32: Smiling as She Walks Toward Her Grave

Among the pallbearers, there was Brother Li.

Sister Liu said Brother Li had met with misfortune, which further confirmed what my father had said before he died: the people who carried my grandmother’s coffin would meet tragic ends, one after another, and then it would be the villagers’ turn.

The prophecy had come true.

In that instant, it felt as though a basin of ice-cold water had been poured over my head—my whole body stiffened and trembled with numbness.

On the way back from the funeral, an unshakable sense of foreboding weighed on me, as if disaster were imminent. Even while I was out during the day, the unease grew stronger, and a thought lodged itself into my mind: my grandmother’s passing was not an end, but a beginning.

Now I understood the source of my dread. The kind of horror that defies imagination and reason was about to unfold.

Mother had guarded this prophecy for over a decade. Ever since she saw the rooster dead last night, she knew my father's words would come to pass. It was from that moment she became so weak and absent-minded, fumbling through her chores.

It was only now that I understood her hesitation when we discussed who should carry my grandmother’s coffin—why she suggested we might pay outsiders from another village instead.

She had never forgotten the dream my father described before he died, fearing it would become reality. She wanted to hire outsiders, thinking that even if the dream was true, it would be better than involving those we saw every day. After all, if something happened to the villagers who helped, everyone would know it was a result of carrying my grandmother’s coffin, bringing calamity upon them.

But in the end, it was Uncle Li from next door who urged, “It’s just carrying a coffin—just find some reliable men.” So, with a heavy heart, my mother asked a few of my father’s closest friends to help.

Nothing had happened yet; no one could be certain of the truth. My father’s death was over ten years ago, and he had spoken those words in a haze near the end—no one would have taken them seriously.

I knew, deep down, that my mother always hoped my father's words were nonsense. But reality rarely bends to our wishes. More often than not, it runs counter to them.

The moment my grandmother’s coffin touched the ground, everything began to unfold as my father had foretold.

Sister Liu wandered through the main hall, spotted my mother and me in the kitchen, stumbled to the doorway, and broke down in tears. Between her sobs, she cried out, “Ziwu’s mother, Old Li is dead—Old Li is dead!”

A village full of dead roosters was alarming, but not terrifying—until people started dying. Then the true horror began.

The kitchen was cold and silent.

Sister Liu slumped at the threshold. I wanted to help her up, but my legs felt paralyzed; I couldn’t take a step. My mother, upon hearing of Brother Li’s death, stood there like a soul lost, staring blankly.

Overcome with emotion, Sister Liu sobbed until her eyes rolled back and she fainted. Xu Buhuo happened to come out just then and quickly pinched the point above her upper lip. As Sister Liu came to, he looked at my mother and me in confusion, as if unable to understand how we could just stand by.

“Mr. Xu, please come quickly, something’s happened to Old Li.”

Clearly, Sister Liu had come to find Xu Buhuo. Seeing him, she clung to his arm desperately.

Drawing a deep breath to steady my fear, I finally felt my legs again. With effort, I helped Xu Buhuo carry Sister Liu to the reclining chair by the door.

“What’s wrong? You look terrible,” Xu Buhuo said, glancing from me to my mother, who was slowly coming to herself.

I opened my mouth, but held my tongue. This was not something to discuss in front of Sister Liu—if the villagers learned of my father’s prophecy, they might well turn on my mother and me.

After leaving my mother to watch over Sister Liu, Xu Buhuo and I hurried to Brother Li’s house, joining the other villagers who’d heard the news and were making their way there as well.

At the entrance to Uncle Li’s house, a commotion filled the air. I was about to go in when Xu Buhuo suddenly pulled me aside to a corner and asked, “What’s really going on? You and your mother look awful.”

With no one else around, I whispered my father’s prophecy to him. No sooner had I finished than Xu Buhuo blurted out, “Impossible! That’s just made-up nonsense.”

If it hadn’t happened right before my eyes, I might have agreed. But one event after another had come true; I simply couldn’t disbelieve.

“No way—nobody can predict the future, much less your father with his ramblings,” Xu Buhuo insisted.

But I had no choice but to believe. People were already dying—how many more had to perish before he’d accept it?

“It’s impossible, I just don’t believe such things,” Xu Buhuo muttered on.

“Then explain it to me—how did my father, over a decade ago, know that when my grandmother was buried, the rooster on her coffin would set off a chorus of dying roosters throughout the village? How did he know there would be exactly a hundred dead roosters?”

My challenge left Xu Buhuo speechless.

