Chapter Two: The Paper Figures Keep Vigil

A few of the men in charge hurried forward to help, but as soon as they moved her, a great pool of fresh blood seeped from beneath the new bride's skull, staining the dry bamboo leaves below with crimson. A sharp bamboo stalk had pierced her head, and she died instantly.

This scene terrified many; the more timid among the crowd immediately bolted. Everyone knew that a catastrophe like this at a wedding was a terrible omen, a grievous violation of the wedding taboos, sure to bring grave misfortune.

Seeing this, my aunt was so frightened she fell to the ground and sat there, speechless for a long time. My cousin, always terrified at the sight of blood, who had just been grinning foolishly with sweat streaming down his face, was now so scared he scrambled up and ran away.

No one had ever seen anything like this and no one knew what to do. Captain Ma sent people out in two directions: one to fetch my grandfather, the other to call the village barefoot doctor, Niu Dahuang.

As soon as he finished giving orders, my aunt suddenly scrambled to her feet and rushed at the new bride—not out of pity, but to kick her several times until the others quickly pulled her back. The dead should be respected, and everyone was appalled by my aunt's behavior.

It didn’t end there. My aunt continued to curse, “Short-lived wretch! If you wanted to die, why didn’t you die earlier? Why did you have to die at my place…”

My uncle stood there, not daring to utter a word. Even I felt ashamed, because after all, we were all from the Lin family. The more my aunt raved, the harder it was to listen; finally, I went over and said, “Auntie, my sister-in-law has already died such a tragic death—how can you say such things?”

“Who’s your sister-in-law? Shuanzi has nothing to do with that short-lived wretch!” My aunt was so unreasonable, there was simply no getting through to her. Now that the woman was dead and my aunt was making such a scene, no one dared provoke her further. Thankfully, my grandfather and Niu Dahuang soon arrived.

Niu Dahuang hurried over, his fingers trembling as he felt for a pulse, his face instantly turning pale. “She’s gone. Prepare for the funeral.”

Grandfather said nothing, his face dark, clearly understanding what had happened. He walked over and gave my aunt a hard slap. No matter how shrewish she was, when grandfather was angry, she was terrified; clutching her face, she began to cry and didn’t dare say another word.

Then grandfather turned to me and said, “Lin Yi, come help. Let’s carry your sister-in-law back first.”

I was stunned. Someone had died—shouldn’t we call the police? Besides, ever since I was a child, grandfather had warned me to stay away from such matters. Now he wanted me to help carry the body—was this really appropriate?

“Me, grandfather? You want me to carry her?” I asked, hesitating, a little afraid.

“That’s right,” he replied, brooking no argument or explanation.

I didn’t understand his reasoning, but if he asked me to do it, I had no grounds to refuse. I nodded. Er Pang came over to help too, shivering as he whispered, “Don’t be scared, boss. I’ll help you.”

I glanced at him, nodded awkwardly.

Just like that, the new bride was gone. The wedding banquet at my uncle’s house turned into a wake. My aunt, relentless as ever, insisted that the woman had never officially married in and wasn’t part of the Lin family; she wanted to dig a hole on the north slope and bury her there, no need for a mourning tent, claiming the short-lived wretch was worse than a stray dog or cat, unworthy of any ceremony.

But everyone knew, in large part, my aunt was to blame for the bride’s death. If the authorities were called, she’d likely be charged with involuntary manslaughter. And now, with these heartless words, people said my aunt was truly beyond redemption.

In the end, there was no other way. As tough as my aunt was, she still cared about her reputation and, more importantly, feared prison. She had to compromise, so a mourning tent was set up outside.

It’s a rule that those who die violently cannot be brought into the house.

If someone must keep vigil, there must be someone with a connection to the dead, to guide the soul home so it may find peace and reincarnate. Otherwise, the spirit would wander as a restless ghost, and if filled with resentment, become a vengeful one.

The one who should have kept vigil was my cousin, but he was simple-minded and terrified of the dead, no matter how anyone tried to persuade him.

In the end, grandfather and uncle, behind my aunt’s back, forcibly tied up my cousin and made him keep vigil. One, to fulfill the duty, and two, as atonement for what he and his mother had done.

Breaking the wedding taboo could have small or unimaginably large consequences.

By the next morning, before dawn, our front door was battered with loud knocking and calls.

Grandfather opened the door to find uncle and aunt kneeling outside. “What’s happened? Get up and speak!” he demanded.

Aunt burst into tears as she spoke. It turned out uncle, too soft-hearted, had failed to keep it from her. Last night, my cousin had been wailing and howling in the mourning tent. Unable to bear it, my aunt secretly released him.

But not long after returning home, my cousin developed a high fever, rambling deliriously that he’d wronged Xiang’er, that he deserved to die, even trying to strangle himself—his eyes had rolled back and bruises were forming on his neck. He was now tied to the bed at home. My aunt, suspecting my sister-in-law’s ghost at work, had come to beg my grandfather for help.

