Chapter Eighty-One: Hands and Feet on the Tomb Beam

"I don't know. What about you, any plans? Or maybe just stay here for a couple of days."
The eccentric man flicked the fringe hanging over his nose and, with a gaze as airy as the wind, said to Zha Wenbin, "Dragon Master wants me to go to Shandong, to that so-called Penglai Island. They’re making it look real enough, so I have to leave this afternoon."
Hearing that he was leaving, the tension that had been stuck in my throat finally eased, but his next words sent my nerves crashing again: "I’ll mention it to Dragon Master later. Keeping me locked at home all the time isn’t right either. How about I come to you in a while? I’ve found the outside world is way more fun than our place."
"Come to me?" Zha Wenbin smiled wryly. "I don’t even have a home now, just crashing at a friend’s."
The guy threw an arm around my shoulders and said, "Your friend is my friend too. We’re all one of us—no need to be so formal. It’s settled, I’ll come again another day."
"Oh, right, little brother, you’d better have 1982 deal with whatever’s inside that black umbrella soon. I’m afraid if you keep it too long, it’ll start draining your energy at night."
Me: "..."
After sending him off, Zha Wenbin remembered that the umbrella was still with me. He opened the bottom and was relieved my mother hadn’t discovered it—otherwise, she’d surely have burned it to ashes. Yet, thinking it over, what exactly was the relationship among these people?
Fatty, chewing on a toothpick, analyzed, "They’re all family—father, son-in-law, and father-in-law. But from what Little Yi said, that old man was pretty honest. What kind of grudge would drive someone to go after their family so ruthlessly?"
Zha Wenbin thought it over. "Take me to your uncle’s grave tonight. I need to ask him directly."
The graveyard would be frozen at night, and climbing it would be hard. I looked at the umbrella and asked, "Why not ask at home? Isn’t the soul inside the umbrella?"
"It’s only temporarily housed there, not a long-term solution. Your uncle was a poor soul. I suspect someone tampered with his grave, otherwise, he would have returned home instead of drifting outside."
"Then let’s go soon. That place is nothing but graves—look around and you see mounds everywhere. It’s easy to get lost once it’s dark."
After dinner, the three of us made up an excuse about going out to play. At that time, my cousin’s family had a tricycle—a three-wheeled motorcycle. His father worked in the government, so their family was well off. I borrowed the vehicle, and we rattled off toward the neighboring village.
Winter nights fall early. By half past five, you couldn’t see ten meters ahead. Our boots crunched loudly on the frozen snow. I really didn’t want to climb that hill—take three steps, slide one back, and with much pulling and pushing, we only managed to reach halfway up after an hour and a half.
But the spot was good—high ground with a wide view. My uncle’s grave was more modest than the others in the cluster. The wealthy families had already covered theirs with bricks and cement, topped with tiles, but my uncle’s was just clay and stone slabs, no headstone in front. To be blunt, after his wife passed, it would become a lonely, ownerless grave.
Zha Wenbin patted the black umbrella gently. "Old man, come out, you’re home."
I didn’t see anything, only watched Zha Wenbin shake the umbrella and then open it slowly, placing it atop the mound. That’s when something strange happened!
The umbrella was similar to today’s long-handled automatic ones, but back then, it had to be opened by hand, with no springs, and closed manually too, secured by a latch. Once opened, it was hard to close. They were all handmade, pure steel—not like today’s flimsy metal frames.
As soon as Zha Wenbin opened it and placed it on the grave, it snapped shut by itself and rolled to the ground with a "pop."
Fatty was blabbering nonsense again. "Hey, looks like the old man doesn’t want to return. Maybe he enjoyed sleeping at Little Yi’s place. Fine, let’s take him home and let him keep her company."
"Fatty, if we ever go to Guangzhou, I’ll sell you to the blacks." Honestly, I was afraid it would be easy to invite the spirit but hard to send it away. If I had to take him back, I’d rather die than do it.
Zha Wenbin picked up the umbrella, tucked it behind his back, and started circling the earthen grave, his gaze finally settling on the stone slabs.
This type of grave is common in northwestern Zhejiang—let me explain for those unfamiliar.
Find a flat spot, dig a shallow pit, about half a coffin deep, shaped just slightly larger than the coffin. The coffin is placed directly in the pit, walls built around it with clay or bricks, like building a house. The walls rise about ten centimeters above the coffin. Then, a beam is placed between the head and foot, like a house.
