Chapter Thirty-Nine: Filial Piety

During the day, Chen Tao arranged the corpses in the courtyard. The old river ghost took the big black dog and left, not saying where he was going, only telling us to wait patiently; before nightfall, he would return.

I noticed that as Chen Tao was arranging the bodies, his perpetually expressionless face showed, for the first time, a fleeting hint of emotion as he moved one particular male corpse. I couldn't help but look at that body more closely.

Though the corpse was swollen from being soaked in the water, the face was undamaged, revealing a man over fifty, dressed in an old, black tunic suit. Even the leather shoes on his feet remained, whereas the other corpses’ clothing had not been so well preserved. It was clear this had been done deliberately, either by the old river ghost or Chen Tao.

Could this person be related to Chen Tao?

I watched as Chen Tao placed the corpses in the courtyard, seemingly at random, yet in truth carefully covering every corner, arranging them lying or sprawled out, finishing before night fell.

“Did the old river ghost instruct you to do all this?” Tong Xiaomeng asked from the side.

Chen Tao nodded, silent.

“Why did you want to learn this in the first place? Was it to earn money for your mother’s medical bills?” she continued.

Chen Tao glanced at her, then turned and walked out.

“What’s with him…” Tong Xiaomeng began.

I shook my head, cutting her off.

When night came, the old river ghost returned with Chen Tao. In his hand was a long, pitch-black whip. At a glance, it was clear this was no ordinary object. Though the sun was sinking behind Mount Luo, the whip glimmered with a greenish light, and a river stench wafted from it, stinging the nose.

The big black dog stopped at the doorway, standing imposingly outside the threshold, as if guarding the entrance like a temple guardian, instantly giving us a sense of security.

Entering, the old river ghost inspected the positions of the corpses around the courtyard, and with each step, he cracked the whip in an arc through the air, its sharp snap resounding as it struck the ground.

When the whip met the earth, dust flew, the sound crisp and clear. In our ears, the effect was like a sudden awakening; the oppressive mood that had been weighing on us vanished with a few cracks of the whip. Tong Xiaomeng and I exchanged glances, each seeing disbelief in the other’s eyes.

“Come inside and sit,” the old river ghost said when he finished, carrying the whip behind his back as he entered the house. Tong Xiaomeng and I followed, but seeing Chen Tao standing at the door, I asked, “What about him?”

Without turning, the old river ghost replied, “Tonight, he too must atone for his own sins. Like you, he must face his tribulation.”

Tribulation?

Tong Xiaomeng and I looked at each other in confusion. Inside, the old river ghost brewed a large pot of tea, pouring each of us a bowl. “It may turn cold tonight. Have some tea to warm yourselves.”

The freshly steeped tea lacked fragrance, but had a strong, bracing quality. One bowl and even the lightest sleeper wouldn’t rest that night.

After the tea, night had fully fallen. The old river ghost lit a lantern, placing it on the table. Its flickering light cast shifting shadows over our faces, making it hard to tell whether this moment was dream or reality.

“Since ancient times, Lady Yellow River has been the spirit of the riverbanks, women sacrificed to the River King for the sake of peace and good fortune. Though they died tragically, they represented tranquility and safety in the hearts of the people—symbols of timely rain and good harvests, of hope. If not for the unchangeable laws of yin and yang, even marrying her would not truly bring harm,” the old river ghost began suddenly.

His words gave me an inexplicable sense of foreboding.

He continued, not looking at me, “But if Lady Yellow River rises onto the land, that act itself violates the balance of heaven and earth. The river will swell, floods will rage, countless innocents will die. So I am bound by the promise I once made to the treasure hunters—to guard these banks and let no more calamities arise from these waters.”

“But things have already come to this. What exactly are we supposed to do tonight?” Tong Xiaomeng couldn’t help but ask.

The old river ghost sipped his tea. “We try diplomacy before resorting to force. If that fails, we try diplomacy again.”

I was stunned. What kind of logic was that? He meant we’d negotiate first; if that didn’t work, we’d fight; if fighting failed, we’d try to talk again. But talking after being beaten is no negotiation—it’s submitting to an unequal treaty.

But as things stood, there was no better way. So I asked, “What terms will we offer her?”

He shook his head. “We have nothing in our hands that Lady Yellow River would care for. We’ll state our demands and see what she asks for in return.”

“But…” Tong Xiaomeng began, but suddenly a fierce wind seemed to rise outside.

A wailing sound, like ghosts crying and wolves howling, battered the door in relentless waves, as if vengeful spirits were calling outside. It immediately reminded me of the night Niu Erpao died.

“So soon?” I saw Tong Xiaomeng’s face turn ashen and hurried to ask the old river ghost.

He shook his head, unmoved. “This has nothing to do with you. It’s Chen Tao’s tribulation.”

“His tribulation? What kind of tribulation?”

As I spoke, I thought of the well-dressed male corpse in the courtyard and asked quietly, “Is the man in the suit… Chen Tao’s—”

The old river ghost nodded. “Yes, that was Chen Tao’s biological father.”

So it was…

I drew a deep breath. No wonder their faces looked similar at first glance, and why Chen Tao, a boy indifferent even to the living, would show rare emotion toward an otherwise unrelated corpse.

“Chen Tao is a hard-luck child…” the old river ghost sighed. “First, his father drowned in the Yellow River. Then his mother fell gravely ill. Out of desperation, he joined the river ghosts. No one with any other choice would do this sort of work.”

“So it really was his father…”

At that moment, the wailing outside swelled, then a long, anguished cry rang out, the pain in it carried on the wind through the cracks in the door. Hearing it, one couldn’t help but be moved; and by its sound, it was surely Chen Tao.

I remembered that among the corpses in the courtyard, only Chen Tao’s father’s body was placed at the main gate. Chen Tao’s so-called tribulation tonight—could it be that he wanted his father to shield us from what was to come?

At this thought, I grew restless and rushed to the old river ghost for answers. But he assured me it was not my concern. Chen Tao’s father had encountered a corpse boat while crossing the river, been dragged under by the dead, and, his resentment unresolved, had become one of their number. Chen Tao had insisted on apprenticing himself to the old river ghost precisely to dispel his father’s resentment, so he could be reborn.

I was shaken—so many burdens lay on the shoulders of a boy barely out of high school. The fear in Tong Xiaomeng’s eyes turned to sympathy as she asked, “So what must he do tonight?”

The old river ghost replied, “Chen Tao must oppose his father’s resentment with his own humanity, draw all the anger from his father’s corpse onto himself, and by filial piety extinguish that resentment—so his father may finally find peace.”

As he spoke, the wind outside grew even fiercer, now mingled with the curses and screams of a strange man, as if all the world’s injustices had befallen him. The malice and rage in that voice gnawed at our minds, but what moved us most was Chen Tao’s own weeping.

What a heartbreaking, soul-rending sound it was.

In his crying was a pain and grievance far deeper than any physical suffering. He sobbed and wailed, desperate to release all the sorrow and bitterness pent up inside him over the years. The two voices mingled, making the very heavens churn and any listener’s heart tremble.

“Can he… can he really endure this?” Tong Xiaomeng stammered out the question that haunted my heart as well. But the old river ghost only shook his head. “Heaven and earth have their own destinies. Chen Tao has studied the river ghost’s arts for years to atone for his father’s sins. If his filial devotion moves the heavens, he will break through tonight’s ordeal and his future will be limitless. But if he fails, I fear none of us in this house will see tomorrow’s sun.”

No sooner had he finished than the house fell utterly silent. I stood frozen for a long moment before realizing—the wind outside had ceased.