Chapter Sixteen: Seeking Shelter for the Night

We arrived on the morning of the seventh day. By then, only the three of us remained on the train. At the station, a man in a green military uniform took us off and completed the formal handover procedures.

The first sensation upon disembarking was the cold. In the south, people could still walk about in shorts and bare-chested at this time of year, but here, folks had already donned long-sleeved shirts. The three of us stood alone and forlorn beside the railway, having been told someone would come to fetch us. With that, our escorts washed their hands of us. It wasn’t until noon that I finally spotted, far off on the horizon, a donkey cart approaching. An elderly man with graying beard and a hunting rifle slung across his back was singing a mountain tune in a resonant voice, cracking his long whip as he ambled our way.

His surname was Miao, and he seemed well acquainted with the station staff. They treated him with considerable respect as they completed the paperwork and then brought out another man from inside. This fellow had arrived two days before us. He was tall and stout, and, apart from his luggage, the most striking thing about him was the long string of red chili peppers slung over his shoulder, looking for all the world like a machine gun in wartime.

This fat man’s surname was Shi, and his given name was most curious—Shi Gantang, or “Shi Who Dares Stand Against.” Of all of us, it was Zha Wenbin who found this name most interesting. “Shi Gantang” is not just a name but an object, usually a stone stele erected at crossroads or particularly inauspicious places to ward off evil.

In ancient times, people believed stones from Mount Tai possessed the power to dispel evil, so they would engrave “Mount Tai Stone Dares Stand Against” in large characters on the rock, sometimes adding carvings of auspicious beasts like lions or tigers for extra protection.

There was an old saying: “Like a fierce tiger, Shi Gantang—nothing can invade, even the dragon is deterred.” Legend has it that during the Han Dynasty, Emperor Wu climbed Mount Tai and brought back four stones to place at the corners of his palace to keep evil at bay. Mount Tai was regarded as the sacred mountain protecting the world, so its stones came to symbolize household guardianship. Over time, the concept became personified—Shi Gantang, also known as General Shi, and statues even began to bear human features.

So, as soon as this fat man spoke, he insisted we call him General Shi from now on. He was from Sichuan, raised in a military compound in Chengdu. It was said his grandfather had been a founding general. As for why he ended up here, I suspected it had much to do with the recent political turmoil.

There were hardly enough donkey carts for us all; General Shi alone was enough to exhaust a donkey. But it was our first journey, and the novelty kept our spirits high. So, aside from letting Yuan Xiaobai and the luggage ride with Old Miao, the three of us men relied on our own feet.

Yeren Village was quite a distance from the station. Old Miao told us he’d set out the previous evening and only arrived this morning. The place lay at the junction of the Greater Khingan Mountains and Russia, nestled in a mountain hollow. It was once populated by lumberjacks, but after the Japanese invaded the Northeast, refugees sought sanctuary in the deep mountains and gradually formed a settlement of about a hundred households.

Along the way, Old Miao told us the area was named Yeren Village because wild men—yeti or wildfolk—were said to roam there. He himself wasn’t from the village. He’d originally served under Zhang Zuolin. After the Northeast fell, he refused to leave and instead joined the local resistance, fighting the Japanese with real blades and bullets. Once, wounded and separated from his unit during a rout, he staggered into the woods and collapsed, only to be rescued by a young woman.

Though there was a considerable age gap between them, the girl admired men with courage. After nursing him back to health, they made a pact to marry once the Japanese were driven out. After the war, Old Miao returned to Yeren Village and married her. For years, they had no children and thought they never would, but a decade later, his wife became pregnant. Their joy was short-lived, however, for fate was cruel; she died in childbirth, leaving him with a daughter and little else.

The road to Yeren Village was far rougher than we’d imagined. The mountain tracks in the north were nothing like those in the south—seemingly flat but endless, and the donkey soon grew irritable, having not slept since the previous day. Exhausted, it simply refused to take another step.

