Chapter Ten: 1960 (Part Three)

The silent waiting brought a sense of unease. Two old men, naked, leaning against the windowsill—indeed, the scene was rather strange.

“Hey,” Ma Sufeng nudged Li the Second’s shoulder with his elbow. “Let me tell you something first. If tomorrow the village starts asking about who stole their eggs, don’t you dare say it was me.”

“What eggs?”

“You’ll see. By the way, does your gun still fire?”

Li the Second shook the Mauser in his hand. “Don’t be fooled by its age. It still shoots just fine; I take good care of it. Every month, I spare a bit of the family’s oil ration for it. But if I do fire it, the village militia will probably come looking.”

“Don’t worry about that. With me here, when I tell you to shoot, you shoot.”

Time ticked by. Li the Second crouched by the window, peering out, while Ma Sufeng busied himself in the corner with something, his back turned. What he was up to, no one could tell.

By the dead of night, Li the Second had dozed off against the windowsill, snoring loudly.

“Hey, wake up.”

“What?” Li the Second jolted awake and shouted. Ma Sufeng hurriedly clamped a hand over his mouth. “Quiet! Look outside…”

In the courtyard, a shadowy figure hunched over the offerings, greedily shoveling meat into its mouth, occasionally glancing around in suspicion. In the dim light, it seemed to be a man, but not a tall one.

Li the Second thought it was a ghost come to claim his life. His knees buckled as he trembled, whispering, “Is that the thing sent to take my life?”

Ma Sufeng rapped him on the head. “Useless! Don’t panic. Watch—this one’s just a scout. The real culprit hasn’t shown up yet.”

Hearing that this wasn’t even the main threat, Li the Second’s heart sank. “Then is this a minion sent by the King of Hell?”

“Nonsense. That’s not a ghost, but it’s a nasty thing all the same. Didn’t expect to find one here.”

“What is it?”

Ma Sufeng pointed outside and whispered, “Ever heard of a mountain fiend? I saw one or two back in the old mountains of Bashu. Crafty, more cunning than a yellow weasel. Get your gun ready. With this thing around, my job just got easier.”

There had once been tales in Hong Village of a woman giving birth to a hairy, tailed baby, but the child soon died. In the northwestern reaches of Zhejiang, especially in my grandfather’s generation, there were rumors of wild men in the mountains, said to entice young women into the woods. They claimed the women were taken by mountain fiends, though time has blurred the truth. Even ancient texts mention such creatures: vaguely human, immensely strong and agile, covered in hair, with razor-sharp teeth, and a taste for meat. Folklore often paints them as mountain demons incarnate.

Ma Sufeng fixed his gaze on the greedy creature and said, “Aim carefully. Go for the head.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t get away.” “Then why aren’t you shooting?”

Li the Second pulled the trigger—“click”—just the sound of the mechanism, no flash, no bang. He blinked, tried again—another “click.”

Ma Sufeng grew anxious. “Shoot already!”

“It’s jammed! Been too long since I used it.” “What the hell!” “Don’t worry, let me try again…”

In his nervous fumbling, in the pitch-dark, Li the Second somehow squeezed the trigger once more. This time—bang! The muzzle spat sparks, the bullet whizzed past Ma Sufeng’s toes, tearing a gaping hole in the tip of his cloth shoe.

The shot startled the shadow in the courtyard. Dropping its food, it turned to flee. Ma Sufeng, quick as a flash, leapt out the window. At a distance of four or five meters, he flicked his wrist; a two-inch blade gleamed white as it flew. The shadow stumbled and crashed through the main gate. By the time the two old men charged out, the yard was empty, only a trail of blood vanishing down the road.

Ma Sufeng looked at the blood, then at Li the Second’s mournful face. “Stay put in your house. Don’t step out before dawn. If I’m back before sunrise, this is over. If not, save that bullet for yourself.”

Li the Second panicked. “What do you mean? All I did was skimp a little on their tribute, not enough to kill me over! You’re the one who wounded it—it’ll come looking for revenge on me! You can’t just leave me now!”

But Ma Sufeng had no time for argument. He returned to the yard, grabbed his wine gourd, and slung it at his waist—only then realizing he was still naked. He glanced at the scarecrow’s clothes, shook his head, and went back inside.

He rummaged through his bag of tricks, ground some ink, and used a brush to paint a Taoist robe on his own skin.

