Chapter Seventy: Three Years Come to an End

If I had found such a thing in some garbage heap, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It looked very much like an ancient bronze mirror, slightly smaller than a serving dish, about the thickness of a silver dollar, with inscriptions on one side and, on the other, the image of a dragon with wings spread wide.

“A Yinglong!” This was my first time seeing such a legendary dragon design. In ancient Chinese mythology, the Yinglong was the only dragon on the land of China with wings. The material appeared to be bronze, yet not quite; it bore no sign of patina, retaining instead a faint golden hue, exuding an inexplicable aura of royalty.

On the face of it were those characters—sixteen in all.

Black Dragon handed me the bronze disk and said, “Take it. Three days from now, we shall meet again. When that time comes, I’ll need you to tell me what you see.”

This time, when my palm touched it, I felt only a chill. I stared at it, but no matter how hard I tried, not the slightest ripple stirred in my heart. I shook my head. “I’m afraid I can’t do as you wish.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I feel nothing.” When I was very young, my master discovered my talent. In my eyes, everything in the world could communicate, even a wild blade of grass—I could imagine a conversation with it. My master called it the unity of man and nature. He said that in our sect, apart from our founding patriarch Ling Zhengyang, only I possessed this gift. It was said the patriarch spent forty years to achieve it, but I was born with it.

So, I handed the bronze plate back to Black Dragon.

He looked at me with a hint of doubt. “Then why could you see it in the photograph?”

“Maybe I was muddleheaded from lack of sleep.”

“No, because I saw the scene you described as well. I’ve been studying this bronze disk for ten days. On the third day after I brought it back, I saw an image much like what you described. But I didn’t see as much as you did; I only saw that there were many people, and faintly someone standing on the altar, but I couldn’t make out any features. You’re the second one here who’s managed it, and the only one who could see the mask clearly. I was right about you—this is fate!”

I asked, “I want to leave. Can you let me go?”

He smiled, revealing his white teeth. “Leave? Of course, as long as you can decipher the meaning of those characters.”

“I can’t decipher them,” I said truthfully.

Black Dragon replied in a tone that brooked no refusal, “Then you can’t leave.”

And so, I stayed there for three years. Every few days, Black Dragon would come to see me, leading me into that room to gaze upon the bronze plate. His questions were always the same, as were my answers.

Strangely, ever since the first time I saw the scene through the photograph, I never saw it again, not even in the photo. There was simply no connection between it and me anymore—it was as cold and uncommunicative as a stone.

Three years later, I had my first chance. Black Dragon agreed to let me return to pay respects at my master’s grave. My master had been gone for three whole years. Gale accompanied me on the journey; there was a dedicated car, and I had no chance to contact the outside world at all. Everything was under their watchful eyes. Even seeing Xiaoyi was only possible because Gale pleaded on my behalf.

But it was only a fleeting encounter, a brief glance—then we parted ways…

“I don’t want to go back,” I said to Gale, staring at the hotel ceiling.

He was engrossed in the men and women entangled on the TV, shouting without looking away, “It’s so much fun outside. No one wants to go back.”

“Is there no way?”

“No way—unless the boss agrees. I’m telling you, don’t even think about running off. The consequences would be serious. Come on, don’t dwell on it. In China, who could ever escape 0137’s eyes?”

“0137?” It was the first time I’d heard Gale mention this number.

Unexpectedly, the guy just spread his hands and said, “I didn’t say anything.”

I’d only just smelled the scent of home, and now I had to leave again—sleepless…

Dawn was approaching. Watching Gale snoring beside me, I knew I couldn’t go back with him. I had to escape. The agreement was for three years; three years were up, and it was time for me to leave.

The hotel had three floors, the window opened onto a stretch of lawn, and there was a platform between each floor, with an air-conditioning unit—a rare sight in those days. I quietly pulled the sheet from the bed, tied it to the window, and climbed down to the second floor, then repeated the process to reach the first.

The bus station was still locked up in the early morning. I squatted in a corner by the door, dozing off. As I slept, a voice called, “Hey, where are you going?”

“Hong Village!” I answered reflexively, and when I stood up and opened my eyes, the man looked so familiar—who else but Black Dragon?

His tone was imperious. “You can only buy a ticket home from me. If I don’t sell, no one will.”

“Either let me go home alive, or carry away my corpse.”

“Going to force it?” He laughed, mocking and disdainful.

I drew my sword and pressed it to my neck. At the slightest touch, the blade broke the skin…

Black Dragon grabbed my hand, sighed, and said, “Go home. If necessary, I’ll find you again, Zha Wenbin!”

