FMT 1

Chapter 01  Ghost Marriage

It was late at night. In a broken farmhouse, a man had drunk himself drunk and lay sprawled on the wooden bed, snoring thunderously.

In the outer room, the woman of the house had her hair loose and disheveled, dark circles under her eyes, swollen cheeks. On her patched and repatched clothes, there were specks of dried blackened blood.

In her arms, she held two trembling children tightly. The older one was a daughter, the younger one was a ge’er.

“Mother, does it hurt?” Children from poor families grew up early. The three- or four-year-old daughter was already sensible. She touched her mother’s face carefully with heartache.

Her mother gave a bitter smile and shook her head. She said, “Lianye, it doesn’t hurt.”

The daughter’s eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip and said, “Father is bad. He is not a good person!”

Her mother immediately covered the daughter’s mouth. Her face turned stern and she said, “You cannot talk like that about your father. It is me who is useless. After so many years I still have not given the Bai family a son to continue the line. Your father only feels sorrow in his heart, that is why he is like this.”

Seeing her daughter’s expression, the woman lowered her hand. Her face softened again. She said gently to the two children, “Lianye, Liandan, in the future you must also give your husbands sons and daughters, take care of your husbands and children, serve your parents-in-law well. This is the duty of women and ge’er. Remember it?”

The woman cried as she held the two small, thin bodies tightly again. She rubbed her chin against the tops of their heads and choked out, “This is fate. You must accept it…”

Lianye leaned against her mother’s arms, biting her lip and shedding silent tears. Beside her, Liandan, not yet two years old, looked blankly at his mother, then at his sister. Before long, his mouth quivered, and he stifled his voice as he began to sob softly.

…

Seventeen years later, Kaoshan Village.

On the winding path, a big red bridal sedan swayed as it was carried into the village, the sound of suona blaring.

From somewhere in the village, dogs came running out, yellow, black, big, small, in packs. They barked at the sedan. The old servant woman walking beside the sedan trembled in fear, until the men leading the way threw some stones to drive the dogs off. Only then did she let out a breath.

She straightened her sleeves and spoke softly toward the sedan, “Endure a little longer, we are almost there.”

After entering the village, many people came out of their doors to watch the spectacle. Small children, when they saw the bridal sedan, wanted to run after it to ask for wedding candy. But the adults called their children back, unlike usual when they let them go. Instead they picked up their unwilling children and turned back into their yards.

At first glance, the procession looked normal. But at the front of the sedan, where there should have been a pair of suonas, there was only one. And on the tall horse before the sedan, there was no spirited groom. On the empty saddle was tied a black memorial tablet. On it, in big characters: “The Memorial Tablet of the Deceased Son Chen Hanwen.”

One look and it was clear. This was a ghost marriage.

Kaoshan Village was small, only three rows of houses. The noisy procession carried the bride to the middle row, to one of the doors.

With the sound of firecrackers, the servant woman lifted the sedan curtain. A thin bride covered with a red veil was helped out. From the dress it was a ge’er.

This ghost marriage was to wed a living ge’er to a dead man.

Someone took the wooden memorial tablet down from the horse and shoved it into the weak ge’er’s arms. The moment he touched the tablet, his body trembled. Tears immediately fell in a stream onto the veins tensed on the back of his hand, but no one cared.

At that moment, another servant ran out from inside and, together with the one who had escorted the bride, half-supported and half-carried the ge’er’s frail body into the courtyard.

They stepped over a brazier of fire, crushed roof tiles underfoot, and carried him into the bridal chamber.

When the bride entered the room, the others busied themselves for a while, then left.

The escorting woman stood at the bed, looked at the bride, sighed, and said softly, “Marry a chicken, follow the chicken. Marry a dog, follow the dog. This is fate. Endure this life, in the next strive to be born well.”

She gave him a few more instructions, then left with sighs, leaving the bride alone in the room.

As the door closed, the bride could no longer hold back and began to cry. Hoarsely, in a small voice, he repeated again and again, “Mother, I am afraid. I am afraid…”

Clang. The memorial tablet in his arms slipped to the floor. It startled him so much that he jumped. The red veil slid off, revealing a pale young face. His features could be called delicate, but his face was thin to two narrow lines, his chin sharp and small. He looked no more than fifteen or sixteen, not yet grown.

But in truth, he was already nineteen. He had always never eaten his fill, so his growth had been stunted.

