Chapter Twelve: Hezi Village (Part Four)

Tong Xiaomeng told me that, according to her and Professor Gu’s research into the Ninghai County Annals, there is a passage that reads: “Traveling east from Ninghai County for over a hundred li, there is a river god who sings at midnight, and thus is worshipped with living people.”

The tradition of offering living maidens as sacrifices to the river god has existed in Hezi Village ever since the Longqing era. Every year, on the thirteenth day of the seventh lunar month, they select a maiden no older than fifteen from the village, dress her in a scarlet bridal gown, and keep her secluded in her chambers. The entire village is adorned with lanterns and festoons, and great ceremony is observed. Around dusk, between seven and eight in the evening, the girl is anointed from head to toe with fragrant oil. When the river god is seen upon the waters at the mouth of the Second River, the girl is cast into the river as a sacrifice.

It is worth noting that, in the eyes of the villagers, this day is regarded as the occasion when they marry off their daughter to the river god: the god is the groom, the chosen girl is the bride, and the rest are her family. Before the ceremony begins, no one may approach the riverbank, lest they disrupt the sacred union.

This grisly tradition has persisted for over five centuries in this remote riverside village. If the ritual is performed every year, then at least five hundred girls, each under the age of fifteen, have perished in the river.

“So there really is a river god?” I glanced at the water as I asked.

“Most of these ghost stories,” Tong Xiaomeng replied, “are found in places so remote that outsiders can’t easily verify them. We’ve visited many mountain valleys and distant regions where haunting tales abound. Customs are not the same as superstitions. Professor Gu brought me here specifically to see whether the custom of living sacrifices persists in Hezi Village. If it does, we’ll record evidence and hand it over to the authorities, to put a complete end to this backward and inhumane practice.”

Her words rang out with conviction, so I ventured, “What about Professor Gu? Are we going to rescue him?”

“Of course we are!” She shot me a look. “We’ve already revealed our identities to them. They probably won’t harm Professor Gu. There’s still time. The most urgent thing is to find the girl chosen as the sacrificial bride before night falls. We can’t just let her be thrown into the river.”

“You plan to rescue her?” I asked.

She gave me a strange look. “Are you just going to stand by and watch someone die?” Her eyes flashed with disdain, as if I really were that kind of person.

I had already noticed on the way here that this gentle-looking girl from Xinjiang didn’t think much of me—a businessman, and in her eyes, someone who dealt in antiques was no better than a thief or a charlatan. I didn’t bother to argue. I figured that if I couldn’t find anyone here, at least I’d have an excuse to go back. But suddenly the image of the girl in the courtyard, her eyes brimming with helplessness and silent pleading, rose in my mind. My urge to leave faltered.

Seeing me lost in thought, Tong Xiaomeng assumed I’d been frightened by her words and mocked me: “Fine, fine, I never expected you to be of any use anyway.”

“I know where the girl is,” I said. “But there are villagers watching the courtyard. You wouldn’t be able to get in.”

I told her what I’d seen in the village. Though Tong Xiaomeng was impatient by nature, she wasn’t reckless enough to walk into an obvious trap. After listening, she crouched on the ground for a long moment, then looked up and asked, “So you’re saying they plan to catch me, and send me out along with Professor Gu?”

I nodded. “That’s right.”

Her eyes darted as she set her backpack down, unzipped it, and pulled out a black Sony camcorder, powering it on and turning the screen toward me. “Take a look at this,” she said.

I glanced at her, then at the screen. The video showed an ancient ancestral hall I’d seen when entering the village—Hezi Village’s ancestral shrine, built in Ming dynasty style, entirely of wood, with wide steps paved with blue stone slabs. Two stone carvings, like fish yet also like beasts, guarded the entrance. The carvings were so lifelike their eyes seemed to follow you, ready to spring to life and tear apart any intruder.

The villagers were all gathered before the shrine—those who had vanished from their homes were now here. Unlike a festive gathering, they stood in strict, silent rows, their eyes fixed on the shrine with a cold, soulless gaze. There was something eerily inhuman in the expressions of the men, women, and children alike.

Even through the screen, I could sense that these people were beyond the reach of law or conscience, as if they were conducting a ritual—for the living sacrifice that would take place that night, no doubt.

It almost looked like a still photograph. Tong Xiaomeng told me she’d only managed to film a few minutes before being discovered. Professor Gu had helped her escape, but was caught himself.

Before they parted, Professor Gu told her to wait beneath this very dead tree, and that only with footage of the entire sacrificial ritual—the girl being thrown into the river—could he present evidence to the authorities and hope for a real investigation.

I didn’t entirely agree with his logic. This was no different from the problem of trafficking in remote mountain villages: even when someone escapes, the local police may not be able to intervene—unless outside forces are brought in and the entire village arrested. No one wants trouble on their own doorstep. In some places, “fierce local customs” is no empty phrase.

But considering Professor Gu’s connections in Beijing, if he really set his mind to it, there might still be hope.

Tong Xiaomeng pressed the camcorder into my hands. I felt a chill. “What are you planning?”

She pointed at the tree above. “I’m going to find the bride. When she comes, you two hide up here. When you’ve recorded the evidence, give the camera to Professor Gu. He’ll figure out how to get you out.”

“What about you?” I began, then caught myself. If the bride was rescued, what footage would I have left to record?

“You’re not thinking of pretending to be the bride and letting them throw you into the river, are you?” I stared at Tong Xiaomeng in disbelief. “I admire your sense of sacrifice, but there must be a better way than trading your life for someone else’s.”

She rolled her eyes and tied her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “Do you know the Ili River?”

When I hesitated, she slung her backpack on and stood. “Professor Gu will come find you after the ceremony. I hope you won’t be so scared you wet your pants tonight. Goodbye, if fate allows.”

With that, Tong Xiaomeng left. I sat there, stunned, clutching the camera. She really had no faith in me.

I sat for a long while, growing more uneasy the more I thought about it. Surely, tossing a bride into the river for sacrifice wouldn’t be as simple as just letting her go—otherwise any girl who could swim would escape. Even those who couldn’t might flail and find a way out. They’d certainly tie her up, maybe even weigh her down with twenty or thirty kilograms of stone, so she’d sink straight to the bottom.

Though this was no longer my concern, I couldn’t help dwelling on it—after all, you only live once. Eventually, I made up my mind, hung the camera around my neck, and climbed up into the tree.

It was an ancient locust tree, at least a hundred years old judging by the thickness of its branches. For a tree to reach such an age was rare. But I figured the soil beneath it, hollowed out by the river, had left it rootless—a willow without ground, doomed to wither away.

Luckily, it was strong in its day, with branches twisted and tangled, offering plenty of cover. Maybe I’d be spotted during the day, but at night, as long as I kept quiet, no one would notice me.

Perched there as dusk fell, the river rushed by below, and I couldn’t help glancing at the water. The surface shimmered with light, and at some point, countless greenish glimmers had begun to appear.