Gui Si

Above gui and ghosts lies an even more terrifying level of ghost. Veteran hands like Chang Dafeng are reluctant even to mention such ghosts. And those human skins in Guancun—would they be gui, or ghosts? Or something else...? Zhou Yang suppressed his chaotic thoughts. Fear comes from the unknown. Greater fear comes from discovering even more unknowns even when the conditions are known. After instructing Ding Ling, Chang Dafeng led the others to hide in the neighboring side room, leaving this main room to Ding Ling alone. Once the room was empty, that warm human presence faded away too. In moments it grew cold and deserted; all around, a faint chill even swirled against Ding Ling’s back. In this room so quiet she could hear her own breathing, Ding Ling’s skin broke out in goosebumps. She sat before a dressing mirror, an oil lamp placed before it. The bean-sized flame flickered, and Ding Ling’s face in the mirror was reflected glaringly white; in a daze, she seemed made of paper. The darkness in the mirror, like dim lake water, submerged Ding Ling’s figure. —Her face was now as pale as a drowned corpse soaked in lake water. As the incense stick in the nearby incense burner burned down to the base, a heavy cough came from the side room: Chang Dafeng. “The Zi hour has come.” Zhou Yang issued a reminder at the same time. Ding Ling nodded almost imperceptibly, then reached for the comb long prepared on the table. Her hair hung loose; she drove the comb teeth into the long strands and combed forward, stroke by stroke. In the mirror, Ding Ling’s face was hidden by her long hair; her blue coarse-cotton jacket merged with the darkness, and the hands combing and caressing her hair seemed to have sprung from the darkness itself. Zhou Yang watched the scene in the mirror, on his guard. Some eerie things had already begun when Ding Ling faced the mirror at midnight. So the scene in the mirror was all the more like a reflection of his and Ding Ling’s inner fears. For instance, the more he looked at Ding Ling in the mirror now, the more she resembled Chu Renmei from the film “The Old Corpse of the Mountain Village” he had seen before; but Ding Ling was actually a fair-looking young girl, nothing like Chu Renmei’s cold and stern bearing. Right now something eerie was interfering with his perception. Zhou Yang stopped watching the mirror scene, so as to detach himself from this eerie situation. He focused on counting Ding Ling’s combing strokes: “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...” “Twenty-nine, thirty...” “Forty-nine—Ding Ling, it’s time to comb it back.” Time passed unnoticed. Ding Ling began combing the hair blocking her face toward the back of her head. Her face slowly emerged; fine sweat beaded on her slightly pale face, and she was now plainly nervous. In the side room, Chang Dafeng pressed his face to the door crack and squinted hard, trying to see the scene in the main hall. One hand pressed the door while the other dug into the seam between the bricks; his sharp, long thumbnail dug into the mud in the wall crack. The others huddled into a ball in the corner, not daring to breathe loudly. “Have you heard the saying ‘ghosts fear evil people’? Ding Ling, twenty-seven strokes.” In the main hall, Zhou Yang spoke gently to Ding Ling, diverting her attention so she would not grow too absorbed in the present eerie situation, which would be unfavorable to the task at hand. Ding Ling combed her hair while replying to Zhou Yang in her heart: “I, I haven’t heard of it.” Zhou Yang said: “‘Ghosts fear evil people’ means that even a terrifying ghost fears those fierce, evil people. “Just as the opera troupe now wants to sing a ghost-and-god play to frighten the ghosts here— “using the more ferocious ghosts and gods of the opera to overawe the real ghosts here.” “Thirty-three strokes.” “Why?” Ding Ling asked naïvely. “Why can the fake ghosts and gods of the opera frighten the real ghosts and gods here?” Zhou Yang didn’t know why either. But he could not show weakness before the retribution body. He tried to answer: “Perhaps because… being able to stay fierce at all times and display a fierce, evil countenance is also a valuable talent. “Ordinary people do not possess this talent. “Think: ordinary people, upon seeing a ghost, are already lost in their own fear, knowing neither heaven nor earth. “But someone facing a ghost still dares