Chapter Two: The Black Pit

Old Li the Second sat down on a mound of yellow earth and said, “Don’t worry. Just forget about those things you left at home. The goods here are no worse than what we have back there—at least a thousand years old, every piece. And this place? Hardly any locals, all outsiders, and remote from any authority. If we lay low and work hard for a few years, we can go back when things have cooled off.”

“Alright, got it!” With his brother’s reassurance, Old Li the First swung his hoe with renewed vigor.

Dawn was just about to break. On the hillside, two shadows moved furtively, earth and sand flying from their shovels.

“It’s open!” Old Li the First exclaimed excitedly, prying away a few green bricks to reveal a black hole about the size of a well cover.

Old Li the Second knocked the dottle from his pipe against his boot sole, spat into the dirt, and, rubbing his hands, said to his brother, “Let’s get down there before daybreak—those villagers won’t be up for a while yet. Grab whatever’s easy to take first.”

Old Li the First tied a hemp rope around his waist, picked up a kerosene lantern, and tucked a white cloth bag behind him for storing grave goods.

The Li brothers were rough and unrefined in their tomb-robbing. Even gold teeth embedded in a corpse’s mouth would be pried out and taken. Any tomb they visited was left in shambles, the bodies desecrated without a second thought. Especially the elder brother—he was known as a fierce brute, unyielding to both the dead and the living. Locals called him “Ghost’s Bane.” With his full beard, he looked every bit like a wild Zhang Fei, and a single glare was enough to send children running in terror.

This pit was one Old Li the Second had chosen as a test—by no means the finest tomb in the area. From the tamped earth that came up with the digging, it was likely a relic from the Spring and Autumn or Warring States period. Old Li the First dug a vertical shaft more than six meters deep. Normally, they would have dug a ventilation shaft as well, but Old Li the Second figured the few mountain villagers around wouldn’t interfere, and at that depth, he could always pull his brother out if anything went wrong.

Early twentieth-century China was steeped in hardship. On this land, just beginning to recover from a century of war, weapons were everywhere. The Li brothers were armed, each carrying a Mauser pistol—German made, fifteen rounds apiece, bartered from a bandit gang before the founding of the Republic in exchange for a Song dynasty official kiln piece. In their line of work, being double-crossed was always a risk. There were even stories of brothers burying each other for treasure.

Old Li the First had been underground for ten minutes. According to their usual routine, the first batch of loot would be sent up in about fifteen. Old Li the Second took a couple of satisfied puffs from his pipe, already gloating. He had fled all the way from Henan to Zhejiang, and never expected to strike it rich in such a godforsaken spot. At last, he’d found a place to settle down for good.

Later, it was proven he’d chosen well. In the 1980s, a joint archaeological team counted over two hundred large tombs with mounds in the area, with countless more buried deeper underground.

A few more minutes passed. The rope gave a sudden jerk. Old Li the Second inhaled sharply, the glowing tip of his pipe painting his eyes blood red. Excited, he hooked the rope around his waist, about to haul up, when suddenly the rope began to tremble violently—and a gunshot rang out from below!

A muffled “bang” echoed. Old Li the Second’s heart lurched. Trouble! He quickly tied the rope around his waist, slung it over his shoulder, and charged forward. Though thin, he was strong. With a few huffing pulls, the rope slackened.

He turned to find his elder brother already dragged out of the pit—around his neck was wrapped a pale green snake, as thick as a water pipe, mouth open, tongue flicking, hissing straight at Old Li the Second.

They were only four or five meters apart. Seeing his brother about to be strangled by the snake, Old Li the Second’s instinct was to beat it off. He grabbed a stick, ready to rush over.

But just as he bent down, the snake suddenly turned its head, baring its fangs at his brother’s throat. In a panic, Old Li the Second’s right hand swung from the ground to his waist, and in a flash, he drew his Mauser.

Five meters—close range. By starlight, he could clearly see the scales on the snake’s body. Besides tomb-robbing, Old Li the Second was a crack shot. At thirty meters, he could snap a matchstick with that gun.

Turn, draw, aim, fire!

A sharp crack split the air. Old Li the Second saw it all—the snake’s jaws hadn’t yet struck before he pulled the trigger. But in that instant, something flashed before his eyes, his hand trembled, and he seemed to see—

A spray of blood burst forth. Old Li the First didn’t even have time to groan before his own brother blew his brains out. Only as he fired did Old Li the Second realize: there was no green snake around his brother’s neck at all.

It was just a gnarled tree root tangled around him.

So it was that he shot his own brother dead. Old Li the Second knew he’d been cursed—when you walk by the river often, your shoes are bound to get wet. Killing someone, even by accident, was a capital offense. He had no choice but to drag his brother’s corpse back into the pit, refill the mound, tidy up the scene, and flee the mountain in haste.

Afterward, Old Li the Second packed up, ready to run. Perhaps from exhaustion, he fell asleep right there and dreamt a dream.

In the dream, his brother stood outside, one eye blasted out, covered in blood, holding a coffin plank in one hand and a green snake in the other.

Seeing his brother come, he thought he’d come for revenge. Old Li the Second fell to his knees, pleading that he hadn’t meant to kill him, that he’d been bewitched by something unclean and had lost his mind.

But Old Li the First said he wasn’t here for vengeance. He explained that an evil spirit had latched onto him, and now, on every first and fifteenth day of each lunar month, the family must offer three meat and three vegetarian dishes, along with paper money, at the village archway. Otherwise, the spirit would torment him below, and it would come for Old Li the Second as well if he tried to leave.

Old Li the Second scoffed at this, but his brother said, “If you don’t believe me, check your chest for a red thread. When it forms a complete circle, your life will be forfeit.”

Awakening drenched in sweat, Old Li the Second looked at his packed bundles and hurriedly stripped off his shirt to check in the mirror. Sure enough, a faint pink line had appeared on his chest, the ends not yet joined—a line that hadn’t been there before. He was terrified.

His brother had been a vicious man in life, yet even he was bullied by such a spirit in death. One could only imagine the strength of this evil. Gazing at his own reflection, recalling how he’d killed his brother, and thinking of the dream, Old Li the Second realized he’d run afoul of something truly sinister. There was no escape; he could only do as the dream instructed.

Luckily, the third day was the first of the month. At midnight, he brought bowls of meat and vegetables, along with gold and silver paper offerings, to the archway, lit incense and candles, burned the paper, and bowed deeply. That night, his brother appeared again in a dream, saying the spirit had received the offerings and life was a little easier now. He begged his brother not to forget the fifteenth.

The next morning, Old Li the Second found the red thread on his chest had vanished. But after another day, a faint new line appeared, growing darker and longer each day, the ends drawing closer. Burning paper offerings made it disappear, but after fifteen days, it would return—over and over. He dared not leave, nor stay in peace, living by the almanac, terrified of forgetting his duty. Every first and fifteenth, rain or shine, he could be found at the archway. Eventually, the whole village knew of his ritual, though none understood why. Later, many newcomers believed Old Li the Second was the last original inhabitant of Hong Village, offering incense to his ancestors.

From then on, Old Li the Second never left Hong Village. He never married, building only two small rooms for himself. As for his tomb-robbing skills, he never used them again, instead helping villagers with feng shui and the siting of graves—hoping to earn a little virtue, so that one day, he might atone for his sins.

...

...