Before leaving, Old Miao’s daughter had baked us some flatbreads, which he now distributed among us. Seeing the mountains still looming in the distance, he reckoned we wouldn’t make it to the village tonight—the animals were simply too tired. “We’ll rest a while,” he said. “There’s a temple on the next hilltop. We’ll spend the night there and set out again at first light.”

Unfamiliar as we were with the place, none of us objected and left all decisions to Old Miao. After resting for over half an hour, the sun began to dip westward. Even Yuan Xiaobai got off the cart to ease the donkey’s burden, and we all took what luggage we could carry.

Despite being raised in the mountains, and General Shi growing up in a military compound, we underestimated Yuan Xiaobai. She was a city girl, and we’d expected her to struggle, but she kept up with us boys every step of the way. As planned, we reached the so-called “temple” before dark.

From outside, the place was in utter ruin, perched on a slope beside the mountain road. A long row of buildings suggested it had once been grand, but the forest had all but swallowed it up. Massive tree trunks had punched through the roofs, weeds grew taller than a man, and without a guide, few would ever find the place. Old Miao said he’d stayed here one night while on the run from the enemy years ago, and recalled that the main hall was still intact then.

Only half the temple gate remained, hanging crookedly from its hinges, the other half long since vanished. Above the entrance hung a plaque, now wrapped in vines and cobwebs, with only a faint, archaic character visible. Unable to recognize it, I asked, “What’s that character?”

Old Miao shone his flashlight—which ran on two large batteries and didn’t cast a strong beam—onto the plaque. Beside me, Zha Wenbin answered, “It’s the character for ‘Immortal.’”

“How do you know?” I was surprised—he was my age, and I couldn’t recall ever learning such a script.

“My master taught me,” he replied, pausing as if remembering Ma Sufeng, who was still locked away in the cowshed, and said no more.

Old Miao led us inside, but as soon as we crossed the threshold, no one was willing to go further.

General Shi was the first to mutter, “Why is it so hard to see anything?”

Old Miao’s flashlight could barely pierce the thick, milky fog that filled the courtyard, and from one corner came an incessant “coo-coo, coo-coo” sound. I’d been bold since childhood, but even I dared not inch forward, staying close beside Old Miao.

General Shi glanced around and said, “This place isn’t haunted, is it?”

Old Miao’s face darkened, and he snapped, “Watch your tongue! We don’t speak of such things in the mountains!”

Yuan Xiaobai, however, spoke up: “The mountain air is damp, and the temperature swings are large at dawn and dusk. The fog’s normal. The flashlight’s color temperature isn’t strong enough to cut through it. If we make a torch from dry wood, it might help.”

General Shi grinned, “Exactly! Let’s make a couple of torches.”

We each took a torch. Fire did help scatter the fog a bit. The courtyard was large, and decades had passed since Old Miao’s last visit; his memories of the place were hazy. Statues of the Buddha stood everywhere—some headless, some half-buried in earth, tilting or fallen, all entangled with wild vines. Frankly, I’d have preferred to sleep out in the woods; this place was simply too eerie.

Yet Old Miao insisted we stay, saying the mountains teemed with tigers and wolves, and since we were his responsibility, he couldn’t risk our safety. I must admit, with that constant “coo-coo” sound, my legs began to tremble. Even Yuan Xiaobai, who had seemed calm, now pressed tightly against me.

General Shi, whether to show courage or just to bluff, shouted, “What are you all standing around for? Let’s go in!” But shouting was not enough. Wanting to show off his leadership, he stepped forward alone, while the rest of us hung back. Suddenly, with a loud “coo,” a dark shape shot straight toward him. Sparks flew from his torch as he waved it frantically, having only just lit it.

He yelped, “Hey, what the hell is that thing?”

Another “coo” sounded, and this time he yelped in pain as something struck his hand, knocking his torch to the ground. Furious, he turned and yelled, “Are you really going to stand there and watch your comrade get bullied?”

It wasn’t that we didn’t want to help; we simply didn’t know what to do. Who could tell what that thing was? No sooner had he spoken than another “coo” rang out, and I felt a rush of cold wind straight at my face...

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