Volume 1: Childhood Haunting
Preface
I am a sorcerer by profession, though that is the more refined term. In today's world, people prefer to mock those in my line of work with the term "shamans."
At times, I feel somewhat helpless, for the "mysticism" passed down by our ancestors has nearly vanished. There are fewer and fewer people who truly understand and possess such knowledge. Furthermore, due to various taboos, those so-called "masters" are unwilling to serve the common people.
Thus, after encountering many charlatans, the term "shaman" has become deeply ingrained in people's minds.
I don't wish to be hypocritical. Over the past few years, I have completed 37 transactions, but my clients have been primarily the wealthy and powerful, with the exception of two special cases.
By now, I have retired from taking on any more clients. Of course, I do love money, but some things cannot be revealed. If one has the destiny to earn it, one must also have the fate to spend it, right?
But a life of too much ease becomes boring. Reflecting on my forty-odd years, my only regret is that I feel I have failed my master. His lifelong wish was merely to restore the true reputation of real sorcerers and even to propagate "mysticism."
Is it easy? In today's society, it's really not! The truth is, the higher echelons of the country do value "mysticism" and treat those who truly understand it like treasures.
But this is all a secret, not something the masses are meant to know. Don't ask why. Those who trust me will understand, and that is enough.
What I can do is write about my experiences over the years so that people can understand what a true sorcerer is really like, and what genuine mysticism truly entails.
Of course, I won't reveal the specific methods. If it were something that anyone could learn, it wouldn't be nearly lost to history by now. I don't want to mislead anyone, or allow someone to try imitating it out of curiosity.
As for whether the events I record are true or not, I'll leave that for you to decide. Just reflect on your own life.
Alright, enough of the preamble. Here begins the story of my experiences over the years. Due to certain reasons, I will make literary adjustments in some key areas.
Chapter 1: The Mysterious Birthmark
I am from Sichuan. I was born in the winter of 1967 in a poor village in the southwest of Sichuan. Out of respect for professional taboos, I won't reveal my full birth date, but since it's the catalyst for everything that follows, I'll mention this: I was born at exactly twelve o'clock noon—no more, no less.
At this point, some may ask, "Is it really that mysterious? How can you be so sure, down to the exact second? Even if my father was watching a clock, how could he guarantee that?"
Indeed, that's the logic!
So, what I'm telling you is this time was calculated later by my master, who deduced it from my birth chart. I never doubt a word my master says, and over time, I've come to realize that his words have always been accurate.
But what's so special about being born at twelve o'clock noon? Well, that will be explained shortly.
But, let me first reassure anyone born around this time—there aren't many people in China born at exactly twelve o'clock noon, really. So don't panic.
Now, to continue.
The winter of the year I was born was incredibly cold. So cold, in fact, that my parents still remember it vividly.
My father described it this way: "It was so d*mn cold that even the hens in the yard were walking on tiptoe."
I can't imagine what a hen walking on tiptoe must look like, but in my hometown, where it rarely snows, a winter that cold left a deep impression. The coldness there was unlike the dry, biting cold of the north; it was a damp, penetrating chill that went deep into your bones.
I was born during that winter, and my parents almost thought I wouldn't survive, especially in such an abnormal cold.
Why, you ask? There were three reasons:
First, I was very small and frail. My mother said that when my father first held me in his arms, he exclaimed, "This is no different from holding a kitten!"
Second, my cries were faint, barely audible, like someone choking me. It sounded like I was gasping for air. The midwife, experienced as she was, thought I had inhaled some amniotic fluid and even hung me upside down and patted me, but it did no good.
Third, when my father and the midwife were bathing me, they noticed a birthmark on the back of my head. Normally, birthmarks are nothing unusual, but mine was a bright red color, and when they looked closely, it seemed to resemble an eye.
In rural areas, people are superstitious. The midwife, somewhat scared, said, "This birthmark looks like an eye, but the strangest thing is that when I look at it, it feels like it's staring back at me. This child is so weak, and now he has something like this on him. Should we call someone to take a look?"
My parents, who were not well-read, were frightened by the midwife's words. My mother, still weak from childbirth, collapsed onto the bed in a panic, while my father, more composed, quickly asked, "Liu Po (the midwife's name), what do you think is wrong with the child? Should we take him to the clinic for the doctor to see?"
In rural areas, people were poor, and medical conditions were lacking. In my parents' eyes, the experienced Liu Po was the ultimate authority. They trusted her completely.
Seeing my father's concern, Liu Po glanced around mysteriously before leaning toward him and speaking in a low voice: "The child is weak, and things like this can take advantage of weaknesses. Do you know? These things like to leave marks. For example, if they grab you, you'll see black finger marks. If they kick you, there'll be a footprint. You know those people who are dragged away by water ghosts to be used as substitutes? The bodies that are fished out—most of the time, they have marks on their feet."
