Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Do you believe there are strange things in this world that science cannot explain?

If you do, then read on…

I would not dare swear that every word I have written is true. But these are all strange and uncanny things I encountered over more than thirty years of traveling from place to place. Even now, the memory of many of them makes my scalp prickle and chills run down my spine.

…

My name is Wu Zhong.

I was given that name because my bazi was far too light.

I was born on a winter night in 1986, in an isolated village in southwestern China.

My mother later told me that the cold that year was unbearable.

Even the pigsty and chicken coop had to be lined with straw. Without it, a good many animals would probably have frozen to death.

As soon as darkness fell, the villagers shut their doors, huddled indoors, and warmed themselves by the fire.

The night my mother went into labor, it was ten o’clock.

My father braved driving rain and a bitter wind to walk more than ten li to the next village and fetch a midwife. By the time he returned, his lips had supposedly turned purple from the cold.

It was only because my father acted so decisively that I came into the world safely.

I was premature. When the midwife lifted me out, even she could not believe a newborn could be so light.

Only three jin–barely over three pounds.

The midwife shook her head and sighed. In her opinion, I probably would not survive, especially in a winter as unusually cold as that one.

But my parents refused to give up on me. Under their devoted care, I survived and slowly began to grow…

Whether it was coincidence or something else, my father told me that a wandering Taoist happened to pass through our village around noon the day after I was born. He came to our house asking for a cup of hot water to ward off the cold.

My father saw the mud caked around the man’s leg wrappings and his rain-soaked clothes and felt sorry for him. He invited the man inside to rest. Lunch was almost ready anyway; setting out one more bowl and pair of chopsticks was no trouble.

The wandering Taoist looked at my father and gave a soft chuckle.

“There aren’t many warmhearted people like you left these days.”

“Ah, don’t say that. There are still more good people than bad in this world. Wait here a moment, sir. My wife gave birth yesterday. I’ll get her meal ready, then come back out and eat with you.”

When my father called him “sir,” he did not mean it in the modern sense.

In the southwestern countryside, people traditionally addressed men who could read feng shui, practice physiognomy, and understand the occult as folk Taoist masters–or simply masters.

They came from among the common people and had no connection to illustrious schools or great lineages, but ordinary villagers still held them in considerable respect.

After all, whenever someone moved house, married, or held a funeral, they needed one of these “masters” to examine the feng shui, choose an auspicious date, and take care of similar matters.

The wandering Taoist looked surprised when he heard my father. “Your baby was born yesterday? Could you bring the child out and let me have a look?”

My father found the request odd, but the man did not seem dangerous, so he agreed and had my mother carry me out from the back room.

The moment the Taoist saw me, he gave a startled “Huh?” as if he had noticed something very strange. His expression grew grave. He even made several calculations with the fingers of his right hand.

My father’s heart lurched at the sight. He hurriedly asked what was wrong.

“Was your child born at midnight last night? Can you tell me the exact date and time of birth?”

After my father answered, the Taoist sighed. “Just as I thought. Born in this year, at this hour, in this place–both his bazi and his body are impossibly light. By all rights, he should never have been born alive. Yet the boy may be thin and frail, but his cry is strong and his health sound. Strange. Very strange.”

My father was utterly bewildered, but he understood the gist of what the Taoist was saying: I should either have died before birth or been stillborn. And yet, there I was, safely delivered.

“Perhaps the good deeds you have done in your life protected your child. I knew you were a decent man the moment you invited me to share your meal. In that case, I will give you a gift.”

The wandering Taoist reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small black wooden tablet. Right there before my father’s eyes, he carved a strange symbol into it with the tip of his finger.

My father immediately knew he had met a true master.

How could an ordinary man carve into wood with nothing but his finger?

The Taoist handed him the tablet. “It isn’t anything precious, but it can help your child survive one life tribulation.”

Seeing my father’s confusion, he went on to explain.

