Chapter Three: The Nursery Rhyme

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“Yidan, what are you doing here? You trying to scare me to death?” I couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed. I looked at his back but didn’t intend to approach him, as I sensed something ahead that instinctively made me want to stay away.

It felt as if my wife’s elder sister’s hand was pulling me from behind, but I knew even if I suddenly turned around, I wouldn’t see her.

“Is that you, Tian? Tian, don’t go back.” Zhang Yidan spoke to me with a trembling voice, but he didn’t turn around. His back showed clothes filthy as if soaked in mud, and his shoes looked to be made of paper.

His voice sounded off, and my face darkened: you brat, are you planning to play ghost and scare me for no reason?

Following his silhouette, I really wanted to kick him to stop him from scaring people at night. But just as I tried to get closer, a chilling wind blew right before my eyes, and the mist instantly blocked my view.

I stopped immediately, and when the fog cleared, Zhang Yidan was nowhere to be seen.

I lowered my head, pondering—could it have been a hallucination? Or was Zhang Yidan just squatting nearby every day catching field mice and playing tricks on me?

I estimated I still had a little more than half the way to Little Yi Village. Although what happened just now felt a bit supernatural, I had no intention of returning to Kanglong Village. When I turned around, I felt something tugging at my clothes again, even stronger than when I was heading toward Little Yi Village.

Even if I could sense danger, sometimes I had no choice but to choose the lesser of two dangers.

So, I had to grit my teeth and return to Little Yi Village.

Standing where Zhang Yidan had been, there was a patch of damp yellow water. I didn’t know where the water on the otherwise dry road had come from. The stench was pungent; it seemed Zhang Yidan had probably fallen into a filthy ditch and was in a foul mood, trying to mess with me.

My wife’s elder sister’s warning, Zhang Yidan’s mysterious disappearance—all gave me a foreboding feeling about this nighttime journey. I started paying close attention to my surroundings as I walked.

But after another half hour, nothing strange happened, and my heart relaxed a little.

Before me, the dense fog gradually revealed a two-meter-wide stone bridge. The heavy stone I had been carrying in my heart finally fell away.

This was the ancient ‘Thinking Bridge.’ According to the village elders, it had existed since Little Yi Village was established. They said it dated back to before the founding of the nation; I believed it was from when Little Yi Village was still a charitable estate.

No matter its age, the other side of the bridge was the village itself. I could faintly see the dim lights of the village.

I touched the ancient bridge, recalling how as a child, Zhang Yidan, other friends, and I used to swim in the river beneath it. Back then, the creek was clear, and you could see the pebbles at the bottom.

Under the moonlight, I looked down toward the bridge—and what I saw made my hair stand on end.

Under the bridge, a group of people dressed like monks were using bamboo poles to fish corpses from the shore, while several children lined up, hopping and chanting nursery rhymes by the riverbank.

"A thousand flowers, ten thousand flowers, drifting and sprinkling, piling and piling, building snowmen, not afraid of cold, not afraid of frost..."

The bodies belonged to children, women, and the elderly. They had been soaked in water so long their skin had turned pale, and some faces were crawling with maggots, writhing in a horrifying death scene. The monks piled them into small hills, while another group performed rituals, sprinkling blessed water before burying them.

Suddenly, my wife’s elder sister tugged sharply at my sleeve. Just as I was about to step forward, I froze in place, terrified.

A cold mist brushed past, and when I looked under the bridge again, everything was gone.

The water still flowed gently beneath the bridge; the monks and children vanished as if they had never existed. I was extremely puzzled. Was I too tired and hallucinating? Or was this a mirage born from the thick fog?

But how could a mirage carry the sound of nursery rhymes over such a distance?

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“Tian! Why are you still standing there? Come back to the village quickly.”

While I was still unsettled by the strange vision under the bridge, a young girl’s voice called out to me from the far end.

Startled, I turned around sharply and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was Yu Xiaoxue, my childhood shadow.

Back then, she was a snot-nosed little girl; now she had blossomed into a beautiful young maiden. If I remembered correctly, she was about sixteen or seventeen this year. She had even written to me before saying she wanted to go work in Guangdong, but I stopped her, saying she was too young and lacked an ID card. After all, I couldn’t let the only ‘fruit’ left in the village be taken advantage of by bad people.

I was still staring at her, feeling awkward, when I noticed her father standing by the door—Uncle Yu Gen. He looked at me blankly without saying a word.

Little Yi Village was still a wasteland when my grandmother arrived. Over decades, it gradually became populated, so many residents were outsiders from all over the country.

“What are you doing here?” I greeted them, walking toward their doorway to say hello to Uncle Gen.

But Xiaoxue ran over to me, sorrowful. “Tian, why did you come back so late? Grandma has been gone for two days. Let’s go to her place.”

Her words instantly weighed heavily on my heart. It seemed what I feared had indeed come true—Grandma was really gone.

My eyes threatened to spill tears, but I quickly pressed my fingers to my brow to hide it. If I were to cry, it would be at the mourning hall.