Upon hearing this, my father shuddered and immediately understood what Liu Po meant. When she spoke about leaving marks, he could dismiss it as nonsense. But when she mentioned water ghosts dragging people into the river, his mind went back to an incident he had witnessed years ago.
That had happened when he was just a young boy. It was a summer day, and like most children in the countryside, he and his friends went swimming in the river after working in the fields.
Among his friends were a pair of twin brothers, whom everyone called "Da Shuang" and "Xiao Shuang." The incident that happened that day involved them.
My father wasn't there to witness everything in detail, but he clearly remembered hearing Xiao Shuang's loud cry: "My brother is sinking! Hurry, help!"
Turning around, he saw Da Shuang's body sinking into the river. He was sinking so fast that only his head remained visible, and he didn't seem to struggle.
Xiao Shuang rushed to his brother's side and quickly swam after him. Two other children followed closely behind.
My father, concerned for his friend, swam toward the spot, but by the time he reached them, Xiao Shuang had grabbed his brother by the hair. "It's so heavy, Wang Gou'er, help me pull him up!"
Wang Gou'er, who was the closest, quickly swam toward them and managed to grasp Xiao Shuang's outstretched hand.
"Help me hold my brother!" Xiao Shuang shouted in desperation, barely able to catch his breath.
In a frenzy, the group finally managed to pull the twins from the river. Da Shuang was unconscious, his stomach distended from swallowing too much water, while Xiao Shuang trembled despite the heat of the summer day.
When they revived Da Shuang, he was dazed, as if he couldn't believe he was still alive. Before he could speak, he was slapped by Uncle Li, who scolded, "You mischievous boy, why did you swim so far out? Don't you know better?"
It was a scolding filled with genuine care. In rural villages, people had close bonds, and no one wanted to see any child in trouble, so a few reprimanding words were expected.
Da Shuang didn't respond, but Xiao Shuang, who had been shaking, suddenly spoke up, "Uncle Li, I don't think my brother swam out there on his own. Something dragged him."
Xiao Shuang's voice wasn't loud, but when he said this, the whole group fell silent. Even Uncle Li was stunned.
In rural areas, everyone had heard of strange occurrences in the mountains and woods, and Xiao Shuang's words seemed to suggest something sinister—like a water ghost looking for a substitute.
"Don't talk nonsense, boy," Uncle Li said seriously. "Stop scaring everyone. You're just afraid your father will punish you, aren't you?"
"I'm not lying!" Xiao Shuang exclaimed, his voice full of conviction. "I saw him swimming, and then he just stopped. He sank like something pulled him down. And when I tried to grab him, he was so heavy, like someone was pulling him away. It was cold, too—when I touched him, I felt ice-cold."Xiao Shuang trembled as he spoke, and in that moment, everyone began to believe him.
My father, who had helped drag Da Shuang from the water, knew well the chill that had gripped Da Shuang's body—it was as cold as ice. Strangely, my father and the others who helped hadn't felt the same coldness. In hindsight, it was likely because they were a group of half-grown boys, brimming with youthful vitality, and such forces perhaps recoiled in their presence. Otherwise, how could anyone have been saved from such an ordeal?
At that very moment, Da Shuang finally spoke: "I saw a fish in the river. I went to catch it, but as soon as I dove in, someone grabbed my ankle. When they grabbed... when they grabbed, I couldn't move anymore. I couldn't feel my body—so cold, I couldn't move..."
As Da Shuang spoke, his eyes were vacant, though a look of distinct terror began to cloud his features. It was at this point that my father witnessed a scene that would haunt him forever. Following Da Shuang's words, he instinctively looked at Da Shuang's ankle, where three distinct thumb-sized marks appeared—dark, bruised, and unmistakably eerie."D*mn kid, you're lucky to be alive…"
Everyone saw it, and Uncle Li, clearly shaken, could only mutter those words before falling silent.That was the extent of my father's recollection. Thinking back, his heart filled with urgency, for at that time, we already had two daughters, and my father had longed for a son. After so many years, he had finally been blessed with one, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing him."Liu Granny, what do you think happened to my boy? Please, tell me... what do you see?"
My father was frantic, his hands trembling in desperation."This mark... it resembles an eye. Perhaps that's the reason he's been targeted?" Liu Wenpo lowered her voice, speaking uncertainly."So, what should we do?"
My father, clinging to her every word, was now completely caught in his worry. Desperation clouded his judgment."What should you do? You probably need to seek..." Liu Wenpo glanced cautiously around before leaning close to my father's ear and whispering, "You should ask the widow Zhou to take a look."
