007 The Corpse Ghoul
The reason Liu Po insisted on helping our family was her belief that the powerful spirit dwelling within me would eventually awaken, and when that time came, it might assist her in return. Her foresight proved accurate; I did save her life later on, though that's a tale for another time.
After Liu Po decided to stay and help, she inquired about the connection between me and Ma Laosan's wife. It turned out that Ma Laosan's wife had hit me that day and stood at our door cursing loudly. The next morning, her corpse was discovered on the hill behind our house.
The foxes and yellow weasels had sensed the powerful spirit within me; to harm me was to offend that spirit. They retaliated against Ma Laosan's wife.
My father asked why Ma Laosan's wife had been knocking on our window late at night, repeating a single sentence before leaving, always accompanied by a chilling laugh.
Liu Po explained that Ma Laosan's wife was a newly dead ghost with little spiritual power. She would grow much stronger after her tóu qī (seventh day after death), capable of killing our entire family. Her intense resentment and the fact that she had been bitten by fox and weasel spirits made her corpse especially prone to transforming into something terrifying: a corpse ghoul. This kind of evil being, half-corpse and half-ghost, was extraordinarily dangerous.
The corpse of Ma Laosan's wife hadn't been stolen—it had risen from its coffin and was now lurking somewhere dark. Once tóu qī came, her soul and body would merge, transforming her into a ghoul bent on revenge.
Terrified, my family asked Liu Po what to do next. She suggested the simplest solution: destroy her before tóu qī. Whether by finding her body or scattering her soul, Ma Laosan's wife would be prevented from becoming a ghoul.
Grandfather suggested, "That's easy. She always comes knocking at night. Liu Po, you stay here and deal with her directly."
Liu Po agreed. Before confronting Ma Laosan's wife, she asked my father to gather a few specific items: a pure black adult dog, free of any other fur color; three bright, healthy roosters that had been raised for at least three years; and a shòuyī (traditional burial garment) tailored for me to wear in case of emergency.
The first two items were easy to find since most rural families kept dogs and chickens. But commissioning a burial garment for a three-year-old child was a different story. Such garments weren't readily available and had to be custom-made.
With no choice, my father visited a shop that specialized in burial attire and ordered one tailored for me. The earliest they could have it ready was the following day.
Liu Po assured us that the garment was only for last-resort protection; if Ma Laosan's wife showed up as just a ghost, she could handle it herself.
With preparations complete, the family braced for Ma Laosan's wife to appear. Yet, to everyone's surprise, that first night passed without incident. The entire household, including Liu Po, stayed awake all night, only to end up with panda-like dark circles under their eyes.
At dawn, as the roosters crowed and the black dog lay down to rest, Grandfather frowned and asked Liu Po, "Why didn't she come?"
Liu Po was puzzled too. After some thought, she speculated, "Perhaps her spirit sensed my presence as a chūmǎ xiān (spirit medium) and was afraid. Or maybe she had no plans to show up last night. Either way, it looks like we'll have to wait until after tóu qī to see her."
"But won't she be much stronger as a ghoul? Can we handle that?" my father asked nervously.
"It's risky, but there's no other way. Don't worry; even if I have to risk my life, I'll ensure the child's safety," Liu Po promised with a sigh.
The days crept by, and Liu Po remained at our home, anxiously awaiting Ma Laosan's wife's next move.
The second night passed just like the first: uneventful. Tension grew as the dreaded tóu qī approached. The entire household, including Liu Po, was on edge, their anxiety palpable.
By the third day, Liu Po's unease was evident. Grandfather sharpened his old machete, a relic from his days fighting the Japanese during the war. Its edge gleamed under the light, a strip of red cloth tied to its hilt like blood.
Liu Po explained that the machete, having taken lives, possessed a deadly aura feared by malevolent entities. Grandfather, having long made peace with life and death, resolved to protect his grandson no matter the cost.
Night fell. The family gathered for what could very well have been their last supper.
After the meal, Liu Po instructed my father to take the black dog outside, ensuring it stayed away until after midnight. While the reason for this wasn't clear, my father complied without question.
In those days, rural villages had no electricity, let alone televisions or mobile phones. Most people were asleep by 9 p.m., and the resulting silence felt eerily oppressive.
Time crawled by. By 11 p.m., the air grew heavy.
I had fallen asleep in my mother's arms, blissfully unaware of the impending danger.
Grandfather sat on a stool in the middle of the yard, the machete resting on his lap. He gripped its hilt tightly, prepared for the worst.
Liu Po, standing in the center of the courtyard, puffed nervously on her long-stemmed pipe, its smoke swirling around her. Her eyes never left the gate.
Shortly after 11, an unsettling phenomenon began. A black whirlwind swirled through the yard, whipping up dust and leaves.
Dogs throughout the village began howling in unison, their cries piercing the night air. Then, as suddenly as it began, the noise stopped.
The air turned icy. Grandfather's skin prickled with goosebumps as the chill sank deep into his bones.
Then came the sound: heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing from outside the gate.
"Thump. Thump."
The steps grew louder, accompanied by a nauseating stench of rot.
Liu Po tensed, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her pipe.
"She's here," she whispered.