Chapter 31: Encountering Evil in the Deep Mountains, Part 1

Chapter 31: Encountering Evil in the Deep Mountains (Part 1)

After Zhang Sanlu climbed out the window, he found that the old woman had already vanished without a trace.

“Hui-niang, do you know that old woman?” Zheng Ji, having calmed himself, brought the little girl over to the table, lit the oil lamp, and asked.

The woman had already settled down and dozed off. Zhang Sanlu, upon entering, quickly checked on her; aside from the blood from her pulled teeth, she seemed otherwise unharmed.

At that moment, Zheng Ji, still shaken, listened as the little girl recounted the story of how her mother had come to be in such a state.

It turned out that a few days ago, during the Ghost Festival—known locally as the festival of spirits—it was customary for married women to prepare offerings such as paper garments, spirit money, live poultry, and fruit, and return to their parental homes to honor their ancestors. Their husband's family typically did not take part in these rites. Since the husband's family also observed their own ancestral rituals, the women would often set out alone early in the day and return before dusk.

Hui-niang’s mother, surnamed Han, had prepared beautiful paper clothes, shoes, socks, folded gold ingots, spirit money, and had brought fruit and other offerings to her elder brother’s house to join in the ancestral ceremony.

She remembered when her parents were still alive; whenever she returned home, no matter how busy they were, her parents would always put aside their work so the family could gather in the courtyard, bustling with laughter as they slaughtered chickens and ducks. Her family home, in those days, was filled with warmth and happiness.

But now, in the blink of an eye, she had become an orphan; with her parents gone, her childhood home no longer provided comfort or support. Whenever she thought of this, she would linger sorrowfully at their graves for a long time. By the time the ritual was over and she left the mountains, it was already noon. Back at her brother’s house, she busied herself helping prepare a sumptuous meal. As the guests slowly departed, dusk drew near. Fearing the dark, Han hurriedly picked up the pair of bamboo baskets used for the offerings and made her way quickly along the mountain path back to her husband’s home.

As night fell, those who had come to honor their ancestors had long since dispersed, and the mountain path returned to its tranquil silence, a stark contrast to the earlier bustle. Here and there along the way, scattered spirit money and offerings could be seen—left behind by the villagers out of pity for wandering, unhonored souls, and to appease them so they would not steal offerings meant for their own ancestors. Han trod carefully along the lonely path, making sure to avoid stepping on the spirit money, fearful that if her shoes touched the paper, some unwelcome guest might follow her home.

The night breeze whispered through the leaves, amplifying the unease of the shadowy woods. Han quickened her pace, silently praying to her ancestors for protection and safe passage.

As she walked faster, the mountain path seemed to grow ever darker, with only the occasional shaft of moonlight breaking through the treetops to guide her. Every so often she glanced back, making sure nothing sinister was following her.

After walking for about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, she knew that just ahead, after one more bend around the hillside, she would be able to see the village. She wondered if her little ones at home had eaten yet, those troublemakers who always needed to be chased down at dinner. With this thought, Han entered the gully between two hills. By now, the sun had set, and even the moonlight could barely penetrate the ravine.

Just as Han was about to leave the gully, a chilling voice suddenly called out from behind her, echoing from afar.

“Wait for me!”

Han froze on the path, her heart pounding, an inexplicable fear welling up from deep within. She instinctively wanted to turn around, to see who was calling her name. But then she remembered the ancient taboo: “If you walk in the mountains at night, never turn back when you hear a voice!” She knew the old legends weren’t to be taken lightly. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on, keeping her head down, reciting prayers to all the gods, spirits, and ancestors she could think of.

Though she forced herself onward, her ears strained to catch every sound—the rustling of leaves, the distant cry of a night bird. She kept telling herself she must have imagined it, that there was nothing to fear.

Then the voice called out again, this time sounding just like her elder brother: “Little sister, wait up! I’ve been trying to catch you for ages, I have something to tell you.”

Han immediately recognized her brother’s voice and her anxiety melted away. She turned around, relieved and delighted.

But there was no sign of her brother—only a cold wind blowing past, sending chills up her spine. She searched instinctively for his figure, but saw no one. Instead, beneath a dead tree not far behind, stood a disheveled old woman. Her body was tightly wrapped in coarse burlap, her skin a sickly, rotting yellow, with foul, black pus oozing from her eye sockets and neck. Barefoot, she stood in a pool of inky black water, an eerie sight.

Han’s heart hammered in her chest, terror flooding her body as though drenched in ice water. Her feet felt nailed to the ground, unable to move. The old woman opened her mouth—hollow and dark, with no tongue—yet a harsh, raspy voice emerged: “It’s so cold here in the mountains. Won’t you keep me company and walk with me a while?”

The piercing voice echoed through the silent woods, sending shivers down Han’s spine. In that moment, a desperate will to survive surged within her. She remembered the old stories the elders told about mountain spirits and ghosts. Swallowing hard, she knew she mustn’t answer, for to respond was to invite the spirit to latch onto her.

Han took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and silently chanted her ancestors’ names, praying for their protection. Then she tried to force her feet to move.

But the old woman beckoned to her as she spoke, turning to walk deeper into another ravine. To Han’s horror, she found her body moving of its own accord, following behind, her mind foggy but retaining a sliver of consciousness. She told herself it must be a dream, a nightmare from which she longed to awaken. Fear made her squint, half-closing her eyes as she numbly trudged onward.

She did not know how long or how far she walked, only that the moon hung low and distant, lighting the path in a pale glow, as if the ground were strewn with spirit money. At some point, the pale, hunched figure ahead turned to look at her, her filthy, stiff face twisting into a strange grin. She sat down on a mound of wild graves, patting the earth beside her, and said, “There’s not much to offer here, but sit and have a bowl of noodles before we go on.”

The old woman produced a small bowl, which, at some point, had been filled with steaming white noodles, giving off an enticing aroma. Han’s hunger awoke in that instant, and in her daze she took the bowl and began to eat ravenously. They walked on for some time. Up ahead, they had to pass through a long, narrow ravine, the moon seeming to hang just above it. Han was about to follow the old woman into the darkness of the ravine when a stern voice rang out from the shadows.

“You, woman, leave this place at once!”

In an instant, Han, who had been in a daze, suddenly snapped awake, her mind clearing. Looking around, she saw only darkness in the ravine, the night swallowing everything, not even her own hands visible. There was no sign of the old woman anywhere.