Chapter Fourteen: Hezi Village (VI)

The river surged with a mighty current, its level still high—at least seven or eight meters deep. The water was so clear during the day that one could see the silt below the shallows. Yet even the clearest river has its limits, especially at the deepest, central point where darkness reigns. Now, with the sun about to set and the moon not yet risen, the whole surface of the river was shrouded in blackness. As for what might lurk beneath, I could not make anything out.

When does the human imagination run wildest? Surely when the eyes can see nothing at all.

I comforted myself by reasoning that it must have been air from the muddy riverbed, stirred by the current, bubbling to the surface. I dared not speculate further.

“Welcome the spirit to shore, send the spirit home!”

A voice sang out behind me, and the once-silent riverbank erupted with activity. I hurriedly turned my head to see the bridal procession, led by five priests in wild, ritualistic dance, escorting the red palanquin toward the spit of land called Fishmouth. As the torches gradually illuminated the river, I quickly turned back to watch the water.

Just then, a thunderous boom erupted from beneath the surface, like an earthquake. The river splashed up with dazzling white droplets, and the water seemed to boil as enormous bubbles, each the size of a rice bowl, burst up from below. The stench rising from those bubbles was overwhelming—I had to pinch my nose even from my perch in the tree. Then, with a tremendous splash, a gigantic black coffin surfaced from the depths.

The entire coffin was as dark as ink, crisscrossed by vivid, blood-red lines, and adorned with strange, tadpole-like symbols drawn in cinnabar. The red was brilliant, the black pitch-dark; in the firelight, the sight was especially chilling.

“Kneel and pay homage!”

A sharp-voiced shout came from below—the old man dressed as a priest. Instantly, every villager dropped to their knees before the black coffin, their faces reverent, as if facing a god.

The coffin bobbed upon the water, drifting against the current toward the shore as if summoned by the villagers’ devotion, only stopping when it ran aground.

I gaped at the scene, beginning to doubt whether the county records were mere legend. The river god coming ashore, offerings cast into the water—if Professor Gu could see this, his eyes would surely pop out of their sockets.

After a long while, the old man once more raised his voice, drawing out the command: “Bow and worship!”

Then the four priests in their gaudy robes rushed forward, shrieking, their fingers stabbing at the sky as they twisted their bodies in bizarre, frenzied movements. The villagers followed suit, howling and prostrating themselves before the black coffin. Even striking their heads against the soft, muddy ground produced a thunderous sound. In that moment, they seemed to forget their own humanity, their hysteria more beast than man.

The dead locust tree stood at the very center of this fevered ritual. I clung to a branch, nearly shaken loose by the intensity below. Reluctantly, I slung my camcorder back around my neck, clutching the trunk with both hands. As my gaze wandered over the crowd, I suddenly caught sight of a familiar face.

Professor Gu!

He knelt right in front of the red palanquin, dressed in a short, gray, sleeveless tunic, his aged face flushed crimson. Yet I noticed that every time he raised his head from kowtowing, his eyes darted desperately toward the dead locust tree, as if searching for something.

Excitement surged within me, and I cautiously extended a hand from my hiding place, hoping to catch his attention.

But as the ceremony reached its wildest pitch, a loud bang erupted behind me, followed by a muffled gurgling. Startled, I turned to see the lid of the black coffin split open by itself, the plank flying aside and plunging into the mud. Inside, a row of smooth, rosy female corpses lay side by side.

Each of these women was radiant, their faces flushed as if merely sleeping. Some wore patterned cotton dresses, others long robes with wide sleeves, and some were draped in sheer, delicate veils—clearly, they hailed from many different eras.

I stared, dumbfounded, my vantage point allowing me a clear view inside the coffin. My mind reeled—so the so-called river god was actually a collection of long-dead women?

The scene was too bizarre for words. If some zombie had leapt from the coffin, or a river demon had crawled out, I might have accepted it, given the crowd. But to see these strange female corpses lying within—I wanted nothing more than to drag Professor Gu out and demand an explanation. Wasn’t this all supposed to be superstition?

With the coffin open, the priests ceased their dancing, and the villagers fell silent as well. They panted, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the black coffin by the shore. Their faces were wooden, but fear flickered unmistakably in their eyes. Some even began to edge backward, as if they had never expected such a thing to appear and now wished nothing more than to flee, yet dared not—forced to kneel where they were.

The old man, on the other hand, reacted swiftly. Tearing off his mask, he stood at the edge of the gathering, hands clasped behind his back, muttering as he stared at the coffin: “It seems the river god is dissatisfied with our previous offerings. If we cannot please him tonight, I fear none of us will survive until morning!”

His words rang out forcefully. The faces of the kneeling villagers drained of color. I was certain that if anyone bolted, the rest would follow in a panicked stampede.

I lowered my head and found Professor Gu’s gaze searching for me from below. I leaned out, mouthing, “What do we do?”

Professor Gu said nothing, simply flashing me an “OK” sign with his hand.

I nearly burst into tears—was this really the time for English?

Just then, I caught the old man turning around out of the corner of my eye and quickly ducked back. He began to address the villagers: “Fellow villagers, the river god’s wedding is the most important event of the year for us here. Today, he is displeased with the offerings we have prepared in the past. It must mean there was something wrong with the sacrifices. My suggestion is that we keep the current offering, but add a few more for the river god to choose from.”

At these words, the faces of the villagers turned ashen.

They were no fools—they understood the implication. In addition to the girl in the red palanquin, several others—girls not yet fifteen—would be chosen as offerings to the river god.

Of course, some looked far more relieved than before. I surmised their families had no daughters of the right age. Others were not so lucky—their faces paler than the corpses in the black coffin, trembling so violently they looked ready to die before the river could claim them.

The old man pretended not to notice, instead calling out a few names: “Aren’t your daughters still not yet fifteen?”

At this, a collective sigh of relief swept through the crowd—some even looked delighted or grateful.

But the men whose names were called were stunned. Stiffly, they raised their heads, stammering, “Chief, our daughters…”

The old man waved dismissively. “Originally, we planned to pick just one of your four girls this year, but Old Wu thought your daughters were all good students, might go to the city and bring honor to the village. So he offered his own daughter in their stead. If Old Wu can sacrifice his own, is this how you repay him?”

At this, a few villagers started to rise, ready to speak, but one glance at the black coffin on the shore sent them scrambling back to their knees.

“Wu Lao Liu, if Old Wu can give up his own daughter for all of you, why can’t you do the same?”

“Lao Liu, this concerns the lives of hundreds in the village. You can’t refuse.”

“And besides, it may not be your daughter. The river god might well choose someone else’s girl.”

Those named looked ashen, raising their eyes to the old man in utter despair.

“Those born in the years of the Dragon, Snake, and Ox, stay here to keep watch. The rest, come back to the village with me—we need to prepare at Lao Liu’s house.”

The old man led the villagers away, leaving a few men holding torches to keep watch. The light dimmed considerably. I stared down at the bright red palanquin below, thinking that since Professor Gu was still here, Tong Xiaomeng must still be in the village as well.

The darkness made it impossible to see who was sitting inside the palanquin, but from the conversation earlier, it was probably the little girl I’d seen in the courtyard. As I pondered how to climb down from the tree, I heard a sudden splash behind me, as if something had broken the surface of the river.