Chapter Nine: The Curse of Three Lifetimes

Tong Tianwang was so anxious he was spinning in circles, searching back and forth at the entrance to the wax path, but he couldn’t find any trace of Sister Jiu’er. Aside from my persistent high fever, my body was as hard as a rock; when knocked, it made a dull sound, as if my flesh had turned to stone.

Lying in bed, half-conscious, I asked Tong Tianwang if my sister had been eaten by the Golden Leopard Frog. Though I didn’t fully understand who Sister Jiu’er was, after these days together, I already regarded her as family—perhaps even closer than Tong Tianwang himself.

Tong Tianwang replied, “You little rascal, stop going on about the Golden Leopard Frog all day long. Don’t mention that thing in front of the villagers again. But Jiuye is very capable—she’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

The barefoot doctor from the village hurried over, felt my pulse, and prepared to give me an injection for the fever. But my gluteal muscles were so tough, the needle simply snapped off.

The barefoot doctor shook his head and said, “What the hell is this? I’ve never seen anything like it. You’d better start making preparations for the end.” Tong Tianwang was furious and cursed him for being a jinx, threatening to pull out his teeth with a pair of pliers. The doctor ran off in terror.

Jun Jun’s mother stood at my door, spitting repeatedly, cursing that I was finally getting what I deserved, that I should just die and the sooner the better. The villagers said that after Jun Jun died, his mother completely lost her mind and often sang folk songs alone by the wax path.

The old village chief, at least, had some conscience. When he heard I was ill, he brought a shaman into the house. The shaman had a sharp chin and monkey-like features, her face full of wrinkles and her eyes crossed. She wore coarse linen and a bamboo hat. As soon as she entered, she sniffed around the house like a dog, muttering mysteriously, “My goodness, the whole house is packed with ghosts and monsters, it’s like a temple fair in here!”

Tong Tianwang was out of options and asked the shaman to give it a try. She agreed, but only for five hundred yuan. Tong Tianwang, without the money, took out the barrel insert and offered it as payment.

Ever since he’d gotten that barrel insert, Tong Tianwang had treated it like a treasure, always carrying it with him. For him to offer it now showed how desperate he was to save me.

The shaman took it, her crossed eyes darting about, then she tossed it aside, saying, “What kind of worthless scrap metal is this? I wouldn’t take it even if you gave it to me for free.” The dark barrel insert traced a graceful arc through the air before landing with a clang in the wooden chamber pot in the corner. The pot split instantly, spilling urine everywhere, filling the room with a stench.

Tong Tianwang grew angry, “You cross-eyed old fool, you have no idea what you’re looking at! That thing’s worth five thousand, and you couldn’t buy it!”

The old village chief, unable to stand the smell, coughed and ran out, shouting from the yard, “Granny San, I’ll pay! Please try to save the Xie family’s child. If her sister were here, he’d have been cured already.”

Hearing him mention Sister Jiu’er, I felt a pang of sorrow, imagining her being devoured by the Golden Leopard Frog. I silently swore that when I grew up, I would kill that beast and avenge her.

Granny San chuckled, hands clasped behind her back, and began pacing around the house. When she finished, she suddenly spat a thick wad of phlegm onto me. The phlegm smelled even worse than urine—it was revolting.

Tong Tianwang lost his patience, grabbing the urine-soaked barrel insert and pointing it at Granny San, cursing her, “Are you here to heal or to act crazy? If you can do it, fine—if not, get the hell out!”

Strangely, the combined stench of urine and phlegm suddenly cleared my mind. I could move again. When I touched my body, my once-rock-hard flesh had started to soften.

I sat up abruptly.

Tong Tianwang’s jaw dropped. “What... what’s going on?”

Granny San turned to him and said, “You fool, I just used the stink of urine and phlegm to drive the ghosts and monsters away!”

Tong Tianwang was overjoyed, grabbing her hand and begging her to save me quickly.

Granny San replied, “I just tried it out; whether he can survive is another matter.” She instructed Tong Tianwang to prepare incense, candles, spirit money, a small stool, a bowl of water, and a length of red cloth.

