Chapter 124: He Jinfeng

Huangling was the second most treacherous stretch of mountain road in the northwest of Zhejiang province along Provincial Highway 11, surpassed only by Youling. At that time, the road was far from the spacious thoroughfare it is today; it was a dirt track only about three meters wide, spanning roughly five kilometers from the climb up the ridge to the slope.

Along this five-kilometer ascent, there was a bridge said to have been built in the mid-Ming Dynasty. Almost every year, vehicles or livestock would plunge from it. Below the bridge lay a ravine over thirty meters deep, filled with jagged rocks. Anyone who fell in was certain to perish, which is why the locals called it "Soul-Snatching Bridge."

Huangling was a mountain, and the road carved through it was part of Provincial Highway 11, connecting Zhejiang and Anhui. It served as a conduit for coal and grain from southern Anhui to reach Zhejiang, and for Zhejiang’s small commodities and aquatic products to be sent inland. Though the road was narrow, traffic was heavy, and in those days, the most common vehicles seen were the large "Liberation" trucks.

Sure enough, just as we were bumping along, proceeding with caution, we hit a snag at the most critical moment. We had just crossed the Soul-Snatching Bridge when a large vehicle approached from the opposite direction, its headlights blinding me so badly I couldn't keep my eyes open.

In the past, roads were nowhere near as wide as they are now, and encountering oncoming traffic was a daily occurrence. Road crews would build pull-offs every so often—extra space carved out of the road, similar to the size of a modern parallel parking spot.

Where was the nearest one? It was right behind the bridge, exactly where we had just come from. Baobao slammed on the brakes and prepared to reverse. I even offered a suggestion, "Do you want me to get out and guide you?"

"No need," Baobao said, holding a cigarette in one hand and steering with the other. "I drive this road every day; I could reverse home with my eyes closed."

I trusted Baobao’s skills. He had been a soldier—a transport driver—and in those days, being a driver was one of the most coveted professions. After being discharged, Lin Baobao was originally assigned to drive for a bank executive in the county. However, the kid was reckless and got involved with the executive’s wife. When the affair came to light, he was nearly sent to jail. It was only because the woman pleaded for him that Lin Baobao merely lost his job, forcing him to return home and take up the illicit business of driving an unlicensed taxi.

A veteran driver like him should never have made such a mistake, but accidents often happen precisely that way.

As the car reversed to the middle of the bridge, Lin Baobao suddenly cried out, "Ouch!" I glanced over and saw that the cigarette in his hand had burned his finger. In his pain, his hand jerked, and the cigarette butt fell. It fell straight into his shoe. Fire against flesh—anyone would have a reflexive reaction. Lin Baobao bent over to retrieve the butt, but with one hand still on the wheel, his body moved while his hand stayed put, causing the steering wheel to veer. If he had managed to grab the butt, it might have been fine, but he poked at it, only pushing it deeper.

The searing heat made him kick his leg out—another instinctive reaction—but in that moment, he forgot what he was doing and what lay beneath his feet.

I heard the engine suddenly rev into a wild, frantic roar, the RPMs skyrocketing instantly. Then came a loud "bang," followed by the sound of shattering glass and the screams of the passengers. I caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror and saw chaos behind the vehicle; amidst the panic, I vaguely saw a figure in white flying out through the rear windshield.

In the time it takes for a single breath, the closest I have ever come to death in my life arrived. The entire vehicle vaulted over the ancient stone railing of the bridge, like a rock kicked off a cliff. The sensation of freefall left my mind blank. It wasn't as drawn-out as it is in the movies; there was no time to react. The sheer force of the impact knocked me unconscious the very first second it was released.

When I was pulled out, I woke up. I saw a mass of twisted metal, and the chaotic sounds and lights around me made me realize I had been saved. I don't remember how I was taken to the hospital. I know there are two scars on the back of my head; to this day, no hair grows there, so I always keep my hair a bit long to cover them. It’s not because I think they are ugly, but because I don't want to see them and be reminded of the tragedy that transpired that year.

Our luck wasn't entirely rotten; the car landed in a small pool of water, and it was that pool that saved our lives. Had we veered even two steps further, I don't think I would be sitting here telling you this story today. Not dying didn't mean escaping injury. Many people in that accident suffered wounds that kept them bedridden for half a year. Many, like Da Niu Guang, broke five ribs; Lin Baobao suffered a fractured arm and countless lacerations; others sustained head injuries that left them bedridden for months.

It was a major accident, and I was the least injured of them all. Because the car landed tail-first, plunging straight into the pool, my seat and position saved me. I only required four stitches in the back of my head—two small wounds that totaled less than two centimeters. Everyone else, if not dead, was severely injured. Lin Baobao’s cervical spine was fractured, and Da Niu Guang’s ribs were broken. I was sent home that very night, and when Cha Wenbin saw me upon receiving the news, his face turned ash-gray.

Was it my fault? If you say it was, there’s a bit of truth to that; if you say it wasn't, well, I wasn't the one driving. It was just an accident.

"It wasn't an accident. You should be burning incense to the gods for keeping your life. I can see a shadow across your brow nearly two fingers wide," Cha Wenbin said, furious that I had gone out without permission. "You could have at least told me so I could cleanse you of the dust and bad luck. Do you really think just anyone can go poking around in a graveyard?"

