Chapter Nine: 1960 (Part Two)

The second master of the Li family had returned home, resigned to his fate, waiting for death. That night, every household in the village shut their doors and windows tightly. The mournful song of wandering spirits drifted from the head of the village to its end, its haunting melody lulling those who listened into a hazy sleep.

Ma Sufeng had followed the crimson glow here, intent on seeking the rumored reincarnation of the "Heavenly Lone Star," but upon arrival, he discovered that Hong Village was far from ordinary. Still, as it did not pertain directly to his purpose, he had paid it little mind. His meeting with Second Master Li was deliberate, for he sensed a corpse-like odor reminiscent of Ye Huan's, yet even more thoroughly permeated by death—as if it came from a body long decayed. Few could discern such a scent. Furthermore, he hadn’t expected to encounter sorcery here; this craft originated in the southwestern frontier, once used to heal, but now, its appearance usually signaled malice.

In his youth, Ma Sufeng had traveled to the Sino-Vietnamese border and witnessed firsthand in a Yunnan village how sorcery could save lives. His curiosity was piqued, and he engaged the practitioner in conversation. The art was passed internally, never to outsiders, but Ma Sufeng observed that it bore striking similarities to shamanism. Put simply, Taoists employed the forces of yin-yang and the five elements, while sorcery relied on the cultivation of insects and ants as medium. Yet, its essence lay not in the material of the medium, but in the spiritual power it could summon.

For sorcery to emerge in inland Zhejiang, a coastal province, was in itself suspicious. Moreover, from what Ma Sufeng knew, the origins of this village likely were anything but ordinary. The county records from past centuries made no mention of it. But judging from the village’s layout and ancient remnants, it boasted at least eight hundred years of history, and had been meticulously planned. Its scale suggested a once thriving population, yet no historical documents recorded its existence.

With all these peculiarities converging, Ma Sufeng decided to begin his investigation with Second Master Li.

Second Master Li’s home consisted of but two humble rooms, neither conspicuous nor hidden within the village. The yellow mud bricks had darkened with age and weather, and the black slate roofing was overgrown with climbing vines.

Ma Sufeng carried a lantern in one hand and a bell in the other. Behind him waddled a large white goose, its back adorned with three banners bearing the titles of the Three Pure Ones. A bundle of fresh grass was slung high on a stick behind him, out of reach for the goose, which followed closely in hopes of a treat—this was called the "Immortal Crane Sedan," for great deities always traveled with their own conveyance.

Upon reaching Second Master Li’s door, Ma Sufeng tethered the goose in the yard, tossed it some grass, and patted its head, saying, “Stay here and guard the gate. Let people in, but don’t let anyone out, understand?”

The goose paid him no mind, content to graze. Ma Sufeng shook his wine gourd, hearing the last drops inside, then took the meat and vegetables he’d bought from the communal kitchen earlier and kicked at Li’s closed door.

Inside, Li was terrified, convinced it was a ghost come to claim his soul. He huddled by the bed, trembling.

“Hurry up, open the door, open up!”

The door swung open. Li, clad in a thin robe hastily thrown on, looked deathly pale, his lips purple and darkening, his body trembling. “I won’t survive the night. Are you bringing me my last meal?”

“Get out of the way! You’re quite mistaken. Bring out a table and set it in the yard. Tonight, you and I can only watch, not eat. Put these things in the yard, and fetch me two buns—I haven’t eaten all day.”

“There’s no flour for buns. There’s half a sweet potato left in the pot. Want that instead?”

Ma Sufeng waved him off. “I won’t eat that stuff, too much makes you fart!” Though spoken as a jest, it was also true—before opening a ritual, Taoists must relieve themselves and purify their bodies, to summon the forces of the five elements and invite divine assistance. It was a matter of ritual; all impurities must be dispelled, even if his appearance forever remained untidy. As his apprentice Cha Wenbin said, his master looked shabby, but was cleaner than anyone.

Li, lantern in hand, fumbled in the dark to set the bowls and chopsticks, then turned back inside to find the mad Taoist busy dismantling his own bed.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Ma Sufeng had already tossed the worn bedding onto the floor, lifted the bed board, and, like a lunatic, stripped away the straw from the bed, grumbling, “This kind of poverty is rare—the straw here is thinner than most people’s quilts.”

