Playing Ghosts and Gods

The rain washed Guancun into a sauce-yellow color. Ceaseless rain struck every black tile and every mud wall within Zhou Yang's view, so yellowish muddy water like sauce soup streamed endlessly down the ruts and grooves of the mud walls. Zhou Yang trudged through the muddy water, walking unevenly down a dim lane. Every time he lifted a foot, his straw sandals were caked with mud. Each time his sole came down, it sank back into the slippery mud, making it harder and harder for Zhou Yang to pull his feet free—just like his situation in Guancun. He had suddenly transmigrated from another world, one rich in goods and convenient in daily life, into this desolate village that seemed like the old society. He had been trapped here for more than three months, deep in mud. In three months, Zhou Yang had not taken a single step outside Guancun. The village was very strange. The villagers' abnormal, even monstrously strange way of interacting with one another, along with the various 'death last words' Zhou Yang often heard when passing certain places in the village, deepened his eerie impression of Guancun. He was certain he could not leave the village easily. If he tried to leave Guancun, something terrifying would surely happen. Now, as Zhou Yang passed the corner of this lane, he heard someone's 'death last words' again. A male voice full of fear and despair rose intermittently through the rain. Zhou Yang caught the voice. Without changing expression, he pulled out a rolled-up tattered book tucked into his waistband and stumbled back toward the corner of the lane. The voice became clearer: 'Save me... please, save me! 'I don't want to be walled up in the wall. I don't want to be trapped in Guancun forever— 'I only wanted to go out and see. Why should I be walled up for that...' Zhou Yang stared at the yellow mud wall that kept making sounds. The earthen wall, built of mud mixed with straw stalks, had been darkened by the rain to a blackish yellow. On this black-yellow wall, a human-shaped outline darker than its surroundings was gradually forming. Everything below its neck remained motionless, as if imprisoned. Only the head atop its neck trembled and swayed without stopping. Even though Zhou Yang clearly could not see its features, he pictured in his mind its trembling lips, clashing violently together. It was crying for help. But anyone walled into a wall must already be dead. Zhou Yang often heard the various death last words these dead spoke at the end of their lives and saw their afterimages. The shadow on the wall now was naturally the death afterimage of some dead person. Zhou Yang opened the tattered book, which he had rolled into a paper tube, to the second page. On the second page were printed lines of text: 'Title: Playing Ghosts and Gods. 'On the second day of the second month, when the dragon lifts its head, ... village invited an opera troupe named ... to perform a grand opera for three days. But while the troupe was preparing its repertoire, strange events occurred one after another, and everyone in ... village ... 'The troupe leader ... had traveled the jianghu for many years. Seeing this, he knew they had encountered ... 'So he gathered the troupe's disciples and planned to perform a ghost-and-god play, hoping to intimidate the evil spirits and let everyone escape. 'Not long ago, the troupe member responsible for everyone's daily meals ... had caught a chill and been ill for many days. At this critical time, the troupe leader ... resolved to give up ... life to save the others.' The page told a story about an opera troupe encountering ghosts while performing, but most of the names, place names, and key information were blank, making the story disjointed and difficult to follow. However, as Zhou Yang turned to this page, the shadow on the wall suddenly became agitated, and a wisp of black smoke drifted out from between its brows. The black smoke glided down the wall and suddenly burrowed into the paper. The smoke split into several strands and filled exactly the blank places in the story titled 'Playing Ghosts and Gods'. At those blank places, ink dots shifted unsteadily. For a moment they seemed about to form actual strokes and characters, then gathered back into wriggling ink dots. The words in the blank places never fully appeared. Seeing this, Zhou Yang rolled up the tattered book and tucked it back into his waistband. He had experienced similar situations many times before, so he was not thrown off by this. Before he collected his first death afterimage and death last words, every page of the Knife-Credit Ledger had been completely blank. The story 'Playing Ghosts and Gods' had only emerged this far because he had collected the death last words of several dead. Zhou Yang called this method of recording the death last words and afterimages of the dying into the Knife-Credit Ledger 'charging'. The charging was still in progress. He needed some work to complete this charging. Zhou Yang trudged away through the muddy water. The human-shaped afterimage had disappeared from the mud wall. The sky was gloomy, and the rain fell in a tangled mess. On this overcast rainy day, however, a black shadow was growing inch by inch from the muddy ground behind Zhou Yang. Only the shadow's head trembled; everything below its neck was motionless, exactly like the death afterimage on the mud wall. Zhou Yang turned his head and glanced at the death afterimage on the ground. Until the Knife-Credit Ledger completely absorbed this afterimage, it would follow Zhou Yang, and only he could see it. Turning back, Zhou Yang looked around. The dilapidated, desolate scene