Chapter Thirty: The Rite at the Old Grave

“Wait, it’s Er Pang!”
As soon as I recognized Er Pang, I quickly stopped Niu Dahuang, signaling him not to close the door just yet.

Niu Dahuang, however, said, “The villagers have all changed, kid. He’s not the Er Pang you once knew.”
He was about to shut the door as he spoke, but I rushed over and pleaded, “Grandpa Niu, wait a moment. With Granny Wang here, nothing will happen.”
Niu Dahuang glanced back at Granny Wang, who was quietly wiping down her peachwood ritual sword. Perhaps reassured by her presence, he nodded, leaving one of the large doors open.

Er Pang now stood at the threshold, holding a black umbrella.
He looked somewhat dull, his eyes vacant. The bruises on his face—remnants of the beating he took to save me—still hadn’t faded.
I was about to go over, but Er Pang raised his hand stiffly and struggled to get out a few words, “Boss... don’t... come... over...”
He forced out each word with great difficulty.

I helplessly stopped, standing two or three meters away from him.
His lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in black cloth.
Er Pang extended it toward me, nodding stiffly, motioning for me to take it.
I was about to step forward when Niu Dahuang warned, “Kid, don’t go!”
Granny Wang glanced over, her gaze tinged with surprise. She set down her ritual sword and said, “Niu Dahuang, sit down. It’ll be fine.”
With no other choice, Niu Dahuang sat down, his smoking pipe forgotten, worry etched on his face.

I looked back at Granny Wang, who nodded ever so slightly, as if affirming my actions.
To be honest, I trusted that no matter how Er Pang changed, he wouldn’t harm me. After all, I’d seen his mother, even after her transformation, still bring us food.
Without hesitation, I went over and took the black cloth bundle from Er Pang.
He managed a strained smile as I accepted it.

When I unwrapped it, I was astonished to find the red hairpin inside.
This was completely unexpected. Er Pang, with great effort, spoke again: “One... is... with... Ma... the cripple... I... couldn’t... get... it...”
This red hairpin was the betrothal gift Granny Wang had given me. There had been a pair, but Ma the Cripple had made off with one. Er Pang had brought me the other.

I’d never imagined that Er Pang came just to return this hairpin.
I had thought he’d drunk the Merit Soup only to get a bowl for himself. Now it seemed otherwise. He must have overheard me mention the hairpin, found a clue, and drank the soup to infiltrate those creatures and retrieve it for me.

Understanding this, my nose stung with emotion again. I started toward Er Pang, but he waved his hands in panic, backing away—he did not want me to come closer.

Er Pang glanced at my house, then asked, “Boss... why... do you... live... in a cowshed...”
There was no way I could explain this to him now. What little remained of his self-awareness was nearly gone. That he could deliver the hairpin at all must have been due to sheer instinct.

I wondered, after drinking the Merit Soup, what could I possibly do to save him?
As I struggled with this thought, Er Pang forced another smile, then turned and ran off into the distance.
I wanted to stop him, but Niu Dahuang held me back. Watching my good friend become like this was heart-wrenching, and I still had no idea how to help.

“Child, his mind is no longer his own. Even if we forced him to stay, those rat spirits could claim his life at any moment. Letting him go back might be his only hope,” Granny Wang said, rising to speak to me.

So to keep Er Pang here would only harm him.
I gazed into the distance, watching as Er Pang soon disappeared down the dead-silent village road. Niu Dahuang urged me to go inside, and closed the big doors behind us.

Half a day slipped by in a blur.
At nightfall, Ma the Cripple would make his move; Granny Wang said this was our final chance. Since Niu Dahuang knew no spells or rituals, he couldn’t accompany us. Yet Grandpa needed care, and with him staying home, it worked out. Grandpa’s room wasn’t safe, so we moved him into the ancestral hall, sealing the doors with talismans.

We also pasted Granny Wang’s hand-printed guardian god images on the front gate and the main house door.
After posting the gods, we burned incense and made offerings at each threshold.
Grandpa’s thunderstruck wood ruler was hung upright at the hall’s entrance.

By the time we finished, dusk had fallen. Granny Wang and I made our preparations and set out. Our destination was naturally the Old Grave Slope.

Since Er Pang had acquired the hairpin from the rat spirits, it was clear they were in league with Ma the Cripple. The Ma clan that came later must also be his kin. So at the root of all this turmoil was Ma the Cripple.

He’d coveted the Old Grave Slope for years. Who knew what secrets it held? It seemed unlikely that one Ye Weiyang alone could warrant such a grand scheme. After all, our side’s power was far inferior to Ma the Cripple’s.

Before we left, Granny Wang had donned her ochre Daoist robe and tied her hair in a priest’s knot, peachwood sword strapped to her back. She was now utterly transformed from the elegant Granny Wang in her blue-and-white qipao.

I followed behind her. Though she was still wounded, her very presence inspired confidence and calm.

After sunset, darkness fell. The mountain sky was as though washed in ink—no moon, only thick, drifting clouds.
The woods were silent, save for the occasional caw of a solitary crow, bleak and forlorn.
Far off in the mountains lay the Old Grave Slope.

Behind that slope stretched the ancient boundary range, spanning dozens of miles. Our village drew its name from that very range. The Old Grave Slope was actually the closest isolated hill to the village—seen from afar, it looked like a gigantic burial mound.

Granny Wang and I took a shortcut through the woods, hoping to avoid unnecessary trouble.
But as we neared the slope, we heard the din of drums and gongs. The music sounded festive, yet beneath it was a suffocating tension that made one deeply uneasy.

We stopped atop the ridge opposite the Old Grave Slope.
From here, concealed by trees, we could see the entire slope without being too far away.

Below, a dense crowd had gathered—nearly all the villagers, standing there dazed, with blank eyes, seemingly unaware of their actions.

On the other side, the ritual had already begun.
All sorts of paper effigies—figures, children, sedan chairs, mountains of gold and silver, and more—covered almost half the slope. The scale of these paper offerings was astonishing—truly the work of a grand Daoist clan. Compared to this, my first proposal to Weiyang seemed utterly meager.

“At this rate, your wife really will be taken away,” Granny Wang remarked, whether in jest or to provoke me I couldn’t tell.

Though I had proposed to Ye Weiyang only to save my grandfather, watching the other side make such a grand gesture for her filled me with discomfort.
I began to worry—if this Daoist clan truly succeeded in marrying her, what would I do?

I looked down at the hairpin in my hand, gripping it tightly—my last hope.
“Don’t forget, they still have one too,” Granny Wang reminded me, deepening my anxiety.
Below, the ritual ceremony was underway, but I saw no sign of Ma the Cripple or the rat spirits. It must have been the Ma Daoist clan conducting the proceedings.

From a glance, nearly a hundred had come—young and talented men among them. The one leading the ceremony, dressed in full ritual attire, looked exceptionally imposing. Though I couldn’t make out his face from afar, these privileged scions were surely impressive.

Then there was me, so busy these days I hadn’t even found time to wash my hair. At eighteen, I already felt like a greasy middle-aged uncle.
If I were a girl, I probably wouldn’t choose me either.

“Granny Wang, are we just going to wait here?” I asked, growing restless—not sure if my worry was for Weiyang or for my grandfather’s fate. Perhaps, somewhere inside, I had developed real feelings for her, for seeing that Daoist youth kneel before the nameless stele filled me with a strange, sour jealousy.

“What else do you want to do, go down and join them? See who she’d pick?” Granny Wang shot back, leaving me speechless.

Even if I did go down, who knew what those Daoists would do? And even then, would she really choose me?
I couldn’t be sure.

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