33: Seven Days

Why, after carrying Grandmother’s coffin, did he turn to face her grave and take his own life?
Why, over a decade ago when Father died, did he dream of all that is happening now?
I longed to know why, but the truth was shrouded in mist, so much so that even Master Xu, whose skills surpassed those of Mister Xu, could not explain what was unfolding.
Those earlier events, one could still see traces of human involvement. Now, it was as though a ghost were orchestrating everything.
The only thing I could think of was that a hundred chickens died because of Grandmother, Uncle Li’s suicide was also because of Grandmother. If Grandmother were still alive, perhaps we could have gleaned something useful, but the fact remained—she was gone.
Soon, the police arrived. Among them was Cao Guangshan, who came over and asked what had happened. I told him I didn’t know and said nothing about Uncle Li’s strange suicide being connected to Grandmother, who had already passed.
Sister Liu was helped back, and she recounted everything she had seen.
The strangeness, she said, seemed to have begun that morning. After Brother Li returned from fighting the fire, he took a nap. When he got up, he was like a different person: either he ignored everything she said, or, when she spoke, he lashed out with wild anger.
He overturned the food onto the floor and frequently gave her fierce, hostile looks.
By evening, Sister Liu was in the courtyard when suddenly Brother Li’s laughter came from inside the house.
“Heh, heh, heh…”
Sister Liu even mimicked the laugh. Though she hadn’t heard Brother Li’s precise tone, her imitation made Cao Guangshan, who was taking notes, turn pale, and the villagers instinctively stepped back.
Hearing the odd laughter, Sister Liu went inside. She found Brother Li kneeling in the posture of death, clutching a fruit knife, inch by inch driving it into his own body.
Throughout, Brother Li did not utter a single groan of pain. The only sound from his throat was that chilling laughter.
Seeing the scene, Sister Liu said she was dumbstruck with terror. When she finally came to her senses, Brother Li had already plunged the fruit knife entirely into his heart. She rushed to his side, shouting desperately, but he showed no response.
“Even with clothes between us, his body was cold as ice.” Sister Liu trembled all over, silent tears flowing, as Mother softly comforted her.
The rest, we all knew. After questioning the villagers who had come to inquire, Cao Guangshan came to me and whispered, “Is all this true?”
“The body is right there; how could it not be?”
I looked at Brother Li’s corpse, stiff and laid out on the ground, and said, “Do you think a person could laugh like that while committing suicide? Do you think a dead man could remain so rigid and unmoving?”
“My God, this is too uncanny. What’s going on in your village lately? Nothing but strange happenings.”
Cao Guangshan kept swallowing; clearly terrified, for nervousness often manifests in such unconscious gestures.
Uncanny?
I thought to myself, I hadn’t even mentioned Father’s prophecy or that Brother Li died facing Grandmother’s grave—these were the most uncanny aspects.
The medical examiner strained but could not straighten Brother Li’s bent legs. Even with a police officer’s help, they could not lay him flat.
Suddenly, Master Xu stepped forward. As the examiner asked him to help bend the legs, Master Xu instead joined his index and middle fingers, pressed them to Brother Li’s brow, traced a charm downward, and stopped precisely at the fruit knife embedded in his heart.
“Open.”
The low command startled everyone, but as it fell, the corpse that two people could not move suddenly relaxed as if freshly dead: his hands dropped limply from the knife, his legs slowly loosened.
Inside, silence reigned.
I looked at the wide-eyed Cao Guangshan beside me and said, “Explain that with your science.”
Cao Guangshan moved his lips but said nothing, clearly shaken. After the examiner arranged Brother Li’s body, he too looked at Master Xu, his expression a mix of awe and fear.
The villagers were even more respectful, for all had grown up hearing tales of “superstition” and knew the prowess of people like Master Xu.
Everyone knew Brother Li had committed suicide, but the process was so bizarre that the examiner conducted a thorough check. After pulling back the clothes, I saw no black handprints on Brother Li.
I had pinned my hopes on finding them, wishing his death was caused by those marks. For if there were none, the source of this strange death might be Grandmother herself.
Not seeing any black handprints, I wondered—could Grandmother really have killed Brother Li? But thinking carefully, I doubted it.
Grandmother was kind in life, often helping villagers with childhood ailments and household misfortunes. Our family always got along well with Brother Li’s; the old house was next door, and he and his wife frequently helped Grandmother, sending chickens, treats, and gifts.
If it were someone less connected, I might suspect Grandmother, but not Brother Li. I knew she would never harm him. As for why things had turned out this way, I had no answer.
Before leaving, the medical examiner took a blood sample, saying it would be tested for toxins. As it was a suicide, the body would be handled by the family.
With many people present, help was at hand. Under Master Xu’s guidance, they arranged Brother Li’s body, ready for burial once the coffin arrived at dawn.
Mother understood why Brother Li had died suddenly and told me to return home if I wished, as she would stay to comfort Sister Liu.
As I walked out, Master Xu suddenly asked, “Did you see Old Qin come by?”
I thought for a moment; I hadn’t seen Old Qin at all and shook my head. Master Xu gave a soft laugh. “Seems no matter what happens in your village, he’s never curious.”
I hadn’t noticed before, but thinking back, it was true.
Whether it was Aunt Wang’s sudden death, Grandmother’s passing, or Liu the Madman’s unexplained demise, Old Qin was never at the scene.
Unlike the city, villages are tight-knit; everyone knows each other, and when someone dies—unless from old age—it naturally draws attention.
Old Qin walked this path and was a villager himself. Logically, he should have shown up to see what was happening. But recalling all the incidents, I had never seen him at a death scene.
He seemed oblivious to the world, either wandering alone after meals or fishing by the creek outside the village, never playing cards or exercising with the other elders.
I didn’t know how Master Xu had noticed this, but since he mentioned it, he must have his reasons. I asked, “Did you think of something?”
“No.” Master Xu shook his head. “It just suddenly came to mind; people like him are rare these days.”