His surname was Bai. His name was Liandan. He was the second child of the Bai family from Mangshan Village next door, a ge’er. He had an older sister above him and a younger brother below.

Bai Liandan’s family was poor. To marry a wife for his younger brother, and with his older sister already married off, the money was still not enough.

When he reached the age to marry, there were ordinary families who wanted him. But the Chen family offered more bride price. His parents gritted their teeth and decided to marry him into this ghost marriage.

Before he got into the sedan, his mother was still wiping her tears. Yet she still pried loose Liandan’s hand that clutched desperately at her sleeve.

Before leaving, Liandan finally ate a full meal. Fragrant white rice with a small bowl of braised pork. His parents did not tell him to be sensible and leave some for his younger brother. All the rice and meat was his alone.

Liandan had never eaten so much rice. On the road, as the sedan jolted, he almost threw up several times.

The neighbor woman who escorted the bride kept telling him to hold it in, saying it was unlucky to vomit inside the sedan.

But he was marrying a dead man, and the Chen family was already known for being hard to deal with. However unlucky, could it get any worse?

Even so, Liandan endured it. He knew that this meal might be the best one he would ever eat in this life, and he could not waste it.

Liandan’s face was pale as he looked helplessly at the memorial tablet that had fallen to the floor.

He had never studied and could not recognize many characters. But he clearly recognized the name written on the tablet. Just last night, his mother had shown him the name written by someone she had asked, told him to remember it, that from now on this name was his husband, the one fated for him in this life.

Earlier, when there had been many people and noise, it had not been so bad. Now, in this strange house, left alone with nothing but this black wooden memorial tablet of the dead, Liandan, timid as he was, cried even harder from fear.

But the neighbor woman was right. Marry a chicken, follow the chicken. Marry a dog, follow the dog. No matter how afraid he was, no matter how unwilling, he had already entered the Chen family’s gates. From now on, he was the wife of this dead man, Chen Hanwen.

Before he left home, his mother had urged him again and again to do his duty as a wife.

Liandan had always been the most obedient child. Even though his fingers shook badly with fear, he still crouched down, picked up the memorial tablet reverently and fearfully, and held it in his arms.

In the night, the big red wedding candles gave off a faint yellow glow. Liandan kept feeling as if someone was watching him.

…

A year and a half later.

The sky was not yet light, the rooster had not yet crowed, but smoke was already rising from the chimney of the Chen house.

A thin young man in patched coarse cloth clothes lit the stove. In the big pot he boiled cabbage and potato soup, and on the steamer he cooked a layer of coarse corn buns.

While waiting for the food to cook, Liandan had already boiled hot water on the other side of the stove. As he worked, he listened for sounds from the inner room.

The moment he heard the sound of the old woman coughing and spitting, his whole body tensed. He quickly poured the hot water into a wooden basin, added cold water to test the temperature, placed a cloth towel on the side, bent down, and respectfully knocked before entering the inner room.

Inside, Old Madam Chen’s large body leaned against the head of the bed. Her small feet, mismatched with her size, rubbed against the ground, searching for the shoes she had taken off last night.

Seeing this, Liandan immediately put down the basin and ran over, picking up the two shoes from the floor. He respectfully squatted and put them on her feet.

Old Madam Chen glanced at him, spat, and cursed, “Bad luck, just seeing you annoys me!”

Though scolded, Liandan felt relieved.

This level of scolding was ordinary for him. It meant his mother-in-law was in a decent mood. If she were unhappy, he would not even get the chance to be cursed, her hand would land straight across his face.

While Old Madam Chen washed her face, Liandan rushed out, lifted the buns from the steamer, and ladled out bowls of the soup.

After she finished washing, Old Madam Chen shuffled out in her shoes, sat heavily on a stool at the table, and made it creak under her weight.

Only after he saw her settled and sipping her soup did Liandan dare to perch on the edge of a stool himself.

The cabbage soup had only a little coarse salt, not a single drop of oil.

Although Liandan had tried his best, there were still tiny pebbles inside the buns.

Old Madam Chen bit down on one, almost breaking a tooth. She slapped him across the face, sending the thin young man flying, the stool clattering over.

In the yard, the wolfdog Laicai, which Old Madam Chen had raised, pricked up its ears and barked furiously. The old woman kicked the door open and shouted, “Laicai, bite him!”

