Chapter Six: Neither Living Nor Dead

Soon after, I heard the sound of the door lock turning. My heart tightened, almost to the breaking point. Grandfather’s footsteps grew nearer and nearer. I gripped the wooden ruler tightly, my palm slick with nervous sweat, as I saw Grandfather approaching with an axe in his hand, fresh blood dripping from its blade. But when he saw my tense expression, a hint of confusion flickered across his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Hearing Grandfather’s familiar voice, I snapped back to myself and waved my hand, stammering, “N-nothing, it’s nothing...” As I spoke, I instinctively glanced out toward the courtyard.

Grandfather followed my gaze.

“Is he... dead?” I asked. If the cripple Ma was dead, Grandfather would be a murderer. Even if what Ma said wasn’t true, Grandfather couldn’t escape the crime of killing.

“Yes, he’s dead, but not the way you think.” Grandfather explained, sounding weary. He tossed the axe aside, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.

I wanted to ask more, but Grandfather said, “Lin Yi, go to bed. There shouldn’t be any more trouble tonight. You can finally get a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh, right! I’m exhausted. Go out and burn the things in the courtyard, and make sure to lock the main gate...” His voice was weak, as if true exhaustion had overtaken him.

I agreed at once and hurried out of his room. But just as I reached the doorway, I heard Grandfather begin to snore in his room. From a distance, I stared at the body of Ma, lying in the courtyard, Grandfather’s words echoing in my mind, leaving me unsettled.

I closed the main gate first, as Grandfather had indicated. Was he asking me to help him cover up the traces of a crime?

To be honest, I had no idea what to do at that moment.

Moving cautiously, I shone my flashlight over the form on the ground—and was stunned by what I saw.

I rubbed my eyes, unable to believe it.

Lying in the courtyard was only a straw man.

The straw man was dressed in clothes, its face pasted with paper, crudely drawn with nose and eyes, the lines clumsy and nothing like the lifelike paper effigies Grandfather made. At the back of its head was a hole, and from that wound seeped bright red blood.

From that hole protruded something furry, and a strange, foul stench filled the air.

I held my breath, reached out, grabbed the furry thing, and pulled it out.

Only then did I see clearly: inside the straw man’s head, a yellow weasel had burrowed in, its skull smashed to a pulp. So that was what Grandfather’s axe had struck.

Relief washed over me, though my mind was full of questions. What I saw overturned my understanding once more. I could never have imagined, never have believed, that the one speaking to me wasn’t Ma at all, but this weasel.

Grandfather hadn’t killed a man, but rid us of a menace.

A weasel burrowing into a straw man’s head was eerie and unsettling; the more I looked, the more it made my skin crawl. Without further thought, I did as Grandfather told me, burning the straw man and the weasel together in a blazing fire.

Only when the thing was reduced to ashes did I feel at ease enough to go back to bed. What I’d witnessed had, for the moment, untangled the knot in my heart.

I would never trust the words of a yellow weasel, but the paper effigy in Grandfather’s shrine was real enough—what did it mean? The question gnawed at me and kept me tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Every now and then, the grinning face of the paper doll would drift into my mind, its goofy, foolish smile sending chills down my spine, even as I huddled under my covers.

It really did look just like Hanzi.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual and faintly heard voices outside. When I opened the door, I saw a dozen or so people pointing and chattering outside the courtyard wall, all staring at the bamboo grove. Among them was Er Pang, who hastened over when he saw me.

“Boss, why... why are there so many weasels outside your house?”

What I saw nearly made my heart stop. In the bamboo grove hung dozens upon dozens of yellow weasels—at least thirty or forty—each and every one of them hanged from bamboo poles, tongues lolling.

Old Uncle Gengen, toothless with age, sighed and muttered, “Yi, hurry and wake your grandfather. You’d better figure out a way to deal with this. Hanging weasels is a curse for death—your family... you’re in for big trouble now!”

With that, Old Uncle Gengen left without lingering. I understood what he meant—having grown up around Grandfather, I’d learned plenty. The villagers thought it was a terrible omen too, and after gawking for a bit, they all hurried off.

Only Er Pang stayed behind. I told him to go home as well, but he insisted he wasn’t afraid. He said he’d come to tell me about something strange in Dongwa Village.

“What happened?” I asked.

He lowered his voice. “Ma from Dongwa Village is dead. They said it was gruesome—burned to a crisp, and his head smashed to a pulp.”

The words sent a chill through me, reminding me of last night’s straw man and the weasel.

Er Pang seemed to notice my silence. “Isn’t that strange?” he pressed.

I came to myself and asked, “But... how did Ma die?”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know. Folks say he was no good, always up to something, and finally got what he deserved.”

After that, I sent Er Pang home, frowned at the hanging weasels, and went inside to call Grandfather. I knocked on the door but got no answer.

