89: The Meal of the Dead

At first glance, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

But on a second look, I was certain I had not imagined it: the portrait of Zhao Eight-One was indeed weeping blood. Bright red blood slowly trickled from where the eyes in the photograph were.

If a corpse bleeds, that is still understandable. But a portrait bleeding was far harder to explain, because a portrait is only a photograph, and by ordinary logic it should never be able to shed blood.

Yet what should have been impossible had now become real.

Though I had seen my share of bizarre things since setting foot on this path, this was the first time I had ever witnessed a portrait bleeding tears of blood.

The room, which had only just begun to warm, turned icy again the moment the portrait began to cry blood.

Strange things came one after another. Seeing that the portrait was only shedding tears and nothing else had happened, I gradually relaxed. I was just about to light a few more sticks of incense for the old man when I suddenly noticed something wrong with the incense I had burned earlier.

After I had used the blood curse to subdue Zhao Eight-One, both Zhao Root and I had offered incense to the old man. I had done it once, while Zhao Root had done it several times.

Once incense is lit, nobody usually pays much attention to how it burns, which was why I had failed to notice earlier that something was wrong with it.

The incense we had lit before had not burned properly. Of the three sticks, two had gone out halfway through, and the third, I estimated, had burned for barely a minute before extinguishing.

I remembered an old film that explained the meaning of burning incense: people fear “three long and two short,” while incense most hates “two short and one long.”

When I first heard that, I thought it made perfect sense. After I followed my grandmother, she gave me a special explanation of the matter as well.

As for people fearing “three long and two short,” the origin came from ancient coffins. Nails were not used back then; instead, leather straps were used to bind the bottom of the coffin to the lid. When tying it, three bindings were made horizontally and two vertically.

The horizontal pieces were long boards, and the vertical ones were short boards.

That was why people feared “three long and two short.” In ancient times, it referred specifically to the way a coffin was tied. If a person ended up in such a state, it meant they were already dead. It was not, as some thought, because a coffin had three long boards and two short boards; after all, a coffin has six boards in total, four long and two short.

“Three long and two short” is a taboo concerning the living.

As for incense hating “two short and one long,” that wording of “hating” was a clear warning to later generations that this was a taboo of life and death. If incense burned for the dead ends up as two short and one long, it means the deceased harbors resentment in his heart.

The incense we had burned for Zhao Eight-One had all become two short and one long. Combined with the blood tears leaking from the portrait, I knew Zhao Eight-One was very displeased.

Still, even though I had methods at hand, I could not reach him for the moment. I could only cough twice, light three new sticks of incense, and say toward Zhao Eight-One’s coffin, “Old man, my name is Chen Midnight. I know a little about matters of yin and yang. I know you’re resentful right now, but we can’t yet determine what that resentment is. Don’t rush. After daylight tomorrow, I’ll burn you a meal for the dead, and then we’ll be able to communicate.”

After saying this, I inserted the three burning sticks into the incense burner and waited quietly beside it.

I did not know whether Zhao Eight-One could understand what I had said, but I knew this much: if those three sticks of incense burned without any problems, then it meant the old man had understood me. We could rest easy for the second half of the night. Otherwise, there would likely be a terrible upheaval.

While I waited anxiously, the three sticks of incense burned steadily and finally reduced themselves completely to ash. Only then did I feel relief.

“The blood is gone, Little Master.”

I looked at the portrait and saw that the blood that had seeped from the eyes before had now vanished without a trace.

Those two changes made me certain that my words had completely calmed Zhao Eight-One. I told Zhao Root, “All right, that should do it. You can rest now. Your father should have understood what I meant. At daybreak, go quickly find the missing ingredients and get the meal for the dead cooked as soon as possible.”

When the dead do not stir, that is the easiest outcome of all. Zhao Root had already reached his limit. After hearing me, he tidied up a little, then went to the chair nearby, wrapped himself tightly in a quilt, and went to sleep. I returned to my original spot as well and went back to rest beneath my own blanket.

For the rest of the night, everything was quiet, and I slept soundly.

When I woke again, the sky outside was already bright. Around ten o’clock, Zhao Root returned, bringing back the missing ingredients needed to cook the meal for the dead.

The meal for the dead varies according to the manner of death. The things used are different too, including the amount of “rice,” the vessel in which it is cooked, and the ingredients added to it. There were many subtleties involved.

Zhao Eight-One had died a normal death, so the meal for the dead of someone who died normally required three taels of glutinous rice, three taels of millet, three taels of ordinary rice, and one tael of soybeans. No matter what ingredients were used, the total weight would never exceed one jin.

