Chapter Two: The Yellow-Eyed Rake

In those days, children had very few toys, and glass marbles were the favorites among us little rascals. Milky marbles were the premium kind, milky white with seven-colored shards inside. Anyone who had a pile of milky marbles was considered top dog among our friends. Junjun brought me some milky marbles, and I was so tempted that I nearly agreed to whatever he wanted.

But then I remembered what Tong Tianwang had said—Junjun was already dead. He had told me, no matter what I saw or heard, I must not utter a sound. Was Junjun a ghost?

Though I was still little, my mind was sharp. I bit my tongue and refused to make a sound.

Junjun, hearing no reply, called up from below, “Little Pi, don’t hide from me! Come out and play. I’ll give you all my milky marbles.” Then I heard the clinking of glass marbles, and that sound made my craving unbearable. I couldn’t resist and blurted out, “I’m up in the attic!”

Bang!

A huge bronze gong resounded, deafening, drowning out my answer to Junjun.

“All you women, old and young, watch your children closely! Don’t let them go outside!” The village head’s hoarse voice rang out from beyond the door, followed by a hurried shuffle of footsteps and someone shouting, “God, the madwoman just took my Leilei!”

Chaos erupted, voices rising and falling, everyone rushing toward the Wax Passage entrance.

I was petrified.

Leilei was a bit older than me—I’d played house with her before. Was she going to be killed by Ping’s wife too?

With the commotion downstairs, everything fell silent. Junjun probably hadn’t heard my answer and was gone. I didn’t know how much time passed. As I fretted over Leilei’s fate, I heard the creak of our door opening and the sound of someone quietly searching, rummaging through baskets and pots, the clatter making it seem as if someone was angrily throwing things to the ground.

After a while, curiosity got the better of me and I peered through the cracks in the attic floor.

The scene nearly made me scream.

A disheveled, naked woman, her body smeared with mud and water plants from the Yellow River, was searching for something below. Wherever she stood or walked, water pooled, and I could smell the river’s muddy stench.

Ping’s wife!

She had come for me!

My scalp tingled with terror, and I scrambled backward, making a loud commotion.

Ping’s wife suddenly looked up, her venomous eyes fixed on me through the cracks, her lips curling into a ghastly smile.

She glanced around and found a sturdy wooden stick, propping it up against the attic entrance, then slithered up like a snake, clutching the stick.

I was petrified, unable to move, and began to cry.

Seeing me cry, Ping’s wife grinned even wider, her mouth stretching almost to her ears, climbing faster, the river’s mud and water plant stench thickening.

Just as she was about to reach the attic, my uncle’s strange talisman paper pasted near the entrance suddenly burst into blue flames. Ping’s wife shrieked, sliding off the stick, apparently burned on her arm. She landed on the ground, glaring at me with murderous intent as I sobbed in shock. Clutching her arm, she snarled, “Little brat, you won’t escape!”

Ping’s wife vanished from the doorway in a flash.

By the time Tong Tianwang returned, I had cried myself to sleep. He saw the talisman burned into black ashes and hurriedly carried me on his back, saying, “Little Pi, we have to flee now or we’ll die here.”

I asked, “Is Leilei dead?”

Tong Tianwang grabbed a kitchen knife, tucked it into his waistband, and said, “Don’t ask. Ping’s wife is wounded now, but once she recovers, you’ll never get away.”

Clinging to his back, I saw he didn’t even take the lantern or his prized junk bicycle, slipping out in the dark, taking only the small paths, until we reached the back mountain. He told me the village had sealed the roads; he’d pretended to search for Ping’s wife with the villagers but was actually scouting a route—there was a small mountain trail we could use.

We were running up the mountainside when suddenly a blaze appeared ahead. The village head emerged with several villagers, blocking our way. Among them was a man I didn’t know, about forty, dressed in coarse blue cloth, wearing sheepskin boots, shouldering a bamboo basket, and sporting a felt hat.

