Chapter Forty: The Portrait

The fat man circled around to the fox statue, scrutinizing it from left and right, stroking his chin with an air of solemnity. “Spirit fox?” he said with mock reverence.

I teased, “You've read too many ghost stories. Fox spirits are usually beauties. How about you stay behind and become her son-in-law?”

“This kind of good fortune should be yours. Of the three of us, you’re the only one who looks refined,” he grinned, elbowing me. “Think about it—wealth, looks, the whole package. You couldn’t find luck like this if you searched with a lantern.” Then, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “Do you suppose Wenbin’s been hiding here because he’s bewitched by the fox spirit? He does look the part of a pale scholar. Perfect match.”

“Oh, right—Wenbin, how did you end up here? We’ve been searching for you for days outside. Something big happened in the village—do you know?”

Zha Wenbin pointed upward. “I fell down here. That day I climbed to the top, there was an altar, and a chair on it.”

“A chair? I saw that too. It was odd.”

“I don’t know what happened. I sat down, and the next thing I knew, I fell through. Luckily, there’s a spring there, and I’ve survived these past days on that water and what little dry food I had left.” As he spoke, his stomach growled at the most inopportune moment. Embarrassed, he laughed. “I haven’t eaten properly in over two days. I’ve eaten all the moss off these stones. If no one had come, I doubt I’d have lasted three more days.”

“So this is West Mountain? My god, Fatty, how far did we climb? Wait, isn’t there an exit over there? Why didn’t you leave? It leads straight back to the village.”

“An exit? I’ve wandered around here for days and never saw one.”

“It’s right there,” I pointed. Zha Wenbin looked at me in disbelief. “I swear, I’ve been here for seven or eight days. I know every rock by touch. But the hole you mention definitely wasn’t here before!”

“But Fatty and I just crawled in through it. Pinch yourself if you don’t believe it.”

Zha Wenbin, thoughtful, glanced at the fox statue and said, “What happened in the village?”

“A meteor fell from the sky…” Fatty filled him in on the events of the past days, including how devious the old party secretary had been.

“With you two causing such a mess, there’s no going back to the village. We should run for it!”

“Run? Going back the way we came is suicide. That old man won’t let us off easy. There’ll be a row of militiamen with guns waiting.”

“Oh right—who has the gold coin?” Zha Wenbin asked.

“The old man took it yesterday. Come to think of it, maybe that’s not a good thing—will he be in trouble?”

Zha Wenbin shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. Old Qiu held it before—he only encountered a female ghost. But when outsiders take something from here, they lose their very souls. Maybe it’s the same thing, maybe not. The villagers can use it, but outsiders can’t.”

“Damn it, it’s bad enough to be bullied by that old bastard, but even these rusty relics pick on outsiders!” Fatty snatched a golden bowl from the ground and hurled it in anger. Still unsatisfied, he went to the staff that stood in the center and tried to pull it out. After two attempts, it didn’t budge at all.

Fatty muttered to himself, “Strange, I’m not exactly weak…”

Seeing he was about to lose his temper, I tried to calm him down. “Don’t take it out on everything.”

“Today I just don’t believe in this nonsense!” The more you tried to stop Fatty, the more determined he became. Now, gripping the staff with both hands, he wrenched it back and forth. Suddenly, as he twisted it to the left, there was a loud crack from nearby.

Turning to look, I saw the fox statue was slowly rotating to the left like some great clock, with a rhythmic mechanical grinding from deep below, making the ground tremble.

“Fatty, what the hell did you do?!”

Fatty was dumbfounded, hastily letting go of the staff as stones began to rain down from above. Rock fragments pelted us like hail. Shielding our heads, we scrambled for cover. Just then, the rotating fox statue revealed an inward recess, and we all instinctively rushed toward it.

Sometimes, fate is just that uncanny. As the statue turned, it happened to align with a gap on each side. Zha Wenbin, quick-eyed, shouted, “There’s a path!”

Sure enough, I looked up and saw a glimpse of stairs behind the fox statue. Being slim, I darted through the gap, with Zha Wenbin right behind me. Fatty, however, was not so fortunate—his size once again brought him grief. As he squeezed through, his belly and chest were scraped raw by the grinding stone.

When we finally helped the gasping Fatty to his feet, I noticed a box behind the fox statue.

“What’s that?” I reached out to touch it, and the box sprang open with a snap, startling me. Mustering my courage, I stepped forward and peered inside. There was a long object wrapped in linen-like cloth—its purpose unclear.

Zha Wenbin, seeing me hesitate, urged, “Xiao Yi, hurry up! Fatty’s hurt badly—we need to bandage him.”

“Bandage!” The thought struck me—there was cloth right here. I pulled the object from the box, unwrapped it, and as the weight shifted, something fell heavily to the ground with a thud. I handed the cloth to Zha Wenbin, then looked down. To my surprise, the object wasn’t gold, but seemed to be made of paper!

I picked it up. It was heavy, with a faint fragrance. It looked a lot like a scroll.

“Wenbin, can I take a look at this?” I asked.

“Where is it from?” He was busy tending to Fatty, who was grimacing in pain. Luckily, he was tough—anyone else would have had broken ribs.

I pointed to the back of the fox statue. “I found a box there. It’s not gold. Looks like a painting.”

“A painting? How odd. Who’d hide a scrap of paper in such a secret place? Let me see. Not to brag, but I’ve studied painting since childhood—my old man taught me. I can imitate Wu Changshuo’s brushwork pretty well!”

I glanced at Zha Wenbin. Honestly, I was afraid to touch anything here.

Zha Wenbin nodded. “Go ahead. I think I finally know where this place is. Maybe the painting has some clues.”

Taking a deep breath, I slowly unrolled the scroll. The first thing I saw was a cascade of jet-black hair, followed by a pair of clear, luminous eyes.

“It looks like a person—a woman, judging by the hair ornament.”

“Stop dawdling! Unroll it all at once. Here, let me.” With that, he snatched it from me and, with a flourish, unfurled the painting.

When the scroll was fully opened, Fatty fell silent, staring at me and then at Zha Wenbin, his mouth moving as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. He leaned back, eyes glued to the painting.

Finally, he managed to stammer, “Th-this…”

“What’s with you? Aren’t you the painting expert? Whose work is it?”

Fatty’s hands were trembling as he pointed desperately at the painting, struggling to explain what he saw. As I was about to take the scroll myself, he finally blurted out, “Isn’t this Yuan Xiaobai?!”

“What?” “Who did you say?!” Zha Wenbin and I lunged forward together.

A moment later, we understood Fatty’s shock.

It was a three-foot-long portrait of a lady, remarkably well preserved, with no signature or seal. The painting depicted a woman in a white dress, graceful and elegant, with a hint of melancholy in her eyes. In her arms she cradled a black cat, her left hand gently stroking its back, as if sighing.

Most striking of all, the moment we saw her, we all thought of the same person: Yuan Xiaobai.

Because the resemblance was uncanny. The woman in the painting and Yuan Xiaobai might as well have been cast from the same mold.

Zha Wenbin glanced at us, both of us stunned, and tried to compose himself. “Must be coincidence. There are plenty of people who look alike in this world.”

“Wenbin.” “Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something.” “What is it?”

Fatty and I exchanged glances—he clearly had the same thought. I said to Zha Wenbin, “A few days ago, Yuan Xiaobai took in a black cat, just like the one in the painting…”

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