The night was as thick as a pool of black ink, the surrounding silence terrifying. It was the height of summer’s stifling heat, a time when cicadas should have been shrieking unrestrainedly, their cries piercing the air. Yet, here and now, there wasn’t the slightest sound.

“Is anyone there? Is anyone around?”

“Where is this place?”

The sounds had barely left his lips when they seemed to be swallowed by the darkness, becoming muffled and indistinct.

Pan Sanjin never knew that he could one day be terrified by the sound of his own voice.

Now, he didn’t dare speak again.

The deeper the silence, the more acutely one perceives the smallest movements. In the darkness, Pan Sanjin felt as though something unseen was watching him.

Something restless and filled with malice.

“Rustle, rustle… rustle, rustle…”

The shadows were like the silhouettes of old, withered branches cast upon stone, or like countless emaciated hands. They dragged, tugged, and pulled… malevolently trying to drag the living down into shared oblivion.

Come, join us… be with us.

…Come on, it’s blissful… hehe…

Pan Sanjin clutched at his collar, his breathing becoming increasingly rapid. His eyes bulged like a frog’s, his mouth hanging open unconsciously. He realized with a jolt that he could no longer make a sound.

Pan Sanjin was terrified.

Help… help…

He couldn’t breathe.

…He didn’t want to die yet.

Just as Pan Sanjin froze in the darkness, a ball of silvery-white light suddenly rose from the horizon.

At first, the light was only the size of a bean. As it ascended, it grew brighter and brighter, finally becoming a bright, full moon, hanging suspended in the inky blackness of the sky.

Under the shimmering moonlight, the darkness recoiled like wet tentacles touching a scorching flame, retreating quickly and wretchedly with a “whoosh.”

Faintly, there seemed to be a shrill and distant wail.

Pan Sanjin tilted his head back, staring at the moon, somewhat dazed.

“The… moon?”

No sooner had the words left his lips, a strange phenomenon occurred.

The ground beneath his feet began to ripple like a wheat field in a strong wind, making it nearly impossible to find solid footing.

Pan Sanjin struggled to keep his balance. The next moment, the pitch-black sky also shattered, fragments falling like mottled rain, one large piece after another.

“The, the sky is falling?” His voice was broken and trembling, his eyes widening as he looked at the sky.

Finally, amidst the thousands of tiny fragments of the sky, the bright moon leaped down from above. The huge ball of light rushed towards Pan Sanjin, its brilliance forcing him to squint…

…

“Wake up, wake up… What time do you think it is? Still sleeping like you’re at home, even snoring! You’ve got it good.”

“…Wake up already!”

A woman’s complaining voice sounded in his ear, accompanied by shoving and the sting of a palm-leaf fan hitting his forehead. Pan Sanjin groggily awakened, still unsure of where he was.

The next instant, his eyes, which had just opened, narrowed again.

It was nothing else, the sunlight outside was too dazzling.

Seeing that he was awake, Zhou Aihong’s expression didn’t change, but she secretly sighed in relief.

Everyone knows their own husband. Her Comrade Sanjin might be a bit lazy, a bit stingy, but he wouldn’t normally sleep so soundly. It had taken her a lot of effort to wake him.

Seeing that Pan Sanjin was alright, Zhou Aihong went back to her own business.

It was the height of July, the scorching sun beating down, making one’s head feel like it was steaming. Outside the house, the tall trees drooped their leaves, still selflessly casting a patch of shade on the ground.

Having just come in from outside, Zhou Aihong was both hot and thirsty. She grabbed a large palm-leaf fan and fanned herself, walking over to the Eight Immortals table in two steps. She picked up an enamel mug and unceremoniously gulped down several mouthfuls of cold tea.

“Gulp, gulp…”

“Thump!” The empty enamel mug hit the Eight Immortals table.

“Refreshing!” Zhou Aihong raised her sleeve, wiping the tea stains from her mouth without much delicacy.

Pan Sanjin, drawn by the noise, came back to his senses. Before he could even ponder the strangeness of his dream, he was startled by the loud thud.

His gaze followed the sound to the enamel mug on the Eight Immortals table. Instantly, a look of heartache spread across his face.

“Careful, careful! Be gentle when you put that down!”

Without bothering to put on his shoes, Pan Sanjin got off the bamboo bed and stepped onto the slightly cool terrazzo floor. He walked over to the Eight Immortals table in a few steps and picked up the enamel mug to examine it.

