The Fallen Coffin
Ma Laosan's wife's death was shrouded in mystery. According to Ma Laosan, everything seemed fine the night they went to bed. Late into the night, he heard noises in the courtyard but, exhausted from a long day of farming, he could barely keep his eyes open. Half-asleep, he vaguely heard someone calling his wife's name. Soon after, his wife got up abruptly. Ma, groggy with fatigue, asked where she was going, but she didn't respond. Assuming she was heading to the outhouse, he dismissed it and drifted back to sleep.
By morning, Ma awoke to find his wife missing. He searched the entire house but couldn't find her. Growing frantic, he rallied the neighbors to help search the village, but it wasn't until they combed the nearby mountains that they found her body.
When the villagers saw her corpse, they were too terrified to approach. No one had ever seen a body so gruesomely mutilated. Her flesh was riddled with bite marks, her body torn apart as if by wild animals. One of her feet was gnawed down to bare white bones. Most chilling of all, her face bore an eerie smile, her eyes wide open even in death. The sight sent shivers down everyone's spine.
Ma Laosan wept inconsolably as the villagers helped retrieve the remains and prepared them for burial. According to the tradition in Jiushan Village, a body must lie in state at home for three days before being interred. Over the next few days, neighbors came to pay their respects.
My father, like many others, brought offerings of paper money to burn. But something strange happened—while everyone else's paper money burned to ashes, the paper my father brought wouldn't catch fire. Even when he poured high-proof alcohol onto the flames, it barely smoldered before extinguishing. A sudden gust of wind scattered the ash from the fire basin, leaving my father covered in soot.
Shaken, he decided to light incense instead. However, moments after lighting three sticks, two of them snapped in the middle, leaving only the middle one intact—a superstitious omen symbolizing "three long, two short," a portent of death.
Onlookers turned pale. The signs were clear: the deceased bore a grudge against my father and refused to accept his offerings. Frightened, my father hurried home and recounted the incident to my grandfather, who sighed heavily.
It wasn't hard to guess why Ma Laosan's wife's death was linked to me. After all, she had beaten me over the incident with her son drinking chicken blood. The next morning, she was found dead in such a horrific manner. The village gossip soon concluded that it was tied to the prophecy of the village soothsayer—who had said I would face a calamity every three years. It seemed this time, the calamity had claimed her life instead of mine.
The bite marks on her body were reminiscent of those left by yellow weasels and foxes—creatures long associated with my family. From the day I was born, hundreds of these animals had gathered outside our home in reverence, and they regularly brought game as offerings.
The villagers whispered that I had caused her death. At first, it was mere speculation, but the suspicion solidified the following night.
That night, everyone in my family, except me, had the same terrifying dream. Ma Laosan's wife appeared at our home, hobbling on one skeletal foot. Her face bore the same twisted smile, and she spoke venomously, accusing me of causing her death. She demanded that my family kill me to appease her wrath or face ruin themselves.
Ma Laosan had a similar dream. His wife appeared, sobbing, and pleaded with him to avenge her by taking my life, saying it was the only way she could rest in peace.
The next morning, Ma Laosan stormed into our home, gripping a hatchet and demanding justice. His eyes blazed with murderous intent. My parents were panicked and helpless. It was my grandfather who stepped forward, pushing me out and facing Ma Laosan squarely.
"If you truly believe this child caused your wife's death, you can kill him right here and now," my grandfather said coldly. "Go ahead, take his life."
Ma Laosan hesitated. He knew that killing me would result in his own execution, and he left, defeated and fuming.
Three days later, it was time to bury Ma Laosan's wife. The day was overcast, the air heavy and still. As tradition dictated, the coffin was not supposed to touch the ground from the house to the burial site. But just as the pallbearers stepped outside, the ropes holding the coffin suddenly snapped, and it crashed heavily to the ground—a dire omen in village superstition.
Ma Laosan, horrified, clung to the coffin, wailing, "Wife, I know you died unjustly. If you bear a grudge, seek out those who wronged you, but please spare your family!"
As he wept, an eerie chatter echoed from nearby. To everyone's shock, hundreds of yellow weasels and foxes emerged, surrounding the area. Among them was an unusually large weasel with a streak of white fur running down its back.
This massive weasel circled the coffin three times before raising a paw and tapping it three times. The taps echoed ominously. Then, the creature turned and led its legion away.
After the animals left, the pallbearers tried lifting the coffin again, and this time, it moved effortlessly. The burial proceeded without further incident.
But the following day, villagers discovered that Ma Laosan's wife's grave had been dug open, and her corpse was nowhere to be found.