to bare his fangs—isn’t that valuable? “And ghosts can fear too—naturally they are more likely to fear those ‘evil people’ who dare to bare fangs at them. “This is connected, after all, with what the opera troupe is doing now.” “Forty-five strokes, Ding Ling.” “Mm!” Ding Ling responded solemnly in her heart. She did not really understand much of what Zhou Yang said. But she understood this passage— —Her benefactor was teaching her—when she saw the ghost later, she must not panic, must not fear. Once afraid, she would show weakness. Once she showed weakness, she would lose her life. Actually, though Ding Ling was a little nervous, she did not feel afraid. She was no longer alone at this moment. When alone, her courage was greater; there was no reason that now, being two, she should be more timid. And the reason she was nervous was only fear of doing a poor job and displeasing her benefactor. Hearing her benefactor’s words now, Ding Ling understood that this bit of worry was quite unnecessary. Listening to her benefactor count in her heart, Ding Ling composed herself, and the comb smoothed her hair behind her shoulders, stroke by stroke. “Forty-seven.” “Forty-eight.” “Forty-nine.” Zhou Yang at once said: “Stop, Ding Ling.” A bone-chilling coolness pervaded all around; that coolness inspired the terror of standing on a cliff, where one step forward meant being crushed to bits and one step back meant eternal ruin. It was precisely this coolness that made Zhou Yang certain the ghost had come. At this moment Ding Ling could not take a single misstep; combing one more stroke might cost her life. So Zhou Yang immediately called her to a halt. Ding Ling obediently put down the comb, raised her head, and looked at the dressing mirror before her. In the mirror, only her solitary self appeared. The darkness was like a big hand, and she was grasped in its palm. “Is anyone there? Someone come out and show yourself.” Ding Ling asked aloud. Not a sound could be heard in the room. “Is anyone there? Someone come out and show yourself.” “Is anyone there...” Ding Ling repeated the sentence three times. Afterward, Ding Ling fell silent. Her shoulders sank, her back hunched slightly, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the dressing mirror. Although only her alone was in the mirror, she seemed to see something else, her soul drawn away by the mirror. At the same time, Zhou Yang, dwelling in Ding Ling’s body, could no longer hear Ding Ling’s inner thoughts—like a crowded, clamorous movie scene that had been gently paused. Everything returned to silence. Silence, like an iron wall, came crashing at Zhou Yang head-on! Zhou Yang’s thoughts raced! The Knife-Credit Ledger surfaced in his mind, the old ledger rustling as its pages turned. He called up Ding Ling’s personal record, focusing entirely on the “Right Thought” entry. Retribution body: Ding Ling. Right Thought: 6 (itself 1 + knife-credit man 5) …Ding Ling’s Right Thought had decreased a little! No sooner had this thought arisen in Zhou Yang’s mind than he saw Ding Ling’s Right Thought change again— Retribution body: Ding Ling. Right Thought: 5 (itself 0 + knife-credit man 5) …Retribution body: Ding Ling. Right Thought: 4 (itself -1 + knife-credit man 5) …Ding Ling’s Right Thought had fallen into negative! A chill drilled through Zhou Yang’s soul! He almost instantly realized that as this retribution body’s Right Thought kept falling into the abyss, he himself would sooner or later be dragged down too! To avoid being dragged down now, the only way was to leave the retribution body—Leave her to live or die on her own! If he fled, Ding Ling would undoubtedly die. If he stayed, he might still carve out a sliver of life for Ding Ling. He was Ding Ling’s only path to life, at the cost of possibly never finding that sliver of life, and himself dying as well! But if he returned to Guancun, when would he find the next retribution body? The Opening Rite was right before him! Ding Ling—was she not also his only path to life?! Zhou Yang instantly resolved himself! He would stay! In that instant, a shrill operatic voice suddenly issued from Ding Ling’s mouth: “Break a leg bone for a flute pipe, strip a sheet of human skin to stretch the drumhead— “Pei Lang, ah~—I dig out my heart to set out a wine feast for you— “This pulsing bright red is this concubine’s heart and liver! Taste it hot—is it fishy and salty?”