Turning, he called out, “Got any old clothes or pants? Bring them out.”

Li’s face was mournful. “No, I only have this one pair of pants.”

“Then take them off for me!” “You want even these?” Li wondered if the man was asking for some favor; he knew the ways of the world, but had never seen such directness. The pants already had eight patches, and still he wouldn’t let them go...

“Quit your whining!” Ma Sufeng gathered the straw. “In a bit, take off your clothes as well, and be quick about it, don’t dilly-dally.”

Li: “... Can I ask, are you really a Taoist?”

Ma Sufeng, head down, replied, “And those shoes on your feet—damn, they stink. Take them off. Oh, and don’t forget the straw hat on the wall.”

Li, bare-legged, asked, “Do you want my underwear too?”

Ma Sufeng looked up, and saw that the old man now stood before him with nothing left but his underwear.

“Forget it, leave the underwear.” With that, he began undressing himself as well...

Li watched, horrified. This behavior—breaking into his home in the dead of night, demanding he strip, and now stripping himself—made him suspect this man was a pervert! Once, he was a man of some renown, but now, the tiger fallen from grace was bullied by ghosts and this lunatic hiding behind the Taoist title. A man may be killed, but not humiliated; better to die at the hands of ghosts than be shamed by this fellow.

Steeling himself, Li quietly edged toward a battered chest while Ma Sufeng was distracted, opened it, and withdrew an item wrapped in red cloth that had been hidden for decades.

“Don’t move!” Something cold pressed against Ma Sufeng’s head, the faint scent of gunpowder filling the room.

Ma Sufeng raised his hands, about to turn, when he felt a solid kick to his back, sending him crashing onto the rickety bed, which collapsed with a loud crash.

Li spat on the ground, “When the tiger roars, don’t mistake me for a sick cat! If I must die, I’ll take you with me!”

Ma Sufeng, rubbing the swelling on his forehead, groaned in pain. Seeing Li, now clad only in his underwear, pointing a black muzzle at him, he quickly pleaded, “Hey, hey, what are you doing? Let’s talk…”

“I’m already a dead man, and you humiliate me again and again…” Remembering his nakedness, Li’s rage surged, his face flushed as he cursed, “You come here with your tricks and lies! The only thing of value in my home is this gun—if you’ve got guts, take it!”

“What do I need your gun for? I’m here to rid you of disaster…”

“Of course, you take money and rid people of disaster. I get it. I have no money, so you won’t even spare my clothes and shoes. Are you more vicious than the evil ghost?”

Hearing this, Ma Sufeng finally understood, and chuckled bitterly, “Brother, you’re overthinking it. I was planning to use the straw to make two dummies, dress them in your clothes, and put them outside as decoys. Your clothes carry your scent. Come on, put the gun away—no matter how skilled I am, I can’t dodge bullets.”

Li’s expression softened, but suspicion lingered. “Really?”

Ma Sufeng stamped his foot in frustration, “Oh, heavens, what time is it now! Your shabby clothes wouldn’t even tempt a beggar. I eat meat every day—do I care for your two coins? Hurry up and get ready. If you’re late, you can just aim that broken gun at your own head, and I won’t be able to save you.”

Li set the gun aside, “Alright, I’ll trust you. There’s a pair of foot wrappings in the back room—do you want those?”

Using the straw, Ma Sufeng crafted two figures, propping them up in the yard with sticks and dressing them in clothes. At first glance, they looked fairly convincing.

“Give me your and your brother’s birth dates.”

“What for?”

“So you can watch a show of the dead performing opera!”

Ma Sufeng pasted slips of paper onto the backs of the straw figures, each bearing the names and birth dates of Li’s elder and younger brother. He placed bowls of food and wine before the figures, lit incense and two candles.

When finished, he sprinkled lime powder in a circle around the figures and offerings, then tucked a pair of eggs into the arms of the straw men. Extinguishing the kerosene lamp, he quietly crouched by the window, watching for any movement outside...

...