“What are you doing?” Li the Second stared.

Ma Sufeng chuckled at himself. “Better than nothing, eh?”

Li the Second was speechless.

Grabbing the kerosene lamp and slipping on the cloth shoes—one of which now had a gaping hole, his big toe sticking out—wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, with a crooked eight-trigram drawn on his back by Li the Second, and a front “robe” painted on his chest, complete with two inked buttons, Ma Sufeng readied his gear and set off, following the blood trail.

The trail led to the general’s temple behind the village, its rear pressed up against a cliff, ten meters high with ancient vines trailing to the ground. The blood ended at the cliff’s base, likely meaning the creature had climbed up. Ma Sufeng tested the vines—they were strong enough—so he hauled himself up, the thorns tearing at his bare skin all the way, gritting his teeth in pain as he finally reached the top.

Atop the slope, wild grass tangled underfoot, a few old maple trees scattered here and there, the ground littered with stones like scattered grave mounds. The village once tried to clear this slope for corn, but the ground was so rocky that sparks flew from the hoes, so they gave up. This was, in fact, the same place where Li the Second had accidentally killed his brother years before.

Ma Sufeng could smell the faint tang of blood on the air. Soon, by a pile of rocks, he found more bloodstains—among a patch of tall thatch, concealing a stone beneath.

On one side of the stone was a slanted entrance to a cave. Ma Sufeng shone the kerosene lamp inside, its depth unknown. He crouched, grabbed a handful of earth, and sniffed—nearly gagging from the stench of decay.

He tossed a few coins from his pocket into the entrance. They landed in a triangle on the ground. Looking up at the Big Dipper, he aligned the star’s vertical line with the coins—the smallest angle formed by two coins pointed directly outward.

Following that direction, Ma Sufeng stood, estimating the line pointed straight toward Li the Second’s house.

Testing the entrance, he reckoned it could fit a man. He hooked the lamp onto his blade, muttering, “Well, if you’re in such a hurry for vengeance, I’ll just cut off your way out and strike at the root!”

Still unclothed, he squeezed into the hole, sliding down, the rocks scraping his skin raw. At the bottom, he found a sight indeed: a skeleton lying atop a tomb of blue bricks, bones yellowed with age, but the clothes still intact. In its hand was a rusted Mauser, and in the center of the skull was a coin-sized hole. This was surely the remains of Li the Second’s brother—the truth of that matter had long ago been coaxed and frightened out by Ma Sufeng.

He squatted beside the bones. “Brother, come morning I’ll tell your kin to bring you home.” Nearby, another tunnel had been punched through the tomb roof—these brothers were indeed skilled grave robbers, the shaft straight and true.

Ma Sufeng gripped the lamp with his teeth, braced himself, and jumped down.

The tomb chamber reeked of mold. He barely glanced at the jars and vessels scattered around before he heard harsh, labored breathing. Following the sound, he turned a corner and found a side chamber with no door. Standing in the doorway, a shadow suddenly lunged at him, knocking the lamp to the ground—whoosh—setting off a burst of flames.

The fire blazed up unexpectedly, catching Ma Sufeng off guard and startling the mountain fiend even more. For all its cunning, it was still a beast at heart, and at the sight of open flame, it flinched. Had it pressed forward another inch, its deadly claws would have torn into Ma Sufeng’s throat.

In that split second, Ma Sufeng seized the chance, flinging a throwing knife that struck the creature in the chest, sinking in up to the hilt. Though powerful, the mountain fiend could not survive a blow to the heart. It staggered, then collapsed to the ground, still baring its fangs at Ma Sufeng in a final, vicious snarl.

Ma Sufeng drew his Seven-Star Sword to finish it off, but just then, the cry of an infant came from the side chamber. Looking at the fiend’s remains, a chilling suspicion crept over him. No wonder it had barred his way even as it died—could it be that this beast had sired a half-human offspring with a woman?

Looking closer, the mountain fiend was clearly male, but now lifeless, blood streaming from its lips, arms still held protectively as it died.

Lighting a match, Ma Sufeng stepped over the corpse into the chamber. There, nestled in a long bamboo basket, was a plump, pale infant, swaddled in a crimson blanket, face flushed and screaming, surrounded by a pile of cooked food—offerings he himself had purchased at the restaurant that afternoon…

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