The base was white porcelain, with a red “囍” (double happiness) character printed in the center, flanked by two lovebirds in flight. A curved handle was attached to the side, and a small, rounded bump of sky blue adorned the lid.

It was perfectly formed, clean, and without any chipped paint. The more he looked at it, the more he loved it.

Only then did he relax.

Pan Sanjin gently placed the enamel mug back on the Eight Immortals table. He turned and glared reproachfully at Zhou Aihong, his voice laced with complaint.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Be gentle! This thing is precious! Even a little bump, and the white porcelain will chip off, leaving an ugly black mark. It won’t be beautiful anymore.”

He paused, his heart aching for the prized possession. He gritted his teeth and issued a stern warning, “Next time I see you not cherishing it, you, you won’t be allowed to use it!”

“What?” Zhou Aihong stopped fanning herself and glanced over at him.

Suddenly, Pan Sanjin felt a pang of fear, and he didn’t dare continue his bold pronouncements.

His tone instantly softened, with a submissiveness and eagerness to please that even he didn’t realize he was showing.

“It’s just that this enamel mug is so brand new. The production brigade just gave it to me a few days ago. It’s a new thing, so naturally, I’m a bit protective of it… You know how I am, I’m like an old beggar hugging a vinegar jar, a real old cheapskate!”

He glanced at Zhou Aihong and chuckled sheepishly, “Hong’er, I’ve always been clumsy with words. If I said anything wrong, don’t hold it against me.”

Zhou Aihong: …

If he was clumsy with words, then there wasn’t a smooth talker in the whole village.

However, seeing Pan Sanjin compare himself to a beggar, an old beggar at that, Zhou Aihong couldn’t bring herself to argue with him further. She waved her hand dismissively, putting on an air of magnanimity.

“Alright, alright. I’m too lazy to argue with you.”

…

The weather was terribly hot. Pan Sanjin was covered in sweat from his nap, and his face still bore the imprints of the bamboo bed. He picked up a towel and casually draped it over his shoulder, slipping on his sandals. He was about to go to the washbasin on the three-legged stand to wash his face.

As he walked, he pondered the dream he’d just had, and the more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed.

“Hey, Hong’er, let me tell you, I just had a dream, a really weird one, tsk… it was pretty scary.”

“Yeah, and you looked pretty scary too,” Zhou Aihong replied casually. Seeing the ragged towel on Pan Sanjin’s shoulder, she rolled her eyes again.

She took a large stride, snatched the towel away in a couple of moves, and then rummaged through a drawer in the chest of drawers, pulling out a new one and tossing it into Pan Sanjin’s arms.

“Use the new one!” Zhou Aihong said irritably, “We have good things and you don’t use them, just hiding them in the drawer. Are you waiting for them to grow mushrooms?”

The new towel was a vibrant, bright red, a color that delighted the eye, with two fat-headed, big-tailed goldfish nestled together, close and intimate.

This was also part of the commendation he’d received from the production brigade: a pair of enamel mugs and a pair of large red towels. Not every household in their Bajiao Village had these!

Pan Sanjin was extremely proud.

Looking at the brand-new towel, he felt a pang of reluctance to use it. He stroked the fat-headed fish on it and said softly, “It’s so beautiful, it’s a shame to use it. How about… we keep it as a pillow towel?”

A pillow towel would be great! Look at the two fat-headed fish on it, so close together. They were just like him and his Hong’er, a perfect pair!

Hehehe.

Zhou Aihong: …

She didn’t even bother to speak, simply grabbing the towel from Pan Sanjin’s hand and tossing it into the washbasin.

“Go wash!”

Pan Sanjin sulked: …

Alright, fine.

This unromantic Hong’er.

It was scorching hot in the summer, and even the slightest movement brought on a sweat, leaving one feeling sticky and clammy. Wiping with such a soft, new towel felt like it opened up all his pores, leaving him feeling cool and refreshed. It was incredibly comfortable.

Pan Sanjin wiped his face and hands while chatting with Zhou Aihong.

“Hong’er, you said I looked scary. How was I scary?”

Zhou Aihong: “I came back a while ago and saw you were probably having a nightmare. You were lying on our bamboo bed, your eyes were closed, but your eyeballs were rolling around under your eyelids. I called you for a long time and you didn’t wake up. Wasn’t that scary?”

Her voice lowered, and she glanced outside. Seeing that no one was passing by, she dared to whisper, “If you hadn’t woken up, I would have had to go find Old Yu, the Spirit Medium at the end of the village, to take a look.”

