chapter 1
By the time I came home after hearing of my brother’s death, he had already been dead for two days.
He had weighed more than two hundred jin—over two hundred and twenty pounds—yet something had hollowed out every organ and left behind nothing but a sack of flesh.
The moment I stepped off the rural bus, my tears broke loose. I ran all the way into the village.
There was none of the funeral music I had expected at our gate. Instead, a pair of mourning couplets had been pasted beside the door.
They were nothing like ordinary verses written to honor the dead. These were deeply unsettling.
The first read: ALL DEMONS AND MONSTERS SHALL BE REVEALED.
The second read: ALL EVIL SPIRITS MUST DEPART AT ONCE.
Between them hung a talisman drawn vertically in cinnabar ink.
On any other day, I would have condemned the whole display as feudal superstition. But the person who had died so violently was my own brother.
Grief filled every corner of my mind.
Inside, my parents sat stiffly on the sofa, tears streaming down their faces.
I rushed over, dropped to my knees before my mother, and clung to her legs. The two of us wept together.
When we had cried ourselves empty, my mother shuddered and turned to my father. “Who told you to call Shuanzi back?”
My father wiped his eyes. “Kanzi and Shuanzi are brothers. Kanzi is gone. How could his own younger brother not come home?”
My mother sighed. “But Uncle Eighteen said someone who dies an unnatural death must not see his own brother…”
Before she could continue, I cut her off coldly. “At a time like this, you still believe that nonsense?”
No wonder all the young people had left the village to make lives in the city. Those who remained in this mountain hollow were still trapped in the past.
Someone had died, yet instead of calling the police and hunting for the killer, they had turned to mysticism.
Hearing the anger in my voice, my parents fell silent.
Then I entered the mourning hall and saw the man lying in the coffin. Every trace of anger vanished beneath a wave of grief.
My father had bought that coffin for his own eventual burial. Now my brother was using it first.
My brother was dead.
The brother who had taken me climbing trees for bird eggs and wading through streams for tiny fish was dead.
He lay in the coffin dressed in a brand-new burial robe, a white cloth covering his face.
A stalk of straw protruded from beneath his abdomen.
My father explained from beside me, “They never found his organs. We had no choice but to stuff him with straw…”
I reached out and lifted the white cloth. My brother’s face no longer held its usual easygoing expression.
He looked as if he had seen something unspeakably terrifying. His eyes bulged wide, refusing to close even in death.
My head rang. His expression frightened me back a step.
What had he suffered?
I brushed a hand over his eyes, trying to shut them.
The instant I touched the corpse, however, I felt the skin draw tight beneath my fingers.
Even in death, he was still afraid.
My father said, “He was already stiff when we found him. His eyes wouldn’t close, and neither would his mouth. We packed some straw inside him. Otherwise even the burial clothes would’ve sagged flat.”
Fresh tears flooded my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I asked, “Did you call the police?”
My father said nothing. I spun toward him and shouted again, “Did you call the police?”
A voice approached from behind me. “Kanzi answered the weasel’s question incorrectly and was killed in revenge. Calling the police would do no good.”
I turned. It was Grandpa Eighteen.
He was a well-known geomancer and fortune-teller in our village and all the surrounding ones.
People of my father’s generation called him Uncle Eighteen. In mine, we addressed him as Grandpa Eighteen.
No wedding or funeral in any nearby village set a date without consulting him first.
People said he could read faces and cast fortunes, and that his abilities were formidable.
I had never liked him.
Science told me that every tale of ghosts and gods concealed some human scheme. As a university student with a proper education, I had always scorned this kind of superstition.
Still, he was my elder, so I greeted him coolly. “Grandpa Eighteen.”
He nodded, his brows twisting together, and turned to my father. “The boy is young and foolish, but you are his parent. Have you lost your sense too? I told you the coffin must remain here for seven days and close blood relatives must stay away—especially Kanzi’s own brother.”
My father wiped his nose. “Uncle Eighteen, Kanzi and Shuanzi are flesh and blood. How could I deny Shuanzi the chance to see his brother one last time?”
Grandpa Eighteen sighed helplessly. “Kanzi died under an evil sign. These seven days are meant to drain away his resentment. Now that his brother has returned, blood and obsession will bind that resentment together. How can he leave this world in peace?”
My fists clenched of their own accord.
“We are brothers. Are you saying he would hurt me?”
Grandpa Eighteen drew on his pipe. “He would never have harmed you while he lived. But he is dead now, and not by natural means. Whether he harms you is no longer his decision.”
“His resentment has already clung to you. The weasel spirit will follow the scent straight to you.”
I gave him a cold smile. “And what if it does?”
“A weasel seeking a human’s blessing is trying to complete its transformation. It stops a traveler and asks what form it resembles. It chose Kanzi to answer. He gave the wrong reply, so it took revenge and killed him.”
I snorted inwardly. Go on. Keep making things up.
Grandpa Eighteen ignored my contempt. “Now you carry Kanzi’s scent. Within three days, the weasel will come and question you too.”
My father was so frightened that he dropped to his knees. “Uncle, he is the only son I have left. Please—you must save him.”
I forced down my anger and grief and hauled my father upright.
“Dad, how can you still believe this superstition? I’ll go to the police first thing tomorrow. They will find the killer.”
“As for what certain other people have to say…” I glanced at Grandpa Eighteen. “I’m better off not believing a word.”
“Boy, don’t dismiss everything as superstition. I was there when they found Kanzi. His body was covered in weasel fur.”
“Young people think they know everything. It is only when death comes for you that you learn how small you are.”