The village head asked, “Tong, are you planning to run?”

Tong Tianwang’s face changed as he put me down. “Village head, I don’t want to meddle in your village’s affairs; I must take Little Pi away!”

Normally kind to me, the village head now looked fierce. “This mess your family caused—so many children dead—and now you want to leave?”

Tong Tianwang retorted, “Don’t talk nonsense! Ping’s wife went mad and started killing, what does that have to do with my brother-in-law’s family?”

The village head snorted, “Your family’s been hiding deep, Tong, living in our village for thirty years. If not for today’s events, I wouldn’t have known the whole family are ‘earth spirits’.”

Tong Tianwang spat, “Pah! You’re the earth spirits! I respect your age, but you insult my brother-in-law’s family, mourning them before their bones are cold. Shame on you!”

The village head grew furious. “Still pretending? Tie them up and sink them in the Yellow River—feed them to Ping’s wife!”

Several strong villagers, ropes in hand, rushed to bind us.

Tong Tianwang drew his butcher’s knife from his belt, shielding me behind him. “Anyone who comes near, I’ll kill!”

The felt-hat man raised his hand to stop the villagers, then clasped his fists toward Tong Tianwang and said, “Of the Four Flowers of the Mountain Gate, which family are you, cousin? Show your hand, let’s see your skills, follow the proper way.”

Tong Tianwang’s expression shifted briefly but returned to normal. “To hell with your way! Don’t play games with me! My Jeet Kune Do hasn’t drawn blood yet—come and try if you dare!”

The felt-hat man shook his head and retreated, nodding to the village head.

The village head waved his hand and the villagers swarmed forward.

Tong Tianwang readied himself for a fierce fight, but before he could act, one villager struck him with a heavy club, knocking him out cold.

So much for Jeet Kune Do never tasting blood.

They tied up my terrified self and brought us directly to the Wax Passage entrance.

By the river stood two thick posts—one for me, one for my unconscious uncle. The posts leaned over the Yellow River, suspending our bodies above the water.

I stared at the raging river below, listening to the wind howl, knowing death was near.

Uncles, elders, those who had always treated me kindly, under the felt-hat man’s command, stood along the riverbank with torches, forming a strange formation, all wearing expressions as if they wished to skin and devour me alive.

The scene was one I’d remember for a lifetime.

The village head said to me, “Little Pi, don’t blame me. Blame your grandfather, your parents—they provoked things in the river. Ping’s wife wants revenge on your family. If you don’t die, the village will be wiped out.”

He lit a thick incense stick and began burning paper by the river.

The felt-hat man told the villagers, “Those born in the year of the rooster, dog, or ox, go home. Watch over the elderly and children. Until the ritual is done, no one comes out.”

The river’s blazing fire illuminated their bizarre actions and expressions, eerie and absurd beyond words.

Why did the village head say my grandfather had been hiding here for thirty years? Was “earth spirit” really just an insult? What were the things in the river, and how were they connected to Ping’s wife?

I felt certain my uncle knew something, but he was unconscious and I could only cry.

After they finished worshipping the Yellow River, the felt-hat man pulled out a black powder from his bamboo basket and smeared it on my face. I didn’t know what it was, but the stench was overwhelming, worse than feces, with an acrid bite. As he smeared it, he muttered, “My aged fly dung finally comes in handy.”

I remembered his unique eyes—beside his black pupils was a ring of yellow, like golden wire, almost like double pupils. Meeting his gaze felt like falling into an abyss, a nameless anxiety and emptiness flooding me.

He grinned at me and whispered, “Little Pi, when you die, ask your grandfather if he knows what ‘the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind’ means. He’s a foolish mantis, but I, Yellow-Eyed Pa, am the clever oriole.”

With that, he turned to the villagers and said, “Chop down the posts!”

Two villagers hefted their axes, swinging them with all their might at the posts that held us.