts tread the way of ghosts. Young man, you cannot stop me!” With these words, the peddler advanced.