Once everything was ready, Granny San told the old village chief to come in and close the door. She then burned incense and paper money, took off her shoes—one toe pointing outward, one inward—sat on the stool, and began reciting incantations none of us understood. Soon, she took a mouthful of water, tied the red cloth around her right arm, closed her crossed eyes, and started snoring.

Tong Tianwang asked the old chief why she was asleep.

The old chief explained, “Granny San is crossing over to the underworld. She’s going to see why so many ghosts are haunting Xiaopi.” Tong Tianwang, curious, asked about the shoes.

The chief said, “One shoe forward, one back: yin and yang. Like drawing lots before the Buddha. The reversed shoe lets her travel to the underworld, while the forward one keeps her tied to the world of the living. The red cloth ties a part of her soul. If you flip the forward shoe while she’s under, she can never come back.”

I was close to that forward shoe. After hearing this, I quickly backed away, terrified of accidentally killing Granny San.

Soon after, Granny San’s wrinkled face twisted in pain. Though her body didn’t move, bruises appeared on her arms and legs. The red cloth tore as if bitten by a beast. Blood trickled from the corners of her eyes, nostrils, and ears.

The scene was uncanny. We barely dared breathe, afraid to speak, not knowing what was happening to her in the underworld.

Suddenly, Granny San’s body jerked. She spat a mouthful of blood, opened her crossed eyes in terror, shot me a frightened look, hastily put on her shoes, and fled in panic.

The old chief chased after her, asking what had happened, but she ignored him and disappeared.

Left behind, Tong Tianwang and I stared at each other in bewilderment.

I felt a bit better; my fever had subsided, and I could move around the room. After days in bed, I was stifled.

Tong Tianwang asked if I was cured.

I rolled my eyes and said I didn’t know, but at least I could move.

The old chief returned, out of breath. He looked at me, shook his head with regret, and said, “Xiaopi, your sister saved Changgeng, and I wanted to repay the favor by asking Granny San to heal you, but… I’ve done all I can.”

Tong Tianwang asked, “What do you mean, all you can? Why did that cross-eyed old woman run away?”

The old chief explained that my body might hold out for a few more days. He told them that after chasing Granny San to the village entrance and asking why she’d left the job half-done, she’d said, terrified, that not only was I haunted by ghosts, but also by a host of powerful monsters from the Yellow River and the mountains—countless of them. She’d barely entered the underworld before these monsters confronted her, cursing her for meddling, saying that wretched boy was cursed for three lifetimes and must die. They didn’t let her explain but beat her mercilessly. Only her quick escape saved her life.

Cursed for three lifetimes?

I didn’t even know those ghosts and monsters; I’d never stolen anything from them—why were they after me?

The old chief sighed and left with his hands behind his back.

Tong Tianwang stared blankly after him, then turned to me. “Xiaopi, do you believe it?”

I said, “No.”

Tong Tianwang muttered anxiously, “Where on earth did Jiuye go…”

He told me to wait at home while he went to the back mountain to pick more fever-reducing ox-tendon grass. If my fever returned, he’d carry me to the city hospital.

After he left, I missed Sister Jiu’er terribly. Bathed in moonlight, I went alone to the wax path.

The wax path was cold and desolate. The river wind howled, bringing a damp chill. I stood by the Yellow River and shouted, “Sister Jiu’er, where are you? Xiaopi is sick…”

All around was emptiness—so still that even my echo was swallowed.

I sat on the riverbank, lost in thought, wanting to cry but unable to.

In the hazy moonlight, I saw something floating down the Yellow River—a red coffin. The red coffin drifted like a boat, and atop it stood a youth about Sister Jiu’er’s age. He wore white, his skin pale, his expression cold. He held a staff carved with a lifelike serpent’s head. Five flags stood behind him, each a different color: yellow, black, white, gold, and red.

As the river wind blew, his white robes and the flags snapped and fluttered, giving him an ethereal, elegant air.

The red coffin drew nearer, and the youth spotted me on the shore.

Before I could speak, he addressed me first.

“What are you doing here?”

Did I know him that well?

“None of your damn business!” I pouted, replying irritably.

He showed no anger, his face expressionless, and said coolly, “Do me a favor.”

“Why should I? Who the hell are you?” I shot back.