Chapter Eleven: 1960 (Part Four)

Ma Sufeng saw that the child was only a few days old, his face flushed and red, crying incessantly. As a lifelong bachelor, Ma Sufeng had no idea how to care for a baby; anxiety left him no time to worry about anything else. All he could think about was saving a life. The air in this place was foul, and being an old graveyard, it was bound to be crawling with snakes, rats, insects, and the like. He grabbed the basket and was ready to leave, ignoring everything else.

Just as he was about to go, a hurried glance revealed a tomb passage to his left front, with two stone doors already half ajar. He thought to himself that he would take the child out first and return later. Naked, he crawled out through the thieves’ tunnel.

Meanwhile, as soon as Ma Sufeng left, Li Lao’er dared not set foot outside. He hid in his house clutching a Mauser pistol, every stir from outside making his heart leap to his throat. All he could do was mutter prayers to every deity and bodhisattva he could think of, even calling on Marx for protection.

Suddenly the courtyard gate flew open with a crash. The big white goose, which had been dozing quietly, snapped awake, flung its neck and let out a series of loud honks, flapping its wings wildly. Unfortunately, a rope tied it to the door ring. The old gander struggled madly, so fiercely that many of its feathers came away.

With such a commotion in the courtyard, how could Li Lao’er not notice? In his youth, he had dealt with corpses and encountered his share of strange happenings, but those were the days of hot blood and bravado. After his elder brother’s fright and with the years creeping on, his courage had shrunk. People are like dogs scared as pups—once bitten by a snake, even a rope in the grass can startle them.

Now, Li Lao’er was trembling like a leaf, clutching his head, wishing he could burrow into the ground. He dared not even peek outside. He could hear the crash and clatter of crockery breaking in the yard—no doubt the bowls and plates meant for offerings had been smashed to pieces. Shivering, he cast a glance at the window and saw a black shadow, lit by the starlight outside, swaying back and forth on the paper screen.

He remembered what Ma Sufeng had told him: as long as he stayed inside, that thing would never come in to cause trouble. All the possible entrances to the house had been sealed with talismans, even the chimney. Outside, a sudden wind had risen, making the crooked willow in the courtyard rustle and hiss, while the white goose’s cries grew ever more frantic.

The wind made the rickety window shake and whistle. The window was only papered with white sheets, which could not withstand much more of the gale, but the talisman pasted on it remained firm, utterly unmoved by the wind. Ma Sufeng had drawn it before leaving, spat on it, and stuck it on; it proved sturdier than any paste could have made the window paper.

The wind lasted four or five minutes. The window paper billowed several times but did not break. Suddenly, flames burst up in the yard with a roar; through the window, all was fire-red outside, though what exactly had happened, Li Lao’er could not tell.

At this moment, there was a loud bang outside—the door was kicked open again. Ma Sufeng came in, holding the baby in one arm, surveying the two blazing fires in the courtyard. He was eighty percent sure now—the matter was settled.

It turned out that before he left, he had stuffed a chicken egg into the chest of each of the two straw figures, right at the heart. Around each egg was a loop of gold wire with a slipknot, much like a hunter’s snare for foxes in winter. But this was no fox trap; this was for catching evil things. The gold wire was called “Ghost Snare”—a method said to have been invented by Ling Zhengyang.

Evil spirits, after all, are formless, a kind of energy that can enter earth or holes, unseen and untouchable by mortal eyes and flesh. That’s why there are countless tales worldwide of ghosts and specters, in both official and unofficial histories, yet no one has ever caught one to put on display—for they have no substance.

Ling Zhengyang, though born of a respectable school, was fond of unorthodox ways and devised a unique method. He would wind gold wire tightly around a chalk line box, dye it black, and use it as a rope to bind evil things. Since ancient times, chalk lines were said to ward off evil, known as corpse-binding cords; so Ling Zhengyang used such string for his snares.

Evil spirits are fierce; their every move aims to snatch a human life, to rip out hearts and lungs. Ling Zhengyang exploited this: he would make a straw man, paste the living person’s birth characters on its back as a lure, then affix a soul-summoning talisman, which could draw the person’s soul out for a moment to attach to the straw man. If the soul lingers outside the body too long, it’s dangerous, but for a short duration, at most the person feels tired the next day—a good sleep cures all.

Evil spirits arise from wicked thoughts and, to harm a person, must seek the living—where there is a soul, there is human scent. Still, that was not enough. Another twist: he would select an egg already fertilized and incubated by a hen, almost ready to hatch—a so-called “joy egg.”

