03: Lying in the Coffin to Summon the Soul

Suppose there comes a moment when you look into a mirror and suddenly find something new on your face—how would you react?

I collapsed to the floor, clutching my sore cheek. I wanted to scream, but it felt as though an invisible hand was tightening around my throat; no sound would come out, no matter how hard I tried.

Earlier, my grandmother had asked me what the birthmark on the woman's face looked like. I truly couldn't remember, but now, if my memory served me right, the mark on my own face was identical to the one on hers.

I heard my mother stirring in her room. Not wanting to startle her, I returned to my own room. The sudden appearance of the woman's birthmark on my face likely had something to do with the black handprint on the windowsill from last night. I went to check, but for some reason, the handprint had already vanished without a trace.

After a while, I came to accept the fact that a birthmark had inexplicably appeared on my face. The more I thought about it, the more bewildered I became. I’d been at home all day yesterday—how could the woman’s birthmark suddenly show up on my own face? It defied all logic.

Mother called from outside, saying that Grandma had arrived and needed help getting things ready. The birthmark was plain on my face, so I quickly pressed a piece of paper against it and went out. My mother looked up, irritation flashing across her face, and scolded me for playing childish games at my age, urging me to help.

Grandma was staring at me too. She asked what was on my face. I removed the paper, and my mother let out a terrified scream before her eyes rolled back and she fainted.

“When did this happen?” Grandma asked.

“This morning. I woke up with a sore face, looked in the mirror, and it was there.”

“Is this the same as the one she had?”

I nodded, unable to stop myself from asking why this was happening. Why did I have the woman’s birthmark now? Who was she?

Grandma fell silent. The room seemed to shrink into an uneasy hush. I wanted to ask more, but the words caught in my throat and my heart was in turmoil. Not long after, my mother regained consciousness. She stared at the birthmark on my face for several seconds, then hugged me and began to sob loudly.

Grandma sat nearby, staring blankly at the floor, her expression so unsettling that I grew tense without realizing it. In all my memory, I had never seen Grandma look so frightening.

After a moment, she suddenly stood and declared loudly, “What’s there to be afraid of? If it’s meant to come, it will. If she wants my grandson’s life, let’s see if she has the power. Come on, let’s perform the ritual first.”

My life? Her words sent a chill through me. Did that woman in red mean to kill me? I wanted to ask, but in the end, I just followed my grandmother out to the courtyard, my mind in a daze.

“Ziwu, lie inside,” Grandma ordered.

She pointed to a white coffin placed in the center of the yard. In my mind, coffins were for the dead. I hesitated, but when I caught sight of Grandma’s stern gaze, I quickly climbed inside.

She handed me a small clay figurine, its surface covered with tiny inscriptions and a yellow talisman. A needle was stuck in the center of the figurine’s brow and in each of its shoulders.

I asked what it was for. Grandma said it was my substitute, inscribed with my birth date and time, along with various soul-summoning incantations. This ritual was called “summoning the soul with a substitute.” For now, it was only a preparation; my soul would not return until nightfall.

Hearing her say “soul-summoning,” I wondered why it wasn’t called “summoning the spirit.” Grandma shook her head and explained that, strictly speaking, what I had lost was my soul, not my spirit.

She went on to explain that what people usually referred to as “spirit” was a general term. In fact, a person possesses three souls and seven spirits. The three souls are the Heavenly Soul, the Earthly Soul, and the Life Soul. The seven spirits are Corpse Dog, Hidden Arrow, Shadow Sparrow, Thieving Swallower, Non-Toxin, Filth Expeller, and Foul Lungs.

Losing either a soul or a spirit would cause certain symptoms. The reason I’d been so lethargic since coming home was because I’d lost a spirit, not a soul. If a soul were lost, I'd feel restless all over, just like when I was a child. Losing a spirit, however, leads to excessive sleepiness.

Grandma explained that under normal circumstances, if a spirit was lost, it could be summoned back with a simple call. But since I had been wearing a protective charm and still lost my spirit, a ritual was necessary.

After all this, I had no more questions.