From his expression, I knew that, even if he didn’t believe, he couldn’t explain it—because the evidence was right there.

He had witnessed the coffin rooster’s cries and the mass death of chickens, listened as I counted ninety-nine, and with the one found on the mountain, it made a hundred. Now, Brother Li, one of the pallbearers, had also fallen victim.

The earlier incidents—Wang Po’s sudden death, Liu Lai’s skin left behind—at least showed some evidence of foul play.

But now, knowing disaster was coming yet having no clue why, powerless to prevent it—this was true terror.

According to the next step in the prophecy, the remaining five pallbearers would die in succession, punished for their kindness in helping with the funeral.

I knew death was inevitable for everyone, but I didn’t want these deaths to be because of my family. I wanted to intervene, but I didn’t know how.

Knowing someone will die, yet being unable to do anything, is agony.

“In any case,” Xu Buhuo repeated, “no one can truly predict the future. There has to be some explanation.”

If there were a clear problem, it wouldn’t be so frightening. But the real despair lay in knowing something was wrong, yet not knowing what or where. All I could say was, “No matter what, we have to stop this. No more deaths.”

That was all I cared about right now. Losing the Seven Souls, saving the village chief, uncovering the identity of the third person—none of that mattered. I only wanted the deaths to stop.

“Let’s go in and take a look. Maybe there’s a clue,” Xu Buhuo said, heading for the courtyard gate. I followed.

Inside, the courtyard was packed with villagers, their faces etched with fear, making way hastily as Xu Buhuo entered.

Pushing through the crowd, I saw Brother Li in the center of the main hall, and my heart clenched with pain, my legs weak.

Uncle Li had indeed taken his own life, but I doubted anyone here truly believed this was suicide.

He knelt in the middle of the hall, back ramrod straight, facing the southeast corner. In his arms he clutched a fruit knife, plunged deep into his heart.

Most chilling of all was his face—not wide-eyed with agony, but smiling.

It was as if, in that moment, he found joy in his own death. The frozen smile at his lips and the peace on his face betrayed no pain.

I couldn’t fathom how Brother Li had managed it—driving a blade into his own heart and still smiling.

It was as if the knife hadn’t pierced his own flesh, and only then could he smile like that.

Someone from the village had already called the police. The main hall was now a crime scene. Xu Buhuo kept his distance, circling the body, frowning, seeking any sign of the unusual.

I didn’t stand idle, either—I searched the house for black handprints, but found none. I even asked one of the uncles who’d arrived first if he’d seen any.

With no sign of black handprints around, I wondered if, like with Liu Lai, they might be on the body itself. I wanted to open Brother Li’s shirt to look, but with the police not yet here, I forced down my curiosity.

While we waited, I noticed something odd—Brother Li’s gaze wasn’t simply directed at the southeast corner of the hall; his head was tilted slightly upward, as if he were looking at something higher.

When a person dies, control over the body is lost, muscles relax. Even if Brother Li had managed to die kneeling upright, his head should have slumped forward.

Yet his head was lifted, as if some invisible force held it up, keeping his gaze fixed upward even in death.

What we needed most now was a clue; only then could we save the other pallbearers who might yet die.

I crouched behind Brother Li, raised my head to match his line of sight, and looked where he looked. I expected to find something, but saw only the corner of the wall.

“Come outside,” Xu Buhuo suddenly called, pulling me out.

“What were you looking for?” he asked.

“His head should have drooped, but it was still raised. I kept wondering if he was looking at something—but there’s nothing in that corner.”

“You never thought—maybe he wasn’t looking at the corner?” Xu Buhuo’s words made it clear he’d found something. I asked urgently, “What do you mean?”

Villagers were watching us, whispering among themselves. Xu Buhuo led me around to the outside of the courtyard, to the spot on the wall that faced the main hall from inside. “Kneel down as he did and look. What do you see?”

I knelt, straightened my back, and lifted my head—and the realization jolted through me.

From there, the line of sight extended straight to the locust tree by my family’s ancestral graves. But I knew it wasn’t the tree Brother Li was gazing at, but the grave beneath it—my grandmother’s grave.

Last night, Brother Li had carried her coffin. Now he knelt, smiling, looking toward her grave as he died. I didn’t know exactly why, only that his death was tied to my grandmother.

“Now I understand why the funeral procession was so eerily quiet last night,” Xu Buhuo whispered, eyes raised toward the ancestral graves.

A cold shudder ran through me, uncontrollable.

I knew, barring any miracle, the next pallbearer to die would also face my grandmother’s grave.