Not only did I weigh a mere three jin, the calculated weight of my bazi was only two liang and one qian–the lightest value theoretically possible under that system!
A person like that, born in 1986–the unusual bingyin Year of the Fire Tiger–would almost always have been stillborn.

Although some protective force had allowed me to be born safely, I would remain weaker and thinner than other children until I turned fifteen. Worse, I would face three life tribulations.

If I failed to survive even one of them, I would die.

If I made it through all three, however, I would be able to live like anyone else, and my health would recover.

As long as I wore the little wooden tablet around my neck, it would help shield me from one life tribulation.

The wandering Taoist also named me Wu Zhong. He said every name contained hidden meaning, and that giving me the name Zhong–“heavy”–would help weigh down my extremely light bazi.

It was his way of repaying my father’s kindness for a single meal.

What he said sounded mystical and far-fetched. My parents only half believed him, but they accepted the wooden tablet, along with the name Wu Zhong, and thanked him profusely.

After lunch, the wandering Taoist left…

He never gave them his name. He only said that if I managed to live past fifteen, fate might bring us together again.

Once I was older, I did indeed meet him again.

But that part comes later.

…

The days passed, and I grew up one day at a time.

Remote villages in those days were backward and poor, but the bonds between people were simple and sincere. My parents also loved each other dearly, so I had a happy childhood.

I was never bullied or made to feel inferior because of my frail body.

I first discovered that this world held uncanny things science could not explain when I faced my first true life tribulation. I was nine years old, and it began with the river-log incident…

What is a river-log?

When someone drowned in the river, the body would bloat after three or four days and rise to the surface, its limbs stiff and straight as a length of timber.

Most of those corpses washed down from upstream. In the local dialect, people said the river had “beaten them down,” hence the name river-log. In some places, they were called river-bloaters instead, because the bodies had swollen in the water.

I remember that every summer when I was a child, adults would frighten their children with the same warning: “Don’t you go bathing in that river, or a river-log will drag you away!”

My aunt told the story with even greater conviction. “These last few days, I could smell blood on the wind blowing off the river.”

Yet no matter what the adults said, when the summer heat arrived, the village children could never resist the cool water.

One sweltering afternoon during summer vacation, beneath a heavy, overcast sky, several children my age and I slipped off to swim in the river.

Our elders twisted our ears every day and warned us never to swim there. But what child ever listened that well?

Wang Fei, Liu Erwa, and I sneaked beyond the village, stripped naked, and plunged into the water, laughing all the while.

It felt wonderful!

The stifling summer heat vanished at once.

We were having so much fun. Besides, children raised beside the river were all strong swimmers. Little by little, we let down our guard and began swimming toward the middle…

Wang Fei was the best swimmer among us. Inspired by the stories our elders told about the heroes of Liangshan, we had nicknamed him “White Streak of the Waves.”

He was fearless. One moment he dove beneath the surface; when he came up again, he was already seven or eight meters away from us.

The afternoon sunlight broke across the river in glittering fragments, as though a sheet of gold had been spread over the water. The glare stung my eyes.

I do not know why, but the sight of him bobbing in the middle of the river suddenly filled me with dread.

“Wang Fei! Don’t go so far! Come back!” I shouted.

He waved at us and laughed. “What are you scared of? I swim better than a–”

Before he could finish, his expression changed. All the color drained from his face.

He went terrifyingly pale.

Then he began stroking desperately, trying to swim back toward us.

But his body did not move an inch. He only kept spinning in circles in the middle of the river, as if something beneath the surface had seized him and would not let go.

The instant I realized something was wrong, I yelled, “Wang Fei, what’s happening? Hurry!”

He swam with all his strength but could not move. He tried to shout, yet for some reason no sound came out.

The despair and terror in his eyes stayed with me for many years afterward.

It lasted only two or three seconds. Then some force beneath the water seemed to yank him violently downward…

Splash!

Water erupted into the air.

Wang Fei vanished beneath the river.