Boys around the age of eight or nine—dogs wouldn't even bother with them.
Chen Shi was already eleven, well past the age that even dogs would find annoying. Still, his mischief had reached such a peak that he was practically the tyrant of Huangpo Village. Wherever he went, chickens scattered, dogs barked, and even ducks would lay an egg in fright just to be allowed passage. Truly, he was a child shunned by people and beasts alike.
That morning, after gulping down his breakfast, Chen Shi put down his bowl and chopsticks and darted for the door, yelling, "Grandpa, I'm going out to play!"
His grandfather, a tall, imposing man dressed in a black robe embroidered with giant peonies, stood before the ancestral altar in the central hall. Without turning his head, he muttered in a deep, gravelly voice, "Don't wander too far. Stay away from the river. Be home before noon..."
"Got it!"
Before Grandpa could finish, Chen Shi had already vanished like a puff of smoke.
At the altar, the old man remained motionless, still facing the ancestral table. Slowly, methodically, he chewed on something. After a long while, he swallowed with visible effort. Then he took the candle from his hand and stuffed it into his mouth, biting off a chunk and chewing slowly again.
On the altar sat two candlesticks and an incense burner. One of the candles had already been eaten down to its very base, while the incense inside the burner smoldered, nearly spent.
Grandpa set aside the half-eaten candle, lit three new sticks of incense, and placed them into the burner. He inhaled deeply, his face momentarily filled with bliss.
Behind the burner was a black spirit tablet.
Upon it, carved in elegant strokes, was his own name:
"In Memory of Chen Yindu of the Chen Clan – May His Virtues Be Remembered."
"Once I'm full, I won't crave flesh."
Chen Shi had spent the morning terrorizing Yu Zhu Granny's dog until it howled and cowered in submission. Then he led a pack of village dogs to war against the dogs of a neighboring village. Victorious, he climbed a tree to raid a bird's nest, only to get pecked on the head so fiercely by the mother bird that he nearly fell.
Later, he swung a dead snake to scare little Erni from the east side of the village into wailing for her mother. Not long after, he snuck into Granny Wuzhu's melon patch to steal a melon and was chased for miles before barely escaping her wrath.
Such was Chen Shi's simple, rustic morning.
By midday, he arrived at the Jade-Belt River just outside the village. Though drenched in sweat, he resisted the urge to jump into the water.
From the river came the sounds of laughter and splashing. Three boys, about his age, were playing in the water, splashing each other joyfully.
They were water ghosts—drowned the year before. Chen Shi dared not enter the water again.
Last time he had jumped in, the three had dragged him into the depths—one grabbed his legs, another wrapped around his waist, and the third squeezed his neck. He had almost drowned.
Grandpa had to leap in and beat the water ghosts senseless before rescuing him.
"Chen Shi, come play with us!" one of the boys called.
The other two smiled innocently and waved. "Come on! It's more fun with four people!"
"The water's not deep," the older one said. "Just up to our waists!"
"Come on down! It's boring alone!"
Chen Shi ignored them and turned away, walking to an old willow tree on Huanggang Slope.
The three boys remained in the river, no longer laughing. Their smiles faded. Slowly, they sank beneath the surface.
"You bastard from the Chen family! One day you'll drown and become our replacement!" one cursed as the water swallowed them—mouth, nose, eyes, and then their heads.
From the willow tree above, a pair of feet swung down, swaying gently in front of Chen Shi's face.
A scholar had hanged himself there long ago. When Chen Shi looked up, the ghost stuck out a long, crimson tongue—a full foot long—and wagged it at him.
Chen Shi paid him no mind. The scholar's body had long rotted away; only his ghost remained, dangling there still.
Behind the tree, Chen Shi placed a slice of watermelon at the base of an ancient stone stele and bowed his head three times. "Godmother, I've come to see you again. I brought you some watermelon—sweet, very sweet."
The stele was his godmother.
When Chen Shi was little, Grandpa had said, "The boy's fine in every way, but his fate is too light. He needs a hard life to back him up." So he brought the child here, to this twisted willow, and had him kneel and worship the stone as his godmother.
Every holiday or festival, Chen Shi would return to offer incense and food to the stele.
Such was the way of rural folk.
A godmother could be a tree, a stone, a shrine deep in the mountains, or even a crumbling statue on a forgotten hill. The goal was to seek protection—blessings, peace, and protection from malevolent forces.
Grandpa had once said the stone stele was ancient and mysterious. It could ward off evil, so he had Chen Shi claim it as godmother.
But over the past two years, Chen Shi hadn't felt anything spiritual about it.
The stele was old, its characters nearly worn away. Faintly, one could still make out words like "Matriarch" and "Spirit." Other characters were buried beneath the dirt, and tangled roots from the willow had wrapped tightly around it.
After bowing, Chen Shi murmured, "Godmother, Grandpa's acting stranger by the day. He always has his back to me. I haven't seen his face in ages. He eats behind my back too—I don't even know what he's eating... Yesterday morning, several of our chickens died. Wasn't a weasel; they're too scared to come near our house."
The stele gave no answer.
But perhaps it was his eyes playing tricks, for Chen Shi thought he saw a faint glimmer pass across the carved words before fading again.
