On the day of my birth, the village was besieged by a slew of inexplicable occurrences.
Initially, Old Wang's white-haired dog, a companion of eight years, donned a black robe and, standing erect, meandered through the streets before bowing at my family's doorstep. Furthermore, a multitude of corpulent rats with bloodshot eyes paraded through, congregating persistently at our entrance.
This spectacle incited the village cats, which mobilized in an attempt to dispel the rodents. However, the typically timid mice, now audaciously confronting their adversaries, engaged in a fierce skirmish with the cats.
The ensuing battle left the streets littered with casualties. Countless rats perished, but the feline ranks also suffered significant losses. The spectacle left the villagers dumbfounded. Some seasoned elders remarked that such a reversal of natural order—where dogs mimic humans and rats challenge cats—presaged chaos that, in ancient times, would have indicated the onset of widespread turmoil.
Initially, these strange events were not connected to my family. However, that changed by evening when eerie operatic tones arose from the vacant lot before our house.
Curious villagers, drawn to the spectacle, discovered that the performers were merely figures crafted from paper, while the audience comprised a bizarre assortment of creatures, including sly-eyed weasels, malodorous gray foxes, and ghastly, fanged specters.
Central to this assembly was a coffin, stood upright, within which an elderly crone with a pallid, wrinkled visage watched with rapt attention. This macabre scene sent the villagers fleeing in terror, seeking refuge under their covers at home, fervently praying to every deity from the Jade Emperor to Jesus Christ.
That night, terror gripped everyone, including my family, leaving us virtually sleepless. By dawn, the phantasmagorical assembly had vanished, leaving only debris and a palpable sense of the previous night's reality.
In those superstitious times, such occurrences deeply unnerved the villagers, stirring fears that my family might be cursed.
On that very day, my grandfather, clad in a worn-out leather coat, hurried from the mountains and without a word, began to beat my father and uncles, leaving them bloodied and disheveled. Afterward, he embraced me, still an infant, and wept bitterly.
After the beating, my father and uncles, cautious and bruised, approached him for an explanation, pleading to understand the fate of this child. My grandfather, with a stern glance, ominously declared, "Born bearing sins, despised by both man and ghost."
What did he mean by "born bearing sins, despised by both man and ghost"? Neither he elaborated, nor did my father and uncles dare to inquire further. Essentially, my survival was deemed fortunate; my demise would have been deserved.
Whether I would live or die hinged on surviving that night. True to his foreboding, I developed a severe fever that evening. Within hours, I had gasped for air thrice, each time clawing my way back to life.
In the dead of night, after dismissing the clinic doctor who had come to administer an injection, my grandfather wrapped me in his tattered coat and held me close without rest. Bare-chested, he cradled me in one arm while he and my uncles cursed the heavens until their voices were hoarse.
It wasn't until an old woman's curse echoed from the rooftop at dawn that I finally began to recover, narrowly reclaiming my life. However, the ordeal left my grandfather and the uncles who had stood guard sick in bed for over a month.
Later, I learned that during that fateful night, a spectral entity atop our roof had been draining my vitality, and had it not been for the protective presence of my grandfather, father, and uncles, I would not have survived.
Eventually, my grandfather named me Zhang Jiu Zui, which means "Nine Sins," signifying that from birth, I was considered a sinner.
The so-called nine sins encompass murder, greed, wrath, deceit, envy, sloth, lust, pride, and vanity.
Growing up, I inherited my father's taciturn and reclusive nature, seldom speaking or engaging with others. Even at school, I rarely mingled with my classmates.
Despite such an antisocial disposition typically being unwelcomed, my grandfather found solace in it, often taking me to his humble, mud-brick home after school.
Though modest, his home was immaculately maintained, free from pests and vermin. My fondness for visiting wasn't without reason; his house harbored an array of books. These ranged from yellowed tomes of indeterminate age to freshly printed volumes.
Most of these books chronicled bizarre tales and legends, from exorcists vanquishing demons to local myths, replete with intricate knowledge of esoteric doctrines and Buddhist spectral lore. Some were even handwritten manuscripts by my grandfather, bound with needle and thread.
I cherished these books, for they opened a portal to another realm—a world populated by humans and demons, righteousness and malevolence, ghosts and revenants.
These stories of rune-wielding exorcists, grave-dowsing necromancers, soothsayers who transcended life and death, and geomancers roaming the earth fulfilled my childhood yearnings for the world beyond.
This literary journey lasted six years until increased academic demands in high school curtailed my visits. My high school years, though academically successful, ended in disillusionment when a sudden illness shattered my university aspirations during the national college entrance exams.
As the illness swiftly came and went with the exams, it left me suspecting a cosmic conspiracy to thwart my educational ambitions.
The news of my academic misfortune drew sighs from my parents and pity from the villagers, but only my grandfather, stroking his beard, cheerily proclaimed it a blessing.
My failure rendered me more withdrawn, resolute to retry the exams the following year. However, during this period, a pair of Maybachs—vehicles seen rarely, unlike the modest cars owned by some affluent locals—arrived in our village, eventually stopping at my grandfather's humble dwelling.
Elegantly dressed men and women emerged, their appearance striking a stark contrast to the rural backdrop. They retrieved document cases from the trunk and respectfully knocked on my grandfather's door.