Chapter 3

Then he kicked the door open.

Bang.

It struck the wall.

Everyone froze.

Second Uncle lay on his back, the quilt drawn up to his chest.

Terror had twisted his face.

As though he had seen something dreadful before he died.

A wound ran across his throat, from beneath one ear to the other.

The flesh gaped pale.

He had bled dry.

Blood soaked the pillow and quilt, stained the whole bed dark red, and pooled on the floor.

In it was a clear trail of footprints.

Small. Rounded.

Exactly like the marks Grandmother had left on tiptoe in the mourning hall.

The Daoist returned quickly.

Standing over the body, he frowned so deeply his brows seemed knotted. His face looked worse than the dead man's.

“Your mother did this,” he said quietly.

“She couldn't find a substitute. Her resentment is too strong. She couldn't wait until the seventh day to return, so she's come to claim lives early.”

Father went white as paper.

“What… what can we do?”

Hands behind his back, the Daoist circled the room, then stopped.

“If you can't fight her, hide.

“On the seventh day, the underworld bailiffs will take her soul away. Then this will end.”

“How many days?”

“Three.”

Third Uncle counted on his fingers, his voice trembling.

The Daoist took several peachwood boards from his cloth bag and threw them down.

“Replace every threshold in the house with peachwood.

“Ghosts can't cross it. She won't get inside.

“Hurry!”

Father and my uncles fetched tools and began removing the thresholds.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Every hammer blow sounded as if it struck the heart.

After a while, the Daoist drew Father aside and whispered.

I couldn't hear.

Father kept nodding.

The Daoist gave him a triangular talisman.

Then Father came toward me.

“Zhaodi.”

He pressed it into my hand and crouched to look at me.

His voice had never been so gentle.

“Only you and your brother are left now.

“I have to protect you.”

I gripped the talisman.

My fingertips were icy.

The Daoist stood over me.

“Go into the mourning hall.”

“W-why?”

“Ghosts hate seeing their own bodies.

“They don't want to see how they looked in death.

“So the most dangerous place is also the safest.”

Before I could react, Father seized the back of my collar and dragged me to the hall.

The door opened.

The smell of paper ash and rotting flesh struck my face.

Before I could steady myself, the door slammed behind me.

Clang.

A chain. A turning key.

Father called from outside:

“Don't open the door unless I tell you.”

Only I remained in the hall.

Me, and the black-painted coffin.

That first midnight, I huddled in a corner.

However sleepy I was, I dared not close my eyes.

I watched the lid, afraid it would silently open again.

The room was so quiet I could hear only my heartbeat.

I don't know how long passed.

BANG.

I jerked out of my stupor and looked up.

Bang. Bang.

Someone was pounding on the door.

As though throwing their whole body against it.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The frame shook. Dust drifted from the beam.

Then a voice called.

“Zhaodi—”

Father.

“Open up…

“It's Dad…”

In my panic, I found myself standing.

Had he come for me?

I took two steps.

Then stopped.

Moonlight came through a crack and fell across the floor.

Outside was a shadow.

Small.

Hunched.

Lower than the door handle.

Its back curved, its head folded toward its chest.

Father was over six feet tall.

That shadow didn't reach his waist.

It was Grandmother's.

I pulled back and scrambled beneath the offering table.

Both hands closed around Mother's pendant.

My nails bit into my palms.

I barely dared breathe.

The Daoist had said ghosts couldn't cross peachwood.

If I stayed inside, I would be safe.

BANG.

Another impact, frighteningly hard.

The lock shook.

Just as I crawled under the table—

Crack.

The door burst open.

The broken chain fell to the floor.

Moonlight flooded the entrance.

Two feet stepped across the threshold.

Dragon-and-phoenix shoes.

Heels raised.

Silently, they crossed the high peachwood sill.

I went cold.

Sweat streamed down me.

The feet circled the hall.

Then stopped before the table.

That cracked-gong voice came from overhead.

Every word scraped my ears like sandpaper.

“Zhaodi…

“Come out…”

I didn't move.

The talisman in my pocket suddenly burned hot.

Heat seared through the cloth, as if a live coal lay against my chest.

I could hardly bear it.

I bit my lip.

Didn't dare cry out.

Didn't dare take it out.

I thought the talisman was working.

But Grandmother bent down.

Her wrinkled face drooped into view, folds of skin hanging loose.

Her narrow eyes shone green in the moonlight.

Her mouth stretched almost to her ears, exposing teeth as yellow as spirit money.

She looked at me and slowly reached out.

“Zhaodi…

“There you are.”

Her hand was shriveled like a chicken's claw.

The nails were long and black.

They approached my face.

Just before a fingertip touched my nose, a shout came from outside.

“Zhaodi!

“That talisman doesn't ward off ghosts!

“It draws them!

“Throw it away!”

Mother stood in the courtyard, hair disheveled, shouting.

I didn't think.

I tore it up and flung it away.

The scraps touched the floor.

Two green flames sprang up and burned them to ash.

Grandmother's hand stopped in midair.

Her triangular eyes clouded.

She straightened suddenly and turned in a circle, sniffing.

“Zhaodi…

“Where are you…

“Zhaodi…

“Where are you?

“ZHAODI! WHERE ARE YOU?”

She began clawing wildly beneath the table.

Her nails screeched over the blue-brick floor beside my feet.

Tears streamed down my face.

I shoved myself farther back, all the way against the wall, clutching the pendant.

“Zhaodi!

“Come out!”

Her voice grew shriller, more urgent.

A blunt blade sawing iron.

Then Mother rushed forward.

She caught Grandmother tightly around the waist and turned to shout at me.

“Run!

“Don't look back!”

I obeyed.

I bolted through the main door.

Wind screamed in my ears.

Across the courtyard.

Past the old pagoda tree at the village entrance.

Across the field banks.

Onto the winding dirt road.

Stones cut my soles. Branches scratched my face.

I didn't dare stop for a second.

Moonlight lay across the path like a white river.

I ran.

And ran.

Until I stumbled into the mountain temple and fell to my knees before the downcast statue.

My legs gave way.

I collapsed, the raw smell of yellow earth filling my nose.

The pendant pressed to my chest was warm from my grip.

I was so tired.

Leaning against the statue's base, I slowly closed my eyes.