When all the amounts were added together, the resulting number was ten, symbolizing the three souls and seven spirits.

For Zhao Eight-One’s meal, the cooking vessel had to be a sand pot. The fuel had to be willow wood and pagoda tree wood, mixed together.

Once everything was prepared, I asked Zhao Root for Zhao Eight-One’s date of birth and calculated his birth chart. I also asked for the time of his death and calculated another chart from that as well.

The two charts were placed at the bottom of the sand pot and pressed down with glutinous rice and other things. After the various grains were arranged, I placed a coin at the very top and then added water.

The water used to cook a meal for the dead was not ordinary drinking water. It had to be running water that flows all year round, usually river water, because river water is always moving.

During the cooking process, a specific incantation had to be used in tandem.

This was my first time cooking a meal for the dead, so at the beginning I could not avoid feeling tense. But as time passed, I gradually relaxed. Seeing that it was nearly done, I took the three sticks of incense I had prepared long ago and scraped the incense powder from the stalks, mixing it into the nearly finished rice.

At last, I burned a yellow talisman and let its ashes fall into the rice, waiting until the flame went out on its own.

That was when the meal for the dead was considered finished.

Meanwhile, I had Zhao Root find a white porcelain bowl. Using running water mixed with Zhao Root’s own blood as pigment, I began drawing a ritual array on the bowl.

The meal for the dead was for communicating with the deceased, so things like rooster’s blood, which is heavy with yang energy, could not be used here. Too much yang energy would suppress the dead.

I chose running water mainly because, since it flows through all four seasons, it is always cold at any time and belongs to the yin. Zhao Root’s blood was added because Zhao Eight-One was his father; if I wanted to connect with Zhao Eight-One, I naturally needed something that linked them.

Blood has always been a very special presence in the mystical arts. Many secret rites cannot be activated without it.

By the time the ritual bowl was ready, the firewood under the sand pot had almost gone out. I stepped outside and found two branches, then carefully used them to lift the rice out of the pot bit by bit.

An oil lamp was lit, with Zhao Root’s birth chart placed beneath it.

At the same time, Zhao Eight-One’s own birth chart had also been calculated and placed beneath the ritual bowl. Zhao Root knelt before Zhao Eight-One’s coffin, holding the meal for the dead in both hands.

Once all was prepared, I closed the door. In the room, only the flame of Zhao Root’s life lamp flickered faintly.

A meal for the dead does not make the dead rise to speak. Its function is actually much the same as inviting a spirit to possess someone. The reason one must cook a meal for the dead, as I said earlier, is that at this stage Zhao Eight-One’s soul could not yet be summoned. This was an alternative method.

The ritual array on the bowl had been mixed with Zhao Root’s blood, so a link had already been established between them. Because of that, Zhao Root would not need to speak later; he would be able to connect directly with Zhao Eight-One and learn why the old man had been making such a fuss.

“Remember, when you eat in a moment, no matter how awful it tastes, you have to swallow it. Take it little by little. Keep eating until you reach the coin, then stop and hold the coin in your mouth.”

Zhao Root nodded. Under my signal, he began eating from the meal, using the incense sticks I had moved aside to pick up the food.

Though I had never tasted the meal for the dead myself, I could imagine it was not going to be good, mixed as it was with so many things. Zhao Root ate in obvious misery, but compared to being tormented by Zhao Eight-One, eating the meal for the dead was still more bearable.

If fortune favored him, he might bite the coin after only two mouthfuls. If not, he would have to eat all the way to the end before finding it.

I had deliberately not memorized where the coin was hidden in the bowl, because everything in these matters depended on fate. If you deliberately tried to alter the situation, you might fail to achieve the desired effect.

Zhao Root’s luck was neither especially good nor especially bad. Halfway through, he finally bit into the coin. Following my instructions, he placed it in his mouth.

The moment the coin entered his mouth, the life lamp beside him, which had been lit specifically for Zhao Root, suddenly flared bright, then began to weaken. Gradually, it shrank until it was only the size of a yellow bean.

At the same time, Zhao Root, the coin still in his mouth, had already closed his eyes without my noticing when. His entire body fell into a rigid, trance-like state.

I took the ritual bowl from Zhao Root’s hands and placed it on top of the coffin, then cast an incantation.

Zhao Root’s whole body shuddered.

Seeing that, the tension in my heart finally began to ease.

Under the connection established by the meal for the dead, Zhao Root had already made contact with Zhao Eight-One.