Without a word, grandfather followed them home. Before leaving, he assigned me a task—to go check the mourning tent for anything unusual.

Early as it was, the tent was deserted and cold. Even in daylight, no one liked to approach it. I gritted my teeth and went over. The shroud covering the body had slipped to the ground. The new bride still wore her red wedding dress and veil, her face hidden. My aunt hadn’t even prepared proper funeral clothes; my cousin’s wife lay in her wedding dress on the funeral bed, looking eerie.

I quickly covered her properly with the shroud, lit new incense, adjusted the eternal lamp and added oil, then hurried away.

When I got home, grandfather had already returned. He said my cousin was fine, just frightened, and had taken some charm water; he’d be all right when he woke up.

Then grandfather suddenly fixed his gaze on me. His stare made my hair stand on end, a cold sweat breaking out unconsciously. I blurted, “Grandfather, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing… Lin Yi, in a few days…” he began, then abruptly changed his mind. “Come, pull out a few strands of your hair for me.”

“My hair?”

“That’s right, your hair.”

I didn’t know what he wanted, but he’d never hurt me, so I didn’t question it. I pulled out a few strands and gave them to him. Grandfather shut himself in his room for most of the day. When he emerged, he was holding a paper effigy, crafted in uncanny likeness.

Maybe it was my imagination, but the paper figure looked like me.

I asked casually, and grandfather explained, “Your cousin can’t go back to the mourning tent, but someone needs to keep vigil there. Let this stand in for a while.”

A paper effigy keeping vigil?

It was strange, but though grandfather spoke lightly, I felt uneasy. Why use my hair for the paper figure?

My curiosity got the better of me. I secretly followed and saw something even stranger.

Grandfather didn’t just set the paper effigy in the mourning tent. He lifted the shroud from my cousin’s wife and tucked the paper figure into her arms, then covered them both again.

Was this… a paper figure sharing a bed with the dead?

I was so startled I almost made a sound. What was grandfather doing?

Since he used my hair for the paper figure, this must have something to do with me. After setting it in place, grandfather looked around anxiously as if afraid of being seen. I quickly hid behind a tree so as not to expose him.

When he finally left, I came out from behind the tree, but didn’t dare approach the tent again. I went straight home.

All the way home, I felt unsettled.

Grandfather asked where I’d been. I said I’d gone to play with Er Pang.

He especially warned me, “Best stay home these next few days. Your sister-in-law’s affair is troublesome; don’t bring ill luck to anyone else.”

I nodded, understanding. In the village, it’s tradition—if there’s a death in the house, you don’t enter others’ homes, or you’ll bring misfortune. Grandfather’s words made sense.

But the matter of the paper effigy stuck in my throat; I couldn’t bring myself to mention it.

In the whole village, only grandfather understood such things. I didn’t know who else to ask. That afternoon, Er Pang came by. While chatting, I asked, “Er Pang, have you ever heard of putting a paper figure in bed with a corpse in our area?”

He frowned. Though strong, he was timid, and at the mention of this, given my cousin’s wife’s tragedy, his face turned pale. “Boss, why are you suddenly bringing this up?”

“Oh, nothing, just curious.”

“I’ve never heard of that…” Er Pang paused, staring at me with wide eyes as if something just occurred to him. I pressed him.

After a moment, he wiped cold sweat from his brow, took a deep breath, and whispered, “Boss, I just remembered—I have heard of something like that. Damn, it was Ma Er from Dongwa village who told me. He said sometimes people make a paper figure and bury it with the dead. It’s called a ghost marriage. He saw his grandfather arrange it for someone once—but I don’t know if it’s really true.”

I knew Ma Limp, from Dongwa village—a man who could tell fortunes. He was injured in his youth when a blasting cap went off while building a road, blowing off a leg and blinding an eye. After that, he somehow became a fortune-teller, though grandfather always said his ways were unsavory.

But now, I wondered, had grandfather used my hair for a ghost marriage? I was alive and well—why would he do that?

My head was a mess. Er Pang called my name several times before I snapped out of it. He asked if I was all right.

I said I was just tired from a bad night’s sleep.

That night, there was no howling wind outside my window; everything was eerily quiet.

I slept late but soundly, no dreams at all.

Early the next morning, grandfather rushed into my room, eyes bright with anticipation. “Did you dream last night?”

Still groggy, I was confused by his sudden question. After a few seconds, rubbing my eyes, I thought for a moment and replied, “No.”

“That can’t be. How could you not have dreamed?” Grandfather frowned, deep in thought. “Are you sure? Lin Yi, I’ve been around a long time, and you’re nearly grown—don’t be embarrassed. You can tell me anything!”

I forced a bitter smile and shook my head. “No, really, I didn’t dream last night.”

Grandfather sat on my bed, lit a cigarette, and smoked, looking troubled and a little disappointed. Watching his strange and melancholy expression, I asked, “Grandfather, what dream was I supposed to have?”