before him made him sigh dejectedly. He continued along the muddy road. After turning several corners, he saw an old locust tree. Beneath the old locust tree was a low earthen-walled courtyard. The courtyard gate was half-open. Under the washing rain, the interior looked pitch-black, and he could not make out the details. Seeing that yellow-earth courtyard made Zhou Yang nervous. He took a deep breath, quietly raised his eyes, and looked toward the crown of the old locust tree. It was the dead of winter, and not a single leaf remained on the old locust tree. Its branches were like gaunt claws reaching toward the sky. Zhou Yang's gaze searched the crown cautiously, as if looking for something, yet also as if he feared he really might find something. Then he saw a yellowish thing hanging from a fork of the tree. His face stiffened, and his pupils contracted sharply— The yellowish thing hung from the tree fork like an earth-yellow garment soaked by rain. But on closer inspection, the 'earth-yellow garment' had a head of wild hair like seaweed! Beneath the hair was a wrinkled face with seven holes corresponding to the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Further down, Zhou Yang saw the limbs of this yellow skin swaying haphazardly in the rain like the tassels of a scarf. What hung from the old locust tree was clearly a human skin! 'That's a human skin, isn't it?!' Zhou Yang could hardly believe his eyes. But in that brief moment, the human skin in the tree disappeared. Even though he was still staring straight at it, it slipped away beneath his eyes without a sound. 'Creak—' At that moment, with a creak of the door hinge, Zhou Yang looked away and saw that the gate had opened a little wider. A short yellow-faced man emerged from behind it. His face was pale and wrinkled, as if his skin had soaked in water too long. The yellow-faced man grinned at Zhou Yang, his mouth black and toothless. The wrinkles on his face bunched together, making Zhou Yang's hair stand on end. 'You came early today,' the yellow-faced man said. 'Half an incense-stick time earlier than usual.' 'The rain is so heavy the house is leaking everywhere. The dripping kept me from sleeping, so I just got up and came to work.' Zhou Yang smiled stiffly, walked to the gate, and replied to the man. The yellow-faced man was called Afu. He had never mentioned his surname, and the villagers did not know it either. Though the people of Guancun lived in one village, most did not know each other's backgrounds. It was common not even to know the name of someone they met face to face. Afu nodded and led Zhou Yang into the courtyard. Zhou Yang saw a dirty yellow oily fluid seeping from Afu's messy hair. It ran down his neck and onto the apron strings tied around his neck, staining them yellow. A smell like lard left too long wafted from Afu. Even the rain could not wash away the cloying stench. Thinking of the human skin he had seen in the old locust tree and looking at Afu's abnormal appearance, Zhou Yang became more certain of a guess. This Afu was probably a transformed human skin. The oil seeping from his body was probably corpse oil! This was the second rainy day, and Zhou Yang had come early to Afu's blacksmith shop to verify that what he had seen before was not a hallucination! The thought that the sticky smell lingering around his nose might be corpse oil made Zhou Yang's scalp tingle again and again. But he could not run, and even had to pretend nothing was happening. He had nowhere to flee. The so-called relatives here were all like Afu, ghosts and all. The village was full of people like Afu. From the dark, without warning, a pair of eyes would watch his every move. 'Swish—' Ahead, Afu suddenly turned his head back. The skin on his neck folded layer upon layer, twisting into deeper creases: 'Cao Qing, who works the bellows, has not come to work. You'll work the bellows and watch the fire. First smelt that pile of iron slag. 'You came half an incense-stick time earlier than usual. I'll count that half incense-stick time as work too.' Afu suddenly smiled. Only his face smiled; his eyes were cold and sinister, making Zhou Yang's heart bristle. 'Save more money so you can buy the full weight of grease sooner. At the Opening Rite, this stuff is consumed in large amounts... 'How many jin of grease can your current savings buy?' 'Ten jin? Eight jin?' Zhou Yang asked hesitantly, his heart trembling. Afu looked Zhou Yang up and down, as if appraising his exact height and build. After a long moment, he said: 'Ten jin is not enough. Grease weighs about as much as blood; flesh is heavier than blood; bone is heavier than flesh... But looking at you, you'll need at least thirty jin of grease to start. 'Save more money. The Opening Rite starts in half a month. We'll see then whether you've saved enough to buy thirty jin of grease...' 'What exactly is the Opening Rite for?' Zhou Yang had many bad associations from Afu's words and asked him. Afu's back was turned to Zhou Yang. Oil seeping from his pores gradually soaked the clothes on his back. He smiled darkly. 'Village rule. I cannot explain this openly to children who have not experienced it. 