Ah, Old Yu the Spirit Medium!

Pan Sanjin understood. Now he knew why his usually straightforward and cheerful Comrade Aihong was sneaking around, peering outside, and talking like a thief only after making sure no one was there.

Old Yu the Spirit Medium was the half-blind man living in the village temple. He was a short, scrawny old man, but despite his small stature, he had a big mouth.

He claimed to be able to write and calculate, to know the past and see the future, to ascend to heaven and descend to earth, to guard the temple by day and walk as a Wuchang^[1]Wuchang (无常/無常), often referred to as Heibai Wuchang (黑白无常/黑白無常), are deities in Chinese folk religion responsible for escorting the spirits of the dead to the underworld. … Continue reading by night, all-knowing and all-powerful.

…Well, he was a charlatan, a superstitious fraud.

A few years ago, he would have been the one tending the cowsheds and doing the dirty work of collecting night soil in the village.

Pan Sanjin: “It’s okay, they don’t make a fuss about that stuff anymore. I’ve noticed that in the past few years, for both weddings and funerals, people aren’t afraid to ask him to calculate auspicious dates and make paper effigies for the deceased.”

“Not to mention, just in the first half of this year, our Bajiao Village’s Chen Toutou, yes, the production brigade leader… when his parents passed away, the funeral rites, and the first, second, third… fifth seventh-day ceremonies, the one ringing the bell was Old Yu the Spirit Medium.”

He did it openly, without any attempt to hide or conceal it.

If the brigade leader could hire Old Yu the Spirit Medium to handle funeral matters, why couldn’t they talk about Old Yu the Spirit Medium?

The situation now was different from before.

Hadn’t they seen Old Yu the Spirit Medium, who was almost starving to death a few years ago, put on some weight?

What did putting on weight mean? It meant Old Yu the Spirit Medium had money, that he was eating well!

Why did he have money? Because customers were coming from all directions, bringing wealth from all four corners, accumulating a vast fortune, of course!

Pan Sanjin waved his hand dismissively, not at all afraid to talk about Old Yu the Spirit Medium.

Zhou Aihong, hearing his loud voice, slapped Pan Sanjin’s elbow and glared at him, “Keep your voice down! It’s always better to be careful!”

The “Breaking the Four Olds” campaign had only ended a few years ago, and she still remembered the madness of those days.

“Alright, alright,” Pan Sanjin readily agreed. “But I really do need to go see Old Yu the Spirit Medium and have him take a look.”

Seeing Zhou Aihong’s furrowed brow, Pan Sanjin recounted his dream. Finally, he spoke of the feeling of not being able to breathe, still filled with lingering fear.

“It was terrifying. If the moon hadn’t risen in the sky, I felt like I would have been done for. You might have come back and found me cold and stiff on the bamboo bed.”

“Bah, bah, bah! Don’t talk nonsense!”

Zhou Aihong didn’t like hearing such things and found them taboo. She forced Pan Sanjin to spit several times as well, and then stomped on the ground with her shoe, as if to crush any bad things.

Pan Sanjin, seeing Zhou Aihong’s fierce demeanor, instantly dared not say any more.

…

“You should go ask.”

After spitting and stomping on the ground, the floor was stained. The clean-loving Zhou Aihong couldn’t stand it and grabbed a rag to wipe the floor.

As she wiped, she thought to herself.

“The way you looked just now, having that nightmare, it was a bit scary.”

“Right? That’s why I said I need to go take a look, to have peace of mind.” Pan Sanjin perked up. “Strike while the iron is hot. As it happens, we still have half a chicken. I’ll take it to Old Yu the Spirit Medium and ask him.”

Before Zhou Aihong could say anything, Pan Sanjin lifted the chicken meat hanging in the well. Looking at the half chicken, thinking about giving it all to Old Yu the Spirit Medium, he felt a pang of heartache and clicked his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, half a chicken… It’s best stewed with mushrooms. The old guy is in for a treat. No, no, no, it’s just for a question, this gift is too much… I’ll keep some, I have to keep some for myself and my wife.”

Zhou Aihong watched Pan Sanjin muttering to himself. He was about to leave, but then he took the half chicken into the kitchen.

When he came out again, the half chicken in his hand was only half of a half, and he was carrying the part with the foot.

However, the chicken’s rump, which had been there before, was now missing.

Zhou Aihong: …

Well, of course. Taking a gift of chicken and still sneaking off the rump, that was something her Sanjin would do.