FMT 13

Chapter 13 Night Meeting

“You… who are you?”

He did not know why, since this young man looked like a scholar and was not broad or strong, but the moment this fellow saw those eyes of his, he felt cold in his heart.

One of the men beside him leaned close, stammering in a low voice at his ear. “I… I know who he is. This is the dead man that Monk Yuanjing brought back from the underworld, the one from Lingyun Mountain!”

As soon as he said this, Liandan felt the hand holding his waist loosen. That hand moved up and covered his eyes.

Liandan let out a small “Ah,” and felt the man pressing behind him shift slightly. Right after, muffled cries came from in front.

Someone shouted, “Quick, use fire, his body is made of paper, he must fear fire!”

Liandan’s heart tightened. He grabbed the hand covering his eyes and tried to pull it down, but he could not move it.

“Ah! Too late!”

“Ghost! Heaven help us, he is a ghost!”

“Ahhhh!”

Chaotic footsteps echoed, scattering in panic, quickly running away.

After a while, it grew quiet again. In their place came the whining cries of the baby. Xiaodan had been startled awake.

The fingers Liandan held twitched. He quickly let go of the man’s hand, and light came back to his eyes. Without caring about anything else, he first unwrapped the swaddling cloth, lifted Xiaodan into his arms, and soothed him with soft “Oh oh.”

While coaxing Xiaodan, Liandan turned his head to look at the path not far away. No people were in sight now. On the road lay a fire striker that had not been lit.

Liandan felt panic. He stole a glance at the young man beside him and then noticed that Chen Shuangning seemed to be holding something in his other hand.

Seeing Liandan looking over, he raised his hand and opened his palm. “It’s the money they paid for the seedlings. Take it.”

Liandan froze. Instinctively he lifted his hand, and over a dozen copper coins were placed into his palm.

In all his life, this was the first time Liandan held money. He lowered his head and stared blankly for a long while, with no thought to look around.

So he did not see the specks of blood hidden in the grass nearby, nor the bloody severed arm lying in a water ditch not far away.

Chen Shuangning raised his head to look at the sky and said, “It’s going to rain soon. Let’s go back.”

Cherishing the coins, Liandan hid them carefully in his clothes, then carried the child in his arms. Chen Shuangning walked ahead, and the two of them went home together.

On the road, after his excitement faded, Liandan grew clearer. Several times he wanted to ask why the other was here, but he still could not speak.

After walking a while more, the clouds in the sky gathered heavier and darker. Raindrops started to fall with crackling sounds.

The drops were big, but scattered. A few would fall after a long pause, only wetting a small part of their clothes. Even so, Liandan furrowed his brows tightly.

Xiaodan was bundled in his clothes, so he did not feel cold and was not touched by the rain.

But Liandan worried all along the way. “If the rain grows heavy, will it soak through and ruin his body?”

He knew all too well that the paper figures Old Madam Chen made could never withstand water.

….

Heaven still gave some grace. Just as they stepped into the house, the heavy clouds could no longer hold, and the downpour came in torrents.

What Liandan had feared did not happen.

Inside, Liandan first took out the coins he carried and hid them safely. Then he took an umbrella into the rain to bring the milk goat into the house. After feeding Xiaodan and playing with him for a while, he went down to cook.

Having over a dozen copper coins made Liandan’s eyes shine. Even cooking he felt full of energy. With this money, he could buy cloth to make Xiaodan a winter coat. Though it was still midsummer, he would need someone from town to buy the cloth, and the sewing would take time. In the north, summers and autumns were short, and the cold came quickly.

The cornmeal dough was soon kneaded into buns and set in the steamer.

He chopped a cucumber for a cold dish, dug out a bit of pork cracklings, and stir-fried them with shredded pickled turnip. Supper was ready.

That day, Old Madam Chen finally woke. She ate a little at dinner.

She was now terribly thin, her hair a tangled mess, but her eyes were bright, so bright they were frightening, even scarier than that mad old woman who wandered circles at the village entrance.

She asked about Laicai. Liandan stammered and said the big wolfdog had run out and not come back.

Old Madam Chen’s eyes went wide. She raised her hand to hit him.

From childhood, Liandan had long been beaten into obedience. He closed his eyes in fear, not moving, waiting for the slap to land.

But after a while, nothing came. Liandan peeked open his eyes and saw that Old Madam Chen had somehow already lain back down on the kang, her eyes closed.

Behind him came the young man’s hoarse, strange voice. “It’s late. Go back and rest.”

….

At night, when they slept, the rain still had not stopped.

Liandan hugged little Xiaodan close, rubbing his cheek against the baby’s soft face. Listening to the sound of rain, holding the memorial tablet, he slowly fell asleep.

He seemed to hear the muffled sound of coughing, but when he tried to listen closely, he could no longer hear it.

Late at night, the rain stopped.

The figure sitting by the window suddenly moved and turned his head to look outside.

Right after, the window creaked softly as it was pushed open.

Whoosh. With the sound of wind, the figure was no longer by the window, and the chair was empty.

…

On the roof, on old fragile tiles, stood a man and a young girl. Yet the tiles beneath their feet did not show any sign of breaking.

After the rain, the sky cleared. Under the cold moonlight, the man stood with his back to the young girl, his gaze fixed far away. From time to time, he covered his mouth with a fist and let out a few soft coughs.

“Sect Leader, I have already asked around. Those three were from Liujiatun, five or six li away. They worked day labor in town. Because they found no work yesterday, they walked all the way back to the village and happened to pass by the Chen family’s fields. It was not intentional. I have already taken care of the aftermath.” The girl joined her hands respectfully.