The white coffin was surrounded by a large circle of ash. Within the circle, there were smaller compartments, much like the summoning arrays Grandma used to draw at my bedside. In each compartment, she placed a paper bag containing joss paper and yellow talismans.

When everything was ready, Mother lit the bags, and Grandma circled the coffin with an oil lamp, her pace varying—sometimes swift, sometimes slow, even leaping at times—her feet always landing on the intersection points of the array.

I lay flat inside the coffin, clutching the clay figurine.

Perhaps it was the heat from the burning paper outside, or maybe the ritual itself, but I soon felt unbearably hot, sweat pouring from my entire body. Strangely, the figurine in my hands grew ever colder, so cold it stung my skin.

Grandma had instructed me not to move until the ritual was done, so I endured. As the heat overwhelmed me, I slipped into a daze and began to dream.

In my dream, the woman in red appeared before me, holding my hand and trying to lead me away. I resisted, but my legs refused to obey, following her of their own accord. I struggled with all my might, and just then, I heard my mother calling me. I opened my eyes to find the ritual was over.

Climbing out of the coffin, Grandma drew a large incantation on my chest, then painted another just like it on the bottom of the coffin. She placed the clay figurine on the incantation, saying that once my spirit returned at night, I would be back to normal.

Worried about the birthmark on my face, I asked what could be done. Grandma told me not to worry—she had a way.

The coffin had to remain in place, but the other items could be cleared. As we packed up, I asked Mother if she knew the woman. I thought she would refuse to answer as before, but this time she nodded, saying the woman used to live in our village.

I asked why, if she was from our village, I had never seen her before. My mother straightened up to reply, but just then, the village chief burst through the gate, looking panicked as if something terrible had happened.

“Sister Chen, something’s happened!” he shouted.

He caught sight of the birthmark on my face and recoiled in fright, staring at me for several seconds. His gaze shifted from fear to pity.

Mother asked what had happened. The village chief hurriedly replied, “Old Mrs. Wang is dead.”

My mother staggered and nearly collapsed. When she regained her balance, her eyes were utterly vacant.

I couldn't understand her reaction. Old Mrs. Wang was a local gossip, infamous for her meddling ways, causing discord in several families. Most villagers harbored resentment toward her, rarely speaking to her outside of formal greetings. My family never had any dealings with her. By all rights, my mother shouldn’t have reacted so strongly, but her response was so intense it bordered on disbelief.

Grandma emerged and asked how Old Mrs. Wang died. The village chief seemed about to answer, but lowered his voice and said, “Sister Chen, you’d better see for yourself. Everyone says she died under strange circumstances. The villagers even claim she’s come back.”

As he said “she’s come back,” I noticed the chief glance at me.

Grandma also gave me a look, then instructed us to tidy up the courtyard before heading off with the village chief to Old Mrs. Wang’s house. No sooner had they left than my mother rushed after them in the same direction.

Why all this fuss over the death of a woman in her sixties? Given my mother’s reaction and the events of the past few days, I was certain there was more to this than met the eye.

Curiosity compelled me to see what had happened. I quickly tidied the yard, grabbed some gauze to cover the birthmark on my right cheek, and headed out.

A crowd had already gathered at Old Mrs. Wang’s door. Some of the villagers asked about the gauze on my face. I told them I’d had a fall and squeezed my way inside.

Mrs. Wang’s body lay in the main hall. Grandma, the village chief, and several others stood by her side. I went over and saw Mrs. Wang’s eyes bulging as she stared at the rafters, her mouth gaping open, her face twisted in agony.

It was the first time I had ever seen someone dead in such a state, and I instinctively took a step back. When I looked up, I saw my mother glaring at me, and Grandma noticed me too but said nothing.

Around me, the villagers whispered about the strangeness of Mrs. Wang’s death. Since it was my first time in her house, I looked around out of curiosity. Suddenly, one of the villagers cried out in terror. I turned to see him staring at the body in horror and followed his gaze to Mrs. Wang.

What I saw stunned me into numbness.

Mrs. Wang’s face, which had been turned toward the rafters, was now facing in my direction. Her wide, unblinking eyes were fixed directly on me.