"The widow Zhou?" My father couldn't help but mutter the name under his breath, his brow furrowing in indecision."The widow Zhou?" My mother, who had been lying in bed, suddenly sat up in distress, repeating, "No, no, that won't do!
The other day, at the village meeting, they said Chairman Mao declared we must sweep away all these superstitions and break with the past. We can't be engaging in these feudal practices!"Upon hearing my mother's words, Liu Wenpo stood up quickly. "Old Chen, I'm doing this for your family. After all, a son doesn't come easily. As for what I've said, it's up to you to decide. I'll leave now."
My father shot my mother a glance, then hurriedly followed Liu Wenpo to the door. Just before she left, he grabbed a chicken and pressed it into her hands. "Liu Granny, I'm a man who understands gratitude.
We're all neighbors here, and I would never engage in anything dishonorable. Rest assured, when my youngest grows up, I'll be sure to thank you with old cured meat.""Yes, we're neighbors, after all. It's just a shame that things are getting so distant now.
Who truly wishes harm on another family? This world…" My father's words were veiled, but Liu Wenpo understood, muttering a final phrase before leaving.Of course, I couldn't blame my mother.
As a woman, she was naturally more fearful. And it certainly wasn't my father or Liu Wenpo's fault for being so cautious, speaking in indirect terms. The year 1967 was what it was, and everyone knew the state of things.
My father merely reassured Liu Wenpo that he would not betray anyone, that he was too honorable to do such a thing, while Liu Wenpo lamented how the times had turned people against one another, making it impossible to form true, trusting bonds.But compared to the chaos of the outside world, this impoverished village was almost a paradise, untouched by the madness.
At least the people here still had some semblance of humanity. They cared for each other, their bonds not yet fully corrupted by the outside world.After seeing Liu Wenpo off, my father's expression darkened as he entered the house.
At that moment, my two older sisters, who had been hiding in the firewood room, had finally returned to the house.It was an old tradition in our village for women to avoid seeing the birth of a child.
My family, like everyone else, adhered to this custom.As soon as my father stepped through the door, he saw my two older sisters crouched in front of the bed, gazing at me with great curiosity, their expressions cautious and delicate. Especially my eldest sister, who at only five years old, softly cautioned my second sister, who was merely three: "Don't touch your little brother, don't even lay a finger on him. Look how tiny he is."This remark stirred my father's thoughts. He walked over, scooped up my second sister, and gently ruffled my eldest sister's hair before looking down at me, his brow furrowed in deep concern."Old Chen, are you really going to consult Widow Zhou...?" My mother, still preoccupied with the matter, hurriedly asked as soon as my father entered.
My father cleared his throat, cutting her off, then set my second sister down. Turning to my older sisters, he instructed, "Eldest, take your little sister to the kitchen to watch over the chicken soup. If it boils dry, you two won't get any chicken for dinner tonight."At that time, my father was capable and my mother hardworking. Our family's circumstances, though modest, were better than most in the village.
At least my mother always had a pot of old hen soup to nourish herself after childbirth. If she couldn't finish the meat, it was naturally shared with my two older sisters.The mention of chicken meat immediately caught my two sisters' attention. Eagerly, they agreed and hurried to the kitchen, excited to guard the soup.
"These things should never be discussed in front of the children. If they inadvertently let something slip, it could implicate not only our family but others as well," my father murmured to my mother."I'm just worried. Look at how frail and small our youngest is. I have no grandmother to help me, and with this bitterly cold winter, I…" My mother trailed off, holding me—already fast asleep—in her arms, as though fearing I would slip from her grasp at any moment.
"The widow Zhou is considered a remnant of the old ways, her reputation tainted.
Although the village head and the villagers have spared her out of sentiment, the cadres from above are all watching her closely, hoping for any misstep so they can claim credit for her downfall," my father explained, his tone steady. He hadn't learned much, but he was shrewd when it came to matters of people and politics."So, what should we do?" My mother lost her resolve, muttering to herself, "
But Chairman Mao said we shouldn't engage in such things. Should we really go against him?"My father, both amused and exasperated, shook his head. My mother, though devout in her faith in Chairman Mao, was a simple, ordinary woman."
This is something Chairman Mao doesn't know about our youngest. If he did, do you think such a great man would not want to help save our child?
Don't dwell on that. Here's what we'll do—I'll take the little one to the village clinic tomorrow. If the doctor proves useless, then I'll consider asking Widow Zhou for help," my father reassured her, sighing heavily. At that moment, what truly worried him was whether Widow Zhou would refuse to assist.