It was the first time he’d called my name. I nodded heavily and stepped into the station…

I am Xiaoyi. Last night my maternal uncle’s family was in an uproar. It was the second day of the New Year; two coffins laid out in the yard, women wailing, and I don’t remember ever seeing so many people at their house. By rights, you don’t hold funerals during the New Year, but this was too much—losing two lives in quick succession. Even the police were there; the black mass of people surrounded the place, not a gap to be found.

Did my uncle and his brother-in-law’s deaths have anything to do with me? The women wouldn’t have it otherwise—their men died, they wanted someone to blame, and naturally, I became their target. As soon as I walked in, they grabbed at my clothes, tearing my suit and my sweater, leaving bloody scratch marks on my arms and neck. If there hadn’t been so many people, I think those women—my aunts—would have torn me to pieces.

There’s no reasoning with women, especially hysterical women, and reason had no place here. Fatty and I barely escaped and spent a whole day sulking at home. My mother nagged non-stop about causing trouble and never learning, and thankfully, when my father came home at night, he just wore a dark face and said nothing.

Dinner was gloomy. I knew he’d been out gathering information that afternoon; of course, this would be pinned on our family. In the countryside, bullies don’t care for evidence or law—they’ll curse you, dump manure at your door, scatter funeral money from the bridge all the way into your yard. When you run into something like this, you can only endure.

“How about a drink tonight?” I tried to break the tension, holding the bottle out to pour my father some wine.

With a crash, he flung the bottle far across the room.

“Oh, what are you doing? How are we supposed to live? It’s only the second day of the New Year!” my mother started to cry. Anyone would find it hard to accept—such a mess right at the start of the New Year. I’d heard that word was already out: pay up a hundred thousand, fifty thousand per family, and the matter would be dropped; otherwise, we’d never have peace.

“Did they ask for money?” I tested the old man.

“Dare they! The nerve!” My father slammed his hand on the table. “They can ask all they want. No money—only bullets!”

“Hey, Xiaoyi, I like your dad’s temper,” Fatty chimed in, the kind who always enjoys a good drama.

Just then, there was a loud knocking at the door.

My mother, her tears not yet dry, set down her chopsticks anxiously. “Are they back again?”

“To hell with them!” My father turned, grabbed his hunting rifle, and fired a shot into the air before opening the door. Birds scattered from the trees in fright.

“Uncle, it’s me…” Outside, Zha Wenbin stood with his hands raised in front of the barrel.

He was back—Zha Wenbin, gone for three whole years…

I had so many questions, but didn’t know how to begin. He spoke first. “Xiaobai, how is she?”

“She went to America. We’ve lost contact.”

Zha Wenbin fell silent, then said quietly, “She must be very disappointed in me…”

Seeing the shadow in his eyes, I didn’t press further. I didn’t want to know what had happened back then. I understood that it was something he never wished to speak of again.

“And you two?”

“Loafing around—this is the first time I’ve come home for New Year, and look at the mess we’ve run into.” I recounted everything that happened with the incense burning. Zha Wenbin listened intently. I saw his brow furrow several times at key details.

“Any thoughts?”

“This probably isn’t your fault,” Zha Wenbin asked Fatty, “Did you follow through on that promise of a banquet?”

Fatty grinned. “Of course not, I was just talking.”

“It’s one thing to lie to people, but you mustn’t lie to ghosts,” Zha Wenbin said. “That night, you ran into a ghost on your way to burn incense!”

“Then how come I didn’t see it?” I asked.

Zha Wenbin answered with one sentence that left me speechless. “Can you see the back of your own head?”

“You mean he was always behind me?” The memory made my scalp tingle.

“And he followed you home, and then Fatty muddle-headedly drank with him. Normally, after being buried, a soul should bless its descendants. Your uncle was a good man in life, but that doesn’t mean he stayed that way after death. People have two sides; in life, his goodness kept his darkness hidden, and so his life was tragic. In death, his malice surged forth, and he turned unrecognizable. Cases like this are rare.”

“My uncle did that?” I was skeptical. “He was bullied by his children all his life—would he be so ruthless in death?”

“Even a rabbit will bite when cornered, let alone a ghost,” Zha Wenbin went on. “I think he probably drank the soup of forgetfulness but never entered the underworld, instead jumping off the Bridge of No Return. If you don’t believe me, go ask—see if anyone performed the Crossing the Immortal Bridge ritual for him when he died.”

Good night, friends. I’m back.