That beam is called the grave beam, and it’s very particular—by tradition, the eldest son must cut it himself from the mountain, carry it up, and set it to show filial piety.
Once the beam is set, they add inches, same as roofing a house, nail on tiles, then cover with thick stone slabs, seal with lime mixed with clay.
The advantage is simple construction, low labor, and easy to relocate later. The downside is it collapses easily and leaks water—mostly used by the poor.
I watched Zha Wenbin sweep snow off the slabs, wondering if he planned to open the coffin. If word got out, it would bring bad luck.
"Wenbin, you—?"
"I’m just looking." He removed slab after slab—only two layers. Clearly, the unfilial children were too lazy, didn’t care about their father, and the thin roof would rot within three years.
"Hand me the flashlight."
I gave him the flashlight. He had opened a big hole in the grave top, shining the light inside and feeling around. His expression changed, and before I could ask, he flung a bundle down onto the snow.
In the bright white snow, a palm-sized, pitch-black object stood out, landing right at Fatty’s feet.
"What’s this? The old man couldn’t have any treasure. Are you grave robbing, Master Zha?"
Zha Wenbin put the slabs back and said, "Look closely, what is it?"
Fatty and I squatted to inspect it. Hey, I recognized it—and was intensely disgusted. I’d feared such things since childhood—it was gross.
It was the dried corpse of a toad. A red string was tied to its leg, and a coin was lodged in its mouth. The coin had been pierced with the string, binding the upper and lower jaws, sealing the coin inside.
"Interesting. Is this for attracting wealth?"
Fatty’s guess reminded me—I’d seen plenty of toy toads with coins in their mouths in Guangzhou. Many shop counters kept one for luck.
Zha Wenbin finished restoring the grave and came over, pointing at the dried toad. "What you’re talking about is the three-legged golden toad—a lucky beast. But this isn’t that. This isn’t the toad you know, either. Our local toads live near rivers and fields, always where there’s water.
This one is called the yellow toad—it lives in the mountains and can’t go in water."
"Never heard of mountain-dwelling toads. That’s new."
"Don’t underestimate it—this thing is deadly poisonous, but also valuable. The coin in its mouth is called the ‘Universal Mirror.’ The coin is modeled after the ancient saying ‘round heaven, square earth,’ and a toad’s wide mouth can encompass the world. In the past, Daoists used this to ward off evil—if your house was restless, you’d hang it on the beam, and spirits would avoid it, even more effective than a bagua mirror.
Binding such a thing to the grave beam is deliberately preventing the soul from finding rest. It’s like setting a roadblock on your uncle’s path to the afterlife—neither the officials nor your uncle can pass, so his soul drifts outside."
"How did you notice?" I asked.
Zha Wenbin pointed to the stone slabs. "I saw fresh salt stains below, and the positions were shifted compared to the others. I figured someone had tampered with it, and sure enough. Whoever did it knew their stuff, but their heart was twisted, always up to shady tricks."
He opened the umbrella again and placed it atop the grave. This time, it didn’t close.
Zha Wenbin gathered some wild grass nearby, set the umbrella alight, added incense and a stack of paper, then addressed the grave, "Old man, there are two roads in life and death. Since you’ve gone, walk them well. We won’t disturb you anymore. Tonight, tell me everything—the cause and effect. After the Lantern Festival, I’ll help you cross over, and make sure you’re reborn into a good family."
I had no idea where Zha Wenbin planned to meet my uncle’s soul that night. Anyway, that night Fatty and I slept together. I checked the doors and windows several times, even put scissors under the pillow—people say it wards off evil...
Yet, I didn’t sleep well. In my dream, I saw my uncle riding a donkey, waving at me and smiling as he went.
The next morning, I woke up aching all over, exhausted beyond words, and stepping outside, found Zha Wenbin already jogging in the yard.
He had a habit—no matter winter or summer, he ran every morning. Even during the educated youth days, no matter how late the farmwork, he’d run at dawn. They said he was sickly as a child, always ill, and his master forced this habit on him.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked.
"Not bad. But we need to go to Scholar Village this afternoon."
"What’s up?"
Zha Wenbin wiped his face with a towel. "Your uncle told me something last night. I need to verify it."
I was just swallowing porridge when I nearly burned my throat from choking...
Author’s note:
Second update. Apparently, I have a livestream tomorrow. Anyone interested, come join me, ha ha.