This discovery seemed suspicious yet not exactly problematic. Everyone has the right to mind their own business; it’s not as if one must visit every time someone dies. Perhaps Old Qin simply disliked crowds, so I didn’t dwell on it.

Back in the new house, Master Xu asked me to repeat everything Father had said before his death. After I finished, he fell into deep contemplation. I too sat, searching for a breakthrough.

This matter could not wait.
The prophecy was coming true: those who carried the coffin last night would die one after another. Facing such inevitability, only by finding the pattern, the breakthrough, could we prevent or resolve it in advance.

I didn’t want more sudden deaths. Brother Li, being the first, had not drawn suspicion to our family. But if the next pallbearer died in such a strange suicide, people would inevitably connect the dots, realize they had all carried Grandmother’s coffin, and link the deaths to her.

By then, even Sister Liu, who was close to us, might come to demand answers, not to mention the other pallbearers who would not rest without an explanation.

Things were chaotic enough; if everyone came to our house, it would only grow worse.

I prayed silently, hoping the strange events from last night and today were mere coincidence, hoping that, if someone must die, it would happen later, giving us time to find the pattern and the breakthrough.

An hour passed and I still found no clue. Suddenly, Master Xu stood up. “Come, let me summon your soul.”

“I won’t go,” I refused outright.

The urgent task was to understand how Father could prophesy before his death, why those who carried Grandmother’s coffin were dying so suddenly.

Without my seven souls, I wouldn’t die for now, but unless I found the answer and the breakthrough soon, it wouldn’t be just one or two deaths.

Father had said: after all the pallbearers died one after another, the next to die would be the villagers themselves.

“Are you sure you won’t go?” Master Xu looked at me sternly. I nodded, saying that without my souls I wouldn’t die just yet, as long as I could stay awake.

With trouble looming, Master Xu said no more. He went inside, brought the wooden box from earlier to my room, opened it, and took out something resembling a compass but with seven suspended oil lamps. He called it the Soul Recalling Altar.

Then, Master Xu laid out my birth chart in the center of the altar, poured a yellow liquid from the box into the base’s oil bowl, and lit the seven small lamps.

A pungent, corpse-like stench filled the room. I asked about the lamp oil, but Master Xu ignored me, taking out a brush and cinnabar to draw a ritual array around the altar. After finishing, he said, “This can last seven days at most. If you haven’t retrieved and integrated your souls by then, even if you find them later, it will be too late—you will be a soulless person.”

At least there was time. I took a deep breath, trying to relax but unable to do so.

Staring at the Soul Recalling Altar, I felt anxious, uncertain if seven days would be enough to resolve the trouble, unsure what would happen if I failed to retrieve and integrate my souls within that time.

Never had my heart been this conflicted.