Uncle Gen did not come with us; he silently stood far off watching me. I didn’t understand why the once warm and caring Uncle Gen had become so withdrawn.

Night had fully fallen. As I passed by, I noticed every household had their lights on early, but their doors remained tightly shut. This wasn’t surprising since the village had no streetlights, and no one liked being out after dark.

Besides Uncle Gen, I also saw other neighbors standing far at their doorsteps, watching me enter the village. I was still some distance away, so I didn’t greet them, thinking, at least they know I’m back.

I hurried to Grandma’s house. The door was draped in white, and the mourning hall was set up. At the entrance were paper-made horses and a pair of paper figures, a man and a woman.

Apart from that, no one was nearby. Normally, there would be three or five tables set up for relatives and neighbors to gather, chat, and drink tea.

But I thought, Grandma was a respected shaman in the neighborhood. Her passing might be different from others.

On the two doors hung paper door gods painted by Grandma herself—awkward in appearance but drawn with vigorous strokes. On the door pillars were white papers with Grandma’s surname, name, and dates of birth and death. I glanced once and realized she had written them herself, the handwriting extremely sloppy.

It seemed she truly foresaw her end.

Inside the main hall lay a red paper-covered coffin quietly resting—treatment reserved for those who died naturally.

No one was keeping vigil. The incense in front of the coffin had burned out. My heart skipped a beat—incense for the vigil can’t be allowed to go out. Had no one come to pay respects?

Looking at Yu Xiaoxue, she shook her head, her face pale. “Tian, just a few minutes ago I lit it. I saw you at the village entrance and came to meet you. How could it have burned out so quickly?”

Grandma’s house was located at a higher point in the village, with no neighbors close by, so it was natural that Xiaoxue noticed my return.

It seemed modern merchants had lost all conscience—making money even from the dead, selling fake incense that burned far too quickly.

I hurried inside, but as soon as I stepped in, a chill ran down my spine. It felt as if a cold wind was blowing from all directions. My wife’s elder sister tugged at me again.

But I had no choice. Grandma’s passing meant offering incense was necessary. I knelt firmly before the coffin and lit four sticks of incense.

After flicking them out, I placed three sticks in the front ashtray and one in the rear.

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Nothing unusual.

I sighed in relief, feeling that my wife’s elder sister wasn’t entirely right—nothing bad had happened.

After rising, I chose to sit on a straw mat to the left of the coffin. Yu Xiaoxue glanced around and, seeing me seated, shrank her neck and came in to sit on the right side.

Though we weren’t formally wearing mourning clothes, it was not inappropriate for Xiaoxue to keep vigil with me. When neighbors’ elderly passed, we would sometimes sit by the coffin to chat with the bereaved friends.

Besides, her family and mine were close. When I was away, Xiaoxue often pestered Grandma, calling her “Grandma,” because Grandma’s house was never short of sugar and cookies. Xiaoxue was a little foodie; stealing offerings from Grandma’s altar was a common occurrence.

Grandma’s death left us both empty inside, losing our pillar of strength. Though we hadn’t seen each other for a long time, there was little to talk about.

It was eerily quiet inside and out. I could feel the gathering of yin energy, so I prepared to break the silence.

Suddenly, I noticed the smoke from the three incense sticks swirling irregularly. My brow furrowed.

The three sticks burned unevenly—the left one was long, the right one short, and the middle one burned the fastest. When I looked, the middle stick was the shortest. Immediately, the words “ominous incense” flashed through my mind—I sensed something bad was coming.

“Grandma... I’m sorry I’m late. Please don’t be angry that the incense burned out quickly. Please forgive me.” I comforted the departed elder, gently touching the cold coffin. But then I discovered something that shocked me:

The coffin was not nailed shut.

A cold, eerie feeling surged from within, making my heart pound wildly. Why wasn’t it nailed? Had the funeral director forgotten?

“Tian... I’m a little scared... I want to sit next to you...” Yu Xiaoxue said, looking at me fearfully.

“Alright, come over here.” I forced myself to stay calm. Not just Xiaoxue, but my heart was pounding like a drum. The surrounding yin energy was far too dense.

The coffin had been here two days without being nailed shut. No one was around the house, as if no one even knew Grandma had passed.

In past years, when other elders died, it was never this quiet. Someone would always be taking care of the funeral.

I also noticed there was no sign of anyone cooking the communal meal. Had no one come to visit Grandma since she died?

This was definitely a bad omen.

I watched Xiaoxue approach me, my heart tightening. After all, I had warned my wife’s elder sister enough to make her cautious.

Fortunately, this time my wife’s elder sister did not tug my sleeve; Xiaoxue seemed harmless to me.

“Xue, where has everyone gone?” I looked around. White paper was pasted everywhere, making the hall look desolate and mournful.

Bang!

Before Xiaoxue could answer, the two old doors suddenly slammed together in the wind, startling me. Xiaoxue jumped up, crying out in fright as she grabbed my arm.