The man spoke. “I understand.”

The girl lifted her head. In the moonlight, her fine features showed, along with her worried expression.

“Yesterday you used inner strength. Please allow me to check your pulse.”

The man shook his head, his tone indifferent. “Just a few ordinary people. It was nothing.”

Hearing this, she still worried, but did not dare insist.

“Xueming,” the man said, “is there news from Liu Shuqi?”

The girl named Xueming nodded. “He is already on his way back.”

The man let out a sound of acknowledgment and said no more.

Xueming presented a box with both hands. The man turned and took it.

He opened the lid and looked down for a while.

Inside lay a single brown pill, and beside it a small bottle sealed with oil paper.

Xueming said carefully, “What is in this bottle should be of use in a few days.”

The man gave no reply. He only closed the lid, put it away, and looked as though he was about to leave.

Xueming quickly pulled out a finely made silk pouch and reminded him in haste. “Sect Leader, tomorrow is the seventh day of the seventh month, the Qiqiao Festival. Among common folk, the husband is supposed to give a gift to his spouse.”

The man’s gaze lingered on the pouch for only a moment before moving away impatiently. He turned and leapt down from the roof as light as a sheet of paper.

Xueming sighed softly, put the pouch away, and after a few leaps also disappeared into the night.

….

The next day, the sky was clear.

In the afternoon, Tang Hua came to the house.

He had been confined for a month, and when he finally came out, he went into the mountains and picked a lot of wild berries. He brought a bowl for Liandan to try.

This was a rare treat. Liandan was happy of course.

The two young brothers sat in the cool shade of the yard. Liandan gently bounced Xiaodan in his arms as he chatted with Tang Hua.

Tang Hua glanced secretly toward the house, leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “Your man truly is a scholar. He’s different from the other men in the village.”

Liandan’s eyes also turned toward the house. He saw a green-plum robe pass by the open doorway, quickly pulled his gaze back, and gave a quiet “Mm.”

Seeing he did not want to talk more, Tang Hua sensibly dropped the subject. They went on chatting about all sorts of village matters.

When Tang Hua raised his hand, Liandan saw a pale green bracelet on his wrist. He thought it looked nice and looked at it a few more times.

The other noticed, grew a little embarrassed, and touched it with his finger. With a faint blush, he said, “It’s not worth much. My husband forced it on me this morning. It’s hard enough earning food from the fields, yet he still went behind my back to buy this.”

Though he complained, his face showed joy.

Liandan did not think too much and said sincerely, “Brother Li treats you very well.”

Tang Hua pressed his lips together and laughed quietly with his head down.

Neither of them noticed the corner of a green-plum robe lingering inside the doorway in a hidden spot for quite some time.

….

These days, Old Madam Chen was awake more often and even ate a few more bites, but her overall condition was still poor.

Once, when she woke, her mind was clear.

She called Liandan over and instructed, “The Ghost Festival is coming soon. My son has already returned. You don’t need to go to his grave like last year. Burn that memorial tablet in the stove pit, or else it will bring misfortune.”

Liandan lowered his eyes and listened to everything.

On the fifteenth, when he went to the grave, he only burned paper for his father-in-law and no longer for his husband.

But at night when he went to bed, he still secretly took out the memorial tablet and held it as he slept.

The moon on the fifteenth of the seventh month was large and round, pale and cold, hanging in the sky.

On such a night, aside from those burning paper at the crossroads, no one went out.

Xiaodan had long fallen asleep. Liandan also gradually drifted off.

The house was quiet, only shallow breathing sounds inside.

He did not know how much time had passed when his breathing turned rapid. He tossed several times on the bed, eyes shut tight, a muffled sound of pain coming from his throat.

At that moment, the figure that had been sitting still by the window moved.

Moonlight seeped in through the lattice, dim and faint. The hem of the green-plum robe swayed slightly. The tall figure stood and turned his head toward the door.

Just then, the door creaked open, and an old swollen face appeared.

It was Old Madam Chen.

Dragging a lame leg, her eyes blank, she entered the room and went to the bedside.

At some point, the figure by the window had also come over. He lifted the bed curtain without a sound.

Old Madam Chen bent down and picked up the sleeping Xiaodan. With her lame leg, she dragged herself away with the child and went into the next room.

The figure went to close the door, then returned to the bedside.

He stood there, eyelids lowered, looking at the thin young brother rolling in pain on the bed.

After a while, he bent down and placed his hand on the boy’s forehead. Perhaps the cool touch calmed him, because he settled a great deal.

In just a short while, his expression eased, but the flush on his face only deepened, and the sounds in his throat slowly changed.

The figure watched him for a while, then his gaze fell on the black memorial tablet that had dropped to the side. He picked it up, looked at it, then turned the inscribed side face down and placed it on the table by the bed.

Afterward, he took a small bottle sealed with paper from his clothes and poured some sticky liquid into his palm.

Moonlight lit up his cold black eyes. Without hesitation, he pulled down the ger’s trousers and smeared the liquid with his palm.

The person on the bed opened his eyes in a daze. Tears and sweat soaked the pillow. He stretched out his arms and legs, eager to cling to the other.

The figure raised his hand and pressed a finger to his forehead. His hoarse, strange voice spoke flatly to soothe him. “Do not rush.”

Then he withdrew his hand, lifted his own green-plum robe, and without expression, entered him.