Chapter 58
Chapter 58
“Is there a problem with it, Coffin-Bearer Cao? Ergou and the rest of us have never heard anything,” Big Bull said. His companions nodded.
Old Cao exhaled smoke. “None of you are natives of Lianghe Town. You moved in from villages within the past decade or two. Even many locals don’t know that tree’s history. I heard it only because my master, his master, and generations before them lived here and worked as coffin bearers.”
He told us a frightening and sorrowful story.
The tree at the fork was a huangjue fig, also called a large-leaved fig. Such trees had thick trunks, exposed and intertwined roots like coiling dragons, and often lived for centuries.
No one knew this one’s exact age. When Old Cao was a child, his grandmaster said family tradition placed it at over three hundred years.
Originally, it was only an ordinary old tree. That changed during the late Qing dynasty and Republican era.
The nation was poor and weak. Natural disasters, human calamities, and warlord conflicts tormented the people, while unscrupulous merchants flourished. Many were driven to desperation, and suicide was common.
At some unknown point, the great fig at the intersection of River Street and Liangfeng Street became the place where Lianghe Town’s desperate people hanged themselves.
They came beneath it at night with strips of cloth and ended their lives. In some months, more than ten bodies were found hanging there.
Residents gradually named it the Killer Demon Tree.
Rumors claimed its age had awakened its intelligence. It lured people to hang themselves and fed on their yang energy. The stories grew increasingly outlandish until the whole town panicked.
Old Cao’s grandmaster was then in his prime and resolved to eliminate the threat. He invited a friend from Lianghe’s northern docks–a Red-Boat Oarsman–and investigated whether the ancient tree had become an evil entity.
To their surprise, it was entirely ordinary. It had neither awakened nor turned into a spirit, and it possessed no sinister power to lure people with illusions or consume yang and corpse qi.
They abandoned the matter.
Old Cao’s master, then a disciple of about ten, guessed that the many suicides were coincidence. Perhaps the secluded spot suited people determined to die. Soon everyone forgot it.
Old Cao’s master grew up as the Republican era ended, accepted Old Cao as a disciple, and continued carrying coffins with him.
Then, thirty years ago, another period of terrible upheaval robbed the town of peace. Some desperate residents again went to hang themselves from the old fig.
It seemed contagious. After the first suicide, others followed one after another.
At times, dawn revealed several people hanging from the huangjue fig at once. Their bodies hid among the dense foliage and swayed in the wind, terrifying timid witnesses enough to wet themselves.
Old Cao’s master remembered the events of the late Qing and early Republican era. By then, he considered himself his master’s equal, and Old Cao was nearly thirty. Master and disciple recruited a folk Taoist master, certain that together they could handle anything uncanny.
Yet, just as before, a painstaking examination of the Killer Demon Tree found nothing.
They tested it with numerous methods in daylight and darkness. It remained an ordinary old tree.
The incident left a deep impression on Old Cao.
During the past twenty years, however, society had stabilized, the economy had grown rapidly, and people lived peacefully. Population movement also increased. Many Lianghe residents moved to the county seat or city, while villagers settled in town.
The Killer Demon Tree faded from memory. Perhaps only elderly natives recalled that the ancient huangjue fig had been connected to strange waves of suicide seventy and thirty years earlier.
Now another person had apparently hanged there.
Old Cao’s story raised gooseflesh on my skin.
“That tree is incredibly sinister.”
Big Bull frowned. “I never knew its past. I passed it while visiting the cobbler today and only noticed how huge it was, with a canopy that nearly hid the sky. Are you certain it’s ordinary, Coffin-Bearer Cao?”
Old Cao drew on his pipe, his expression troubled. “My grandmaster, my master, and I all inspected it carefully and confirmed that it was ordinary. If an ancient tree spirit concealed itself from us repeatedly, it would have to be unimaginably powerful. Yet if it’s truly ordinary, why do people seeking death choose it? That is equally strange.”
After a silence, I said, “Let’s not speculate yet. The cobbler’s son is being buried tonight, so we should inspect him first. We’ll pass the Killer Demon Tree on the way and can examine it again.”
Old Cao tapped his pipe against the threshold and nodded. “Agreed. Business first. We’ll consider the tree afterward.”
He gathered his coffin-bearing tools and, after some thought, stuffed several prepared paper people and horses into his pocket.
The Duan family incident had taught him never to lower his guard, however simple a job appeared. Even experienced bearers like Big Bull could not always recognize the uncanny affairs behind a corpse. Better to prepare.
The six of us left the coffin shop and followed the flagstone road west. Beyond the small bridge in the middle of town, we turned north onto Liangfeng Street.
At its end stood the immense, three-century-old huangjue fig.
Was the legendary Killer Demon Tree truly an evil entity concealed beyond all detection?
I was intensely curious. Perhaps coffin bearers, a river oarsman, and a folk Taoist master had failed to discover its secret, but could one of Master’s methods reveal it?