I scrambled up from the bed, the back of my head aching with a cold sting. I gritted my teeth and said, "I poked it, so what? Burn it to the ground tomorrow. Damn it, did it really come looking for us?"

"Your classmate’s father had his soul snatched, and it looks like you were nearly snatched too. How could you be so blind?"

"Forget it, soul-snatching," I scoffed. "What do you think of my classmate? Should I introduce you?"

"Not interested. But let me tell you, you’ve only survived because your 'eight characters' have been strong these past two years. Anyone else would have met the King of Hell by now. Didn't you see how thick the fog was tonight? When have you ever seen such heavy fog here on a night without rain? Let me tell you, tonight was lively. Many people saw a line of people carrying a sedan chair toward the back mountain of Maocaowan with their own eyes."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" Cha Wenbin took a sip of tea. "I might not be able to handle your friend's situation. I have to go find someone tomorrow."

I teased him, "Don't be like that. Even if my classmate isn't a beauty, there's no need to be so dismissive."

"Don't treat me like some immortal. That 'master' you all dug up during the day—digging him out was easy, but sending him back is hard. Ever heard of an 'earth immortal'? You've found me a fine piece of work. I'd rather encounter ten ghosts than touch one immortal. If things go wrong, I'll be the one dragged down. Next time, find out what you're dealing with before you act. Your classmate’s father, Gao Cheng, deserved his fate—he was the one who severed the immortal’s root first."

"What immortal root?" I grabbed my crotch. "This thing?"

Cha Wenbin rolled his eyes. "That thing of yours is barely a blade of grass. He encroached on the spirit's territory; they say he went up the mountain to find land to plant corn and burned the spirit's grave, which is why he suffered."

"What's the big deal? When they were leveling graves to return land to farming, how many grave mounds were smashed without anything happening to anyone?"

"I'm not going to argue with you. Your classmate’s father can't be buried tomorrow; it has to be delayed another day. They're already working on the family. If they bury him like that, something is bound to happen." Cha Wenbin paused. "Don't be a skeptic about some things. Tonight was the best lesson for you."

"Brother, I believe you, how could I not?" I raised my arm to show the torn elbow of my shirt. "I spend all day with you; my head is full of nothing but gods and ghosts. Tomorrow, you'd better invite an immortal to take a look at me too."

I didn't recognize the woman who arrived, nor had I heard of her, though some whispered that she was the reincarnation of an immortal. In reality, she looked like a rural woman in her forties. She wore a red floral cotton-padded jacket, green trousers, and black cloth shoes. Her hair was coiled up, with a large flower pinned to the top. When she walked, her hips swayed like a millstone, and the way they moved left the village bachelors drooling on the ground.

Her name was He Jinfeng, and she was from a different village in our same town. How did Cha Wenbin manage to invite her? Rumor had it that her life had been saved by Cha Wenbin's master, the Taoist Ma, so if Cha Wenbin called, she was bound to come.

What was her background? Well, it was quite significant!

In the past, there were often people in the countryside who practiced "spirit dancing," claiming to be possessed by gods or immortals, using superstition to fool the farmers. These people were usually women, known as "immortal aunts." Most were frauds, spouting nonsense that caused people to lose money or even their lives.

He Jinfeng was also an "immortal aunt," but this one didn't offer to cure disasters or resolve misfortunes. If you wanted her to speak, it depended on fate. Though her appearance and demeanor seemed a bit worldly—those who didn't know her might assume she was a loose woman—no one knew that she had never married, keeping herself pure for the man who had saved her years ago, even though he refused to marry her.

In terms of seniority, Cha Wenbin was supposed to call her "Aunt," but she wouldn't have it. If he called her "Master's Wife," she would be beaming with joy.

Sunflower seed shells flew from the woman’s hands. Her slender fingers were unlike those of most laboring women. She looked at Cha Wenbin with a face full of smiles: "What do you want from your Master's Wife?"

Cha Wenbin didn't dare joke about his master's reputation. He changed his tone: "I want to ask for a favor—to 'go down' and investigate for my nephew."

"Oh, I don't have a nephew like you, don't go claiming relatives!" The woman changed her expression instantly, dropping the sunflower seeds. "If it's school business, that's my duty. If it's outside business, even calling me 'mother' won't work!"

Cha Wenbin blocked her path: "Aunt, I truly treat you as my own family. You know Master's temper; please don't make it hard for me, okay?"

The woman poked Cha Wenbin’s forehead with her finger. "Same stubborn streak as old man Ma! One track mind. Are all you Taoists so thick-headed? Fine, I had no hope anyway. Tell me, what's going on?"

"Communicate with the spirits, ask around in this area, and find out the origin of the 'master' in that nest on the back mountain."

"Fine, is everything ready?" the woman asked.

Seeing she had agreed, Cha Wenbin replied repeatedly, "It's ready. Even the sedan chair to carry you up the mountain has been prepared."

"Then let's go!" The woman reclined on a lounge chair in the courtyard, and two men carried it, the wood creaking as they walked out. The onlookers kept whispering and pointing behind them. I heard someone ask, "Why is she here?"

"What's her deal?" I asked Cha Wenbin. "Master Ma’s mistress?"

"Don't talk nonsense!" Cha Wenbin said while packing his gear. "She is a spirit medium—a person chosen by the gods. I can only deal with ghosts and monsters; she can communicate with the divine."

"Her?" I was skeptical.

Cha Wenbin patted my shoulder. "Believe it or not, you have to!"