Chapter 1

Chapter 1

You probably remember the drought that struck the Yangtze River basin last year.

My hometown is in Anhui, and the drought reached our village too. We had a sizable reservoir, built in the early 1960s. Almost overnight, it dried up into a shallow puddle.

The very next day, word spread that something had appeared on the exposed reservoir bed.

At first, people said they had found several human skeletons. Then the story changed: there were stone Buddhas as well, arranged in two enormous concentric rings at the bottom of the reservoir. Judging by their appearance, they had been there for a very long time.

After breakfast, my cousin from Uncle Guisheng’s family and I went to see the commotion.

Some of the statues were buried waist-deep in the mud. Of others, only the heads were visible. The villagers counted eighty-eight in all.

My cousin joined the others and helped dig several out. When everyone crowded around them, we realized how unusual they looked.

Most Buddha statues hold their palms together or raise one hand with the fingers posed as if holding a flower. These statues held one hand flat while the other pointed downward, as though indicating something beneath them.

Strange or not, finding Buddhas in the reservoir caused tremendous excitement. The village chief in particular suggested that we keep quiet instead of reporting the discovery. We could sell the statues in secret, divide the money among the village, and make up for some of the losses caused by the drought.

Naturally, everyone approved.

At lunch, I told Grandma what had happened. I only said that stone Buddhas had been unearthed; I had not mentioned how many.

The moment she heard the words “stone Buddhas,” anxiety flickered across her face.

In a trembling voice, she asked, “Le Lai, are there eighty-eight of them?”

I wondered how she could possibly know, but nodded.

Her bowl slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.

In a voice far louder than usual, she cried, “Tell the villagers not to touch them! Those are the Eighty-Eight Buddhas. They’re holding something down beneath them!”

Grandma would not say what was underneath. She only ordered Dad to warn the villagers and make them return every statue exactly where it had been, without touching any more.

But the villagers were dreaming of the money they could make. Of course they refused to listen.

I looked up the Eighty-Eight Buddhas Grandma had mentioned. Buddhism really does have a group known by that name, invoked in rituals of repentance. Supposedly, no matter how terrible a person’s sins, if they bow before the Eighty-Eight Buddhas and repent with absolute sincerity, all karmic obstacles can be cleansed.

I still did not understand why Grandma acted as though an enemy were at our gates.

Dad made a token effort to persuade the villagers. Knowing it was useless, he returned home and lied to Grandma, saying the statues had all been put back. She said nothing more.

That night, something truly did happen.

And the victim was my cousin.

He died in a particularly unnatural way at the deserted reservoir after midnight.

Almost everyone in the village was asleep when screams rang out from outside, accompanied by running footsteps that drew closer and closer. By the time the runner reached the village, the screams had become a hoarse shout.

“Someone’s dead! Someone’s dead at Lin Guisheng’s house!”

Lin Guisheng was my uncle.

The uproar woke me. As I sat up in bed, I heard Uncle Guisheng curse from his courtyard, “Hu Laosan, what nonsense are you yelling?”

So it was Hu Laosan shouting. His family had once quarreled with my uncle’s over the division of farmland. Ever since, they had been on bad terms with both my uncle’s household and ours.

I heard our front door open. Dad must have gotten up. Worried about my uncle’s family, I threw on my clothes and followed him outside.

Several people had already gathered in front of Uncle Guisheng’s house. Flashlights shone in the dark, and the courtyard lamp was on.

Under its light, Hu Laosan’s face looked deathly pale, as though he had seen a ghost.

Gasping for breath, he said, “Lin Guisheng, get to the reservoir! Your son killed himself!”

What?

My cousin had killed himself? Impossible.

Uncle Guisheng did not believe it either. He said Tianye was asleep safe and sound in his room.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Aunt ran out, panic on her face and a sob in her voice.

“Guisheng—Tianye is gone.”

“It’s true,” Hu Laosan said. “I saw him with my own eyes. He was possessed or something. Down at the reservoir, he smashed his own head against one of those stone Buddhas until he died.”

Tianye was my cousin’s name.

Uncle Guisheng panicked. He grabbed a flashlight and ran toward the reservoir with Aunt. Everyone else followed close behind.

The moon was bright and the stars sparse. Though it was still summer, an inexplicable chill crept over me.

We reached the Buddhas and swept our flashlights across the reservoir bed.

It did not take long for one beam to find my cousin’s mangled face.

Terror shot straight through my skull.

Not only because the dead boy was my beloved cousin, but because of the impossible position in which he had died.

His upper body lay facedown while his legs remained kneeling. His forehead had been crushed inward by some tremendous force, forcing one eye grotesquely from its socket.

Yet the corner of his mouth still seemed curled in the faintest smile.