Grandfather’s door was ajar, so I pushed it open. Inside, he was still lying down. Normally, he was always up early, but today, it was well past his usual hour, and he was still asleep. I figured he must have been exhausted last night, so I went over to rouse him—but no matter how I called, he didn’t respond.

Fear struck me. No matter how deeply he slept, he shouldn’t be so unresponsive. As I leaned in closer, my heart pounded: Grandfather’s face was deathly pale, drained of all color.

I checked for breath—nothing. He wasn’t breathing.

No, he couldn’t be dead!

I must have made a mistake. Niu Dahuang lived nearby and was on good terms with Grandfather—I should fetch him right away.

I dashed to Niu Dahuang’s house and told him about Grandfather. He was shocked, grabbed his medicine box, and hurried back with me.

At the entrance, he was startled by the hanged weasels but didn’t spare them a glance before heading straight into Grandfather’s room.

I stood anxiously at the door, watching him examine Grandfather.

Niu Dahuang worked quickly, even pinching Grandfather’s philtrum, his face full of puzzlement.

His confusion gave me a sliver of hope—maybe things weren’t as bad as I feared.

I asked what was wrong with Grandfather. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Your grandfather’s condition is strange... his pulse is there, but he has no breath at all. It’s like he’s alive but can’t wake up, neither dead nor living. I’ve been a barefoot doctor all my life, but I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“What should we do?” I asked.

Niu Dahuang shook his head. “I don’t know! I’ll go home and look through my old medical books, see if I can find anything like your grandfather’s case. Yi, I think this has something to do with those weasels outside—be careful!”

With that, he left.

I walked him out, only to find that all those weasels had vanished from the bamboo grove. They hadn’t really hanged themselves—they’d only pretended, to curse us. Niu Dahuang spat and told me to be careful, warning me not to tell anyone about Grandfather’s condition, especially strangers. If anyone unfamiliar came knocking, I should turn them away.

I nodded, memorizing his words.

Still, I wondered—our village is so remote, hardly anyone ever visits. Why was he so insistent?

After that, Niu Dahuang didn’t come by again. When I went to his home, the door was locked and he was nowhere to be found. Even the neighbors had no idea where he’d gone. This left me anxious and more worried about Grandfather.

My uncle was busy with Hanzi’s funeral, and the mourning hall for my cousin’s wife must have been left unattended.

I locked up and went to check the mourning hall, only to find it dismantled, just a tattered shelter left behind.

When I asked at my uncle’s house, he said Grandfather had buried my cousin’s wife the previous night, but he didn’t know exactly where.

Then my uncle asked why he hadn’t seen Grandfather around.

I told him Grandfather had been up all night and was resting. My uncle looked doubtful and asked if Grandfather was all right. Before I could answer, my aunt dragged him away, scolding him for idling about when their son had just died.

Hanzi was buried on the ancestral burial slope, as was proper—no one could object, for that was the rule in Laojieling Village: the Lin family’s dead must be interred there.

But along the funeral procession, people kept asking why Grandfather wasn’t there—he usually presided over such affairs.

My uncle and I made up excuses, but no one seemed convinced. Some whispered that my aunt had offended her father-in-law by mishandling things.

If not for my uncle’s mention, I wouldn’t have known that Grandfather had already buried my cousin’s wife the previous night. He’d said it was fine to let things play out, and I thought he’d really wash his hands of it. But now I saw that, in the end, he couldn’t bear to see his neighbors in trouble—he’d helped them after all.

And now, Grandfather lay in a coma—no doubt connected to his efforts to save those people.

But just as I thought Grandfather had resolved my cousin’s wife’s matter, calamity struck my aunt first.

The morning after Hanzi was buried, my aunt went to the bamboo grove to pick bamboo leaves, slipped, and struck her head on a sharp bamboo stump. She died on the spot, her skull pierced—a death exactly like my cousin’s wife.

Panic swept the village. People said my aunt suffered retribution for her misdeeds. Nor was she the only one who had opposed the burial on the ancestral slope—there was also Chen Ada, who had kicked the coffin. That very night, after my aunt’s death, Chen Ada, in a hurry to relieve himself, somehow drowned headfirst in the latrine.

One after another, those who had opposed the burial met their ends. The rest, terrified, pooled their money and managed to hire a Taoist priest from somewhere.

The priest was impeccably dressed and looked the part. It seemed he’d heard from someone in the village that my grandfather was skilled at reading omens and feng shui. After a meal in the village, he came straight to my house.

Grandfather had not regained consciousness. During this time, Niu Dahuang had brought over a pill for Grandfather to hold under his tongue, and specifically warned me not to let anyone see or approach him—especially strangers.

Although this priest had the air of the Taoist who had once saved my life with a talisman, he was, in truth, a stranger.

I once thought that in our isolated village, no outsider would ever come, but this priest turned out to be precisely that unexpected stranger.