Unbothered, he lit a few incense sticks and placed them in the earth before the stone.
Above him, the hanged scholar ghost kicked his legs anxiously.
"You get one too," Chen Shi said, lighting another stick and placing it beneath the ghost. The scholar sniffed the incense, a look of bliss spreading across his face.
Stretching lazily, Chen Shi lay beneath the tree with a blade of grass in his mouth, hands behind his head. He was utterly unfazed by the ghosts in the tree and river.
He had seen them for as long as he could remember—and had grown used to their presence.
"Grandpa's probably making lunch by now. But his cooking's been getting worse lately... Yesterday's chicken was still raw, blood dripping off the plate. Godmother, I'm starting to think Grandpa wants to eat me."
The boy stared at the sky, his voice oddly mature for his age. "Last night, he made me soak in herbal medicine again—but the fire was too strong. The water started boiling. I think he was trying to cook me alive..."
After a moment, the ghostly scholar finished his incense and stretched his rotted limbs. "I'm good now. Xiaoshi, ask away."
Xiaoshi—Little Ten—was Chen Shi's nickname. Some villagers even mockingly called him "Little Honest," though the intent was clearly ironic.
Chen Shi pushed aside his worries and took out a worn ancient scroll. As he read, he asked, "I don't understand this part—'He who first made burial figures, should he not be punished with extinction?' What does it mean?"
Huangpo Village had no school, and the Chen family was poor. Chen Shi had nowhere to study. Luckily, the ghost hanging from the tree had been a scholar in life.
So Chen Shi had dug up old books from home and often came to learn beneath the willow. In exchange for incense, the ghost would teach him.
"Confucius meant," the scholar said solemnly, "the first person to offend him was beaten so badly he had no descendants."
He went on, "This teaches us: when you deal with enemies, leave no roots behind."
Chen Shi nodded, eyes wide with admiration. "Then what about this one—'Since he's come, let him settle here'?"
"That one's simple," the ghost said. "Since the enemy's shown up, don't let him leave. Bury him here."
"And this? 'Time flows like a river, never resting day or night'?"
"Confucius was standing at the river, saying, 'A truly great man watches his enemies' corpses drift downstream, day and night without pause.' Learn from Confucius, boy."
Chen Shi was full of awe. "I want to be just like Confucius—convincing people with virtue!"
Then he looked up, puzzled. "Scholar Zhu, you're so talented—why did you hang yourself here?"
The ghost sighed, "In these times, the court is corrupt. I failed the exams ten times despite my learning. I shamed my ancestors and couldn't face my family, so I ended it all…"
Just then, the rumble of wheels interrupted him.
Chen Shi closed the scroll and stood. Down the country road came a grand carriage, surrounded by fine horses and strong riders.
The riders wore crimson uniforms—flying fish embroidery. Sharp-eyed, steely, alert.
"There's a child here," one of the riders reported respectfully to the carriage.
"A child? Excellent." A woman's voice replied from within. "Children are simple, no tricks. Easy to handle, no complications. Fang He, go ask him."
"Yes, my lady!"
The rider dismounted and approached Chen Shi with a warm smile. He took out a tiny silver piece. "Hey kid, here's some silver. Go buy yourself some candy. Tell me—have you seen any strange children in the village? Ones that don't seem alive... like little porcelain dolls?"
The hanging scholar hissed, "Xiaoshi, don't talk to him! That's a Jinyiwei—the lapdogs of nobility. Their money is blood money. Take it, and you'll lose your life!"
Though the dynasty was still officially the Ming, the imperial power had waned. The Jinyiwei now served the powerful clans, not the emperor.
Chen Shi eyed the silver, tempted, but shook his head. "Grandpa says not to take things from strangers."
The man smiled more kindly. "I'm Fang He. Now that you know my name, we're not strangers anymore, right? It's not a stranger's gift—it's a reward."
Chen Shi grinned and took the silver.
Fang He smiled. "Since we're friends, tell me—have you seen those porcelain doll children?"
Chen Shi nodded. "You mean the ones less than a foot tall? Who move in groups?"
Fang He lit up and turned excitedly. "My lady, the things really are here—"
Before he could finish, a purple blur shot from the carriage.
A fragrance hit Chen Shi's nose, and a poised, beautiful woman in purple stood beneath the tree.
The other Jinyiwei quickly dismounted and surrounded them.
The woman, dressed in a purple flying fish robe and skirt, smiled gently. "Little brother, you've seen the porcelain dolls? Where are they?"
But Chen Shi didn't answer. He was staring at her shoulder with a strange expression.
She paused, glanced at her own shoulder—nothing there.
One of the guards barked, "The lady is speaking—answer!"
She turned cold. "Silence."
The guard backed off.
With a smile, she tried again. "We're from Xinxiang. We're not bad people."
Chen Shi looked up sweetly. "Big sister is so pretty—prettier than Zhu Youcai!"
The woman was delighted. "This kid's clever. I'll make sure he dies with a whole body." Then she frowned. Zhu Youcai? Sounds like a man's name. Probably some village beauty with a silly name.
What she didn't realize was that dangling over her shoulders were the ghostly feet of Scholar Zhu—his corpse swinging lightly in the breeze.