When I was three years old, a severe drought gripped our village. On the day of my third birthday, nearly all the adults were out irrigating the fields—including my own parents—leaving me alone at home.
They left behind a bowl of wild pheasant blood for me. "Drink this if you get hungry," they told me.
Though only three, I was more intelligent and obedient than most children my age. I stayed in the courtyard, quietly playing by myself.
For as long as I could remember, I'd always been alone. No other children would play with me. Their parents forbade it. Everyone said I was a born freak. The villagers knew I never ate solid food—only drank blood—and that every night, foxes and yellow weasels would come to my house with offerings. People feared me like I was a plague.
That birthday, like every other day, I played in the courtyard alone. Just as I was peeing on an anthill, I suddenly heard the sound of children laughing and playing outside the courtyard walls. My ears perked up instantly.
I'd barely ever left the courtyard in my three years of life. The villagers avoided me like I was cursed.
But I longed for a playmate—just someone to talk to, even for a moment.
I ran to the gate and peeked through a crack in the door. Outside, on a small sand hill made from piled construction sand, four or five children were laughing and playing.
The sight made my heart itch with yearning.
At that age, I didn't think much. I simply ran out toward them, hoping to join their game.
But as soon as they saw me, terror lit their faces. An older child pointed at me and shouted, "The freak's here! The blood-drinking freak! Anyone who talks to him will be cursed!"
With that one shout, the others scattered like birds, leaving me standing there, alone.
Their toys remained on the sand hill. I felt sad watching them disappear—but it was okay. If they wouldn't play with me, I'd play by myself.
I picked up their tools and started building in the sand alone. That's when a voice drifted over from the other side of the sand hill.
"Wanna build a sand house together?"
I looked up. A chubby little boy, about my age, stood there. His face was smudged, two snot trails glistening under his nose. But his clothes were clean, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity.
I smiled. "Sure. Let's build a big house together."
Everyone else had run off. Only this little guy remained. Like me, he was too young to understand fear.
We played happily, both squatting there in our split-crotch pants, piling sand high into little towers.
After a while, the chubby boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of candy. "Candy. Sweet," he said, holding it out to me.
I'd never eaten candy before. In fact, I'd never eaten anything besides blood. But I took it, put it in my mouth... I couldn't really taste anything.
Still, I felt touched. He had shared something nice with me. I should give him something nice, too.
"I have something yummy too," I said. "Wait here. I'll go get it."
I ran back inside, picked up the bowl of pheasant blood my parents had left me, and brought it out to him.
He didn't know what it was. I demonstrated, taking a sip, my mouth smeared red. The chubby boy giggled, and I laughed too. Then he took the bowl and tried to drink, but his small hands slipped, spilling the blood all over himself.
That was my only food. I felt a pang of loss and heartache.
As I stood there frozen, unsure what to do, a scream suddenly tore through the air behind me.
"You freak! Damn demon! You tried to poison my son!"
A furious woman stormed toward me, grabbed me by the collar, and hurled me to the ground. Pain exploded across my body, and I began to cry.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several pairs of glowing green eyes watching from the underbrush—not looking at me, but at the raging woman.
She had scooped up the chubby boy and was checking him over. Aside from being covered in blood, he was fine.
But she wasn't satisfied. She rushed over to me again and kicked me viciously. "You cursed beast! You fed my son blood! I'll beat you to death!"
One kick sent me flying. I couldn't even cry anymore.
Fortunately, just then, my grandfather returned from the fields with a hoe slung over his shoulder. Seeing the woman still attacking me, he rushed over, shoved her away, and shouted, "What the hell are you doing, woman?! Why are you hitting my grandson?!"
The woman—wife of our neighbor, Third Uncle—pointed at me, shrieking, "Ask this little monster what he did! He tried to make my son drink blood! If anything happens to my boy, I'll make the whole Wu family pay with your lives!"
My grandfather picked me up, heartbroken at the sight of my battered little face.
Then he glanced at the chubby boy and turned pale. Blood soaked his clothes, his little body red and sticky. For a normal child, drinking blood could be deadly. My grandfather knew this. Ashamed, he apologized repeatedly and carried me home.
But the woman wouldn't let it go. She stood at our gate, cursing loudly, drawing a crowd of curious neighbors.
In my grandfather's arms, I could still see those green eyes hidden in the weeds—watching both me and her.
"Little Jie," Grandpa whispered after setting me down. "Didn't I tell you to stay inside?"
"Play…" I sniffled, "He gave me candy… I wanted to give him something good too…"
My name was Wu Jie—though everyone called me "Little Jie." The fortune-teller, Wu Bansian, had said I was born under a cursed star, destined to face eighteen calamities in my life. So Grandpa gave me the name "Jie," meaning "calamity."
Grandpa sighed deeply. What could he say? I was just a child, offering my most precious thing in return for kindness. How could I know any better?
When my parents returned and heard what had happened, they scolded me harshly and forbade me from leaving the house again.
They thought the matter was over.
But it had only just begun.
The next morning, someone found the woman's corpse in the forest behind the village.
Her death was gruesome—ripped apart by something wild. Her body was torn with countless bite marks, flesh missing in large chunks. One foot had been gnawed down to the bone.
The same foot that had kicked me the day before.