Inside a joy egg was a living chick, not yet hatched but alive and moving. Placing this at the straw man’s chest would lure the evil spirit to mistake it for heart and lungs, and it would reach in to grab them. At that moment, the ghost’s hand would be caught in the gold wire loop—the true “Ghost Snare.” From outside, a Three Pure Ones array would be set up, borrowing divine power.

The most crucial part of this setup was the goose. Geese, especially ganders, are fierce creatures, loyal guardians of home and master, often more reliable than dogs. Their graceful bearing is reminiscent of the celestial crane, a bird of the gods, and they can serve as vessels for divine descent. Geese can see what humans cannot—the presence of evil things.

On its back were three little flags, each flagpole a thin rod inside a hollow tube, the space between filled with sulfur and saltpeter, pressed tight with a fuse running down to the straw man.

When the goose saw evil, it would beat its wings incessantly; the flagpoles would rub against the hollow tubes, generating friction and heat to ignite the sulfur and saltpeter, the flame racing along the fuse to set the straw man—already binding the evil spirit in gold wire—ablaze. This was called the “True Samadhi Fire”: the fire of stone, wood, and air combined, with the divine power of the Three Pure Ones. How could any evil ghost withstand such a force?

Once the two blazes had died down, Ma Sufeng entered the house, yanked Li Lao’er out from under the floorboards, and said, “Tomorrow, go to town and get me a few yards of new cloth, and have a suit made for me. That’s not asking too much, is it?”

“I don’t have any money...”

Ma Sufeng would not accept that, glaring and roaring, “No money? Even so, you can’t let me go out naked—how am I to face people tomorrow?”

His shouting startled the baby in his arms awake, who began to wail loudly.

“Hey, where did you get that child?”

“None of your business.” Ma Sufeng looked around the barren house. Clearly, there was no money; even the only set of patched clothes had been burned, with nothing left but the bedding. His eyes swiveled. “Fine, I won’t make it hard for you. Tomorrow, take the bedding to a tailor and have it made into clothes for me.”

“This...?”

“Can’t bear to part with it, eh? Fine, but check the red line on your belly.”

Li Lao’er looked down—sure enough, the red line was still there, though paler now, with the ends receding a bit. The swelling was less obvious, but it still itched. He’d been so frightened earlier he’d nearly forgotten.

“Master, am I still not cured? Didn’t you get rid of it?”

Ma Sufeng grinned, “Do as I say: either go out now and get me some clothes, or parade naked at dawn until you get me a new set made.”

Li Lao’er hesitated, “But it’s so late—where am I supposed to find clothes?”

“Whatever’s hanging on someone’s stoop—just grab something. Isn’t that your specialty? You’ve stripped the dead, why be scared of robbing the living?” He thought for a moment, “Oh, right, I remember—your village’s Accountant Liu has a set of ‘Dacron’ clothes, very nice. Saw his wife hang them out to dry this afternoon—go and get them.”

“Accountant Liu?” Li Lao’er gasped, “That man is so stingy he wouldn’t pluck a chicken feather. He buys a lump of lard just to rub on his lips and boast he eats meat every day. You want me to steal his clothes? And his son-in-law is head of the local militia—everyone in the village knows him. If I wear his clothes, won’t I get caught?”

Ma Sufeng hadn’t been in Hong Village long, but he’d heard all about Accountant Liu. The man was a master of the abacus, refused to care for his own parents—one died of hunger begging on the road, the other sick in the outhouse. Not only did he not provide a coffin, he didn’t even wrap them in straw, just dug a hole and buried them. His three children were driven like oxen in the fields; after their work was done, they still had to labor extra, and all earnings at year’s end he swept up himself. Last year, when his daughter married, he drew up a contract with his son-in-law: for fifteen years, all the money she earned must be handed over to the family, or the bridal sedan would not be let in.

With such a miser, who better for Ma Sufeng to target?

While feeding the baby with water-dipped chopsticks, Ma Sufeng waved his hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it, just go and get the clothes. I still have to find a wet nurse for this child—I can’t walk into a woman’s house naked, or they’ll beat me to death for being a pervert. Who would I complain to then?”

Just as Li Lao’er was heading out, he glanced back at Ma Sufeng and asked, “Master, I remember his wife also has a pair of flowered panties—should I grab those too?”

“Get lost!”

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