'Just think of it this way: the Opening Rite is when all you children are opened up and displayed inside and out for everyone to see. After that, we will truly all be villagers... Treat it as a rule for everyone to meet each other honestly.' Zhou Yang's face paled slightly, and he said no more. He followed Afu inside. The room was pitch-black. Dim daylight came through the window hole, outlining only the rough shapes of the room's furnishings. A smell of smoke, fire, coal ash, and iron rolled through the room. Afu picked up an iron shovel from the corner and shoveled the iron slag and iron ore from the corner into the furnace in the center of the room. Zhou Yang moved briskly behind the furnace and pulled the bellows without stopping. The bellows hummed. A dark red glow gradually rose inside the furnace. Afu propped both hands on the shovel handle and stood stiffly, staring at Zhou Yang as he worked and occasionally giving a sinister laugh. When the furnace fire burned red, Zhou Yang took another iron shovel, scooped charcoal ash from the corner, threw it into the furnace, and layered charcoal ash over iron slag again and again. The furnace fire gradually turned red, then white. Afu, no longer working, suddenly spoke. 'Two incense-stick times have passed since work began, and Cao Qing still has not come. 'Did my words yesterday scare him into fleeing the village?' Under the furnace's heat, the wrinkles on Afu's face had disappeared. His facial skin was very dry; a slight smile caused large cracks to appear on his face. Oil seeped from the cracks, making his face look both taut and oily, like the skin of Zhou Yang's girlfriend from before, freshly moisturized. Zhou Yang looked at the iron shovel in his hand, his mind elsewhere. Hearing Afu's words, he shook his head instinctively. 'That can't be right...' 'Yesterday, just before dark, I saw him walking around Guidao Lane. 'After work, he did not go home. He ran around, scouting the village, looking for a route to escape... Little Yang, are you thinking of learning from him and escaping the village?' A bright red tongue emerged from Afu's black mouth. He licked his lips, and his eyes glinted faintly as he looked at Zhou Yang. The Guidao Lane he mentioned was the lane Zhou Yang had passed that morning. At the corner wall of the lane, he had collected a death afterimage. That afterimage was now at his feet. He had passed Guidao Lane many times before, but had never seen a death afterimage. Could this death afterimage have been left by Cao Qing? Zhou Yang looked at the shadow only he could see, his heart sinking. Cao Qing was the most normal-looking villager Zhou Yang had seen in Guancun—could he really be dead? Could this Afu have killed Cao Qing? Thinking so, Zhou Yang felt it was very possible. Looking at Afu across from him, licking his lips and leering, Zhou Yang suddenly thought Afu's words might be an attempt to bluff and scare him into fleeing in a panic. Then Afu could take the opportunity to harm him. —If he wanted to escape this strange village, terrifying things would surely happen! Zhou Yang warned himself silently and stopped speaking with Afu. Afu tried to strike up conversation with Zhou Yang several more times, but seeing Zhou Yang answer only casually, he lost interest. After a long time, Afu, who had been waiting in the room, shook his head with boredom. 'Another three incense-stick times have passed. It seems Cao Qing really will not come—he really is dead...' He dropped the iron shovel and pushed aside the door curtain to leave. He left Zhou Yang two cold remarks: 'Break time. You can do your private work now.' Zhou Yang watched Afu leave, then waited behind the door curtain. He listened to the very faint footsteps outside recede, turn back, and recede again. Only after they vanished completely did he finally exhale. He pulled a bench from the corner and sat down. His back was soaked with sweat. From the iron blocks on the wooden table, he found a thin iron shard with a sharp tip. He walked to the water bucket nearby, took out a whetstone, and rubbed it along the edge of the shard, stroke by stroke. The sh-sh-sh sound of sharpening repeated endlessly. As Zhou Yang ground a shallow blade edge into the shard, the black shadow at his feet shrank inch by inch. By the time he had fully ground the edge, the shard could barely be called a small knife. The shadow on the ground had completely disappeared, replaced by illusory images flickering before Zhou Yang's eyes. They finally settled into the clear features and half-body outline of a person— The person had short hair. On his broad, short face, his features were squeezed together by extreme fear, and red capillaries showed in his eyes. Though the features were horribly distorted, Zhou Yang still recognized him. It was Cao Qing! The death afterimage collected from Guidao Lane was Cao Qing's death afterimage! Cao Qing shrieked, tears and snot streaming. 'Save me—Afu, please, save me! 'Do not wall me up in the wall! 'I do not want to go to the Opening Rite. I do not want to be trapped in Guancun forever— 'I only wanted to go out and see. Why should I be walled up for that...' Amid Cao Qing's terror-filled shrieks, Zhou Yang looked down and saw a vertical wound on Cao Qing's chest below his neck. The wound extended downward to places Zhou Yang could not see. The wound was drenched in blood. Cao Qing's body below his chest was withered and shriveled. It looked as if his organs had been scooped out. ... The afterimage of Cao Qing dissipated with the wind. Zhou Yang sat dazed for a moment, then pulled the Knife-Credit Ledger from his waistband and opened its worn cover. The first page recorded Zhou Yang's personal record: 'Name: Zhou Yang. 'Right Thought: 5. 'Identity: knife-credit man. 'Ability: Blacksmithing... (rubbing). 'Good Deeds: None.' Aside from the gray-black 'rubbing' ability, which remained impossible to light up and thus drew attention, Zhou Yang's personal record in the Knife-Credit Ledger looked unremarkable. He turned to the second page of the book. The story titled 'Playing Ghosts and Gods' on the second page was now complete.