Excited, Laicai ran inside, closing in on the trembling youth who kept backing away. The dog growled, eyes locked on Liandan, drool dripping from its jaws, ready to strike.

Crying, Liandan begged, “Mother, I won’t dare again, please!”

Old Madam Chen sneered, pointed her finger, and ordered, “Bite him!”

The wolfdog lunged. Liandan shut his eyes and screamed, but he felt no pain. When he opened his eyes, he saw the dog had only bitten down on his sleeve. But he was so terrified his body trembled, and he wet himself on the spot.

Old Madam Chen first laughed loudly, then spat in disgust. Liandan thought he would be beaten badly, but the old woman only cursed, “Useless thing, go change your filthy clothes, eat, then follow me to the temple.”

Liandan went to change his clothes. Though spared a beating, he felt no relief, his fear was so strong he almost vomited.

A few days earlier, he had overheard his mother-in-law gossiping with a neighbor about the temple on the eastern mountain.

That temple was called Lingyun Temple. It had once been prosperous, but years of famine and disaster had left it abandoned and ruined.

Two years ago, a great monk named Yuanjing came with about ten younger monks, restored the temple, and lived there.

Since then, Lingyun Temple’s incense had gradually grown strong again. Word spread as far as dozens of li away, and people traveled long distances to offer incense.

The temple’s fame was not for wealth or safety, but because prayers for children there were said to always work.

The old people of the surrounding villages said it was heaven’s blessing for them. Even those who did not seek children went there often to offer incense for festivals or family affairs.

On the second day after his marriage, Old Madam Chen had taken Liandan there.

Liandan, who had long avoided meat, had eaten a heavy meal before the wedding and had stomach trouble for days. The second day he was still unwell, so at the temple he asked his mother-in-law for permission to find the latrine.

Although impatient, at that time she was not as harsh as she would later become. She merely glared and allowed him.

Liandan, timid and unfamiliar with the temple, dared not ask anyone. While searching, he wandered into a deserted courtyard.

Just as he entered, he heard a woman’s laughter inside one of the rooms.

His stomach cramped. Gathering courage, he went closer to knock, but through the slightly open door he saw a huge monk, about fifty, pressing a young woman beneath him. The table and chairs shook with the impact.

The monk, panting like an ox, showed yellow teeth. His filthy nails clawed at pale flesh, lifting it roughly.

The woman was not especially beautiful, but her eyes were sultry, and a mole by her mouth was red as blood.

Liandan had no knowledge of such matters. No one had ever taught him. He did not understand what they were doing, but he felt something terribly wrong. Terrified, he turned pale, shook all over, and ran.

After relieving himself, he struggled to find his way back to the main hall. There he saw his mother-in-law respectfully speaking with a monk.

When she saw him return, she beckoned him over.

The monk also turned.

Liandan froze. It was the same old monk he had just seen in the room.

The old monk’s eyes lingered on him from head to toe, lewd and unsettling. Liandan felt cold all over, but still walked woodenly forward.

He answered meekly a few words, burned incense with his mother-in-law, then numbly followed her back down the mountain.

The Chen man of the family had died early. Old Madam Chen had only one son, who lived to his teens before dying in an accident.

She had thought of remarrying, but the villagers said she cursed husband and child, so no man dared take her. She lived alone for many years.

Fortunately, her elder brother treated her well, secretly giving her money each year. She farmed a little, enough to feed herself.

But as she aged, her strength declined, and life grew bitter.

Someone suggested she marry a daughter-in-law for her dead son, to serve her. Old Madam Chen thought it a good idea, so she spent five taels of silver to buy Liandan as a bride.

Since Liandan entered, though there was another mouth to feed, life became easier. All the household and farm work was his. She only ate and rested.

But she had spent five taels, and her heart ached. Resentful, she often beat and cursed him.

Though she lived comfortably, when she saw other elders holding grandchildren, envy poisoned her eyes.

At night, unable to sleep, she brooded. Finally, she went again to Lingyun Temple.

There, Master Yuanjing told her he could bring her dead son back from the underworld to consummate the marriage, guaranteeing she would hold a fat grandson within a year.

Old Madam Chen was overjoyed. She returned home and told a neighbor woman.

Liandan, inside the house, heard every word. The scene he had witnessed at the temple replayed before him, and he bent double, retching.

That day, when Old Madam Chen came back, she told him to get ready. In a few days, she would send him up to the temple to stay.