The branch fork of the old locust tree swayed, brushing against the mist in the air. In the mist, rammed-earth courtyard walls clustered around a gatehouse built of thatch grass. The black-painted wooden door stood half-ajar, and from behind it came the sound of washing clothes—splash, splash.
Zhou Yang walked a few steps to Afu's courtyard gate. He hesitated for a moment, then suddenly lightened his steps, tiptoeing through the half-ajar door. Following the sound of water, he looked toward the main hall—
In the thin mist, a brilliant red figure squatted before a large wash basin, scrubbing the clothes in the basin with all its might. The red on that person's body flowed along as it scrubbed with force, and some crimson liquid even splashed onto the surrounding ground. Only when the rank, pungent stench suddenly reached Zhou Yang's nostrils did he belatedly realize what the brilliant red liquid was! His whole body turned cold; his hands and feet almost refused to obey!
At that moment, the "bloody person" squatting before the wash basin scrubbing clothes suddenly stood up, lifting the clothes from the basin! That "garment" spread open with a whoosh. Red fine foam flowed down along the slippery texture of the cloth. The garment was blackish-yellow. The hair on its head scattered like waterweed. Its hands and feet were withered, and from the hollow eye sockets on its face, blood-colored foam kept flowing out! Where was that a garment? It was a complete human skin!
Facing a "ghost washing human skin," no method of calming the mind was of any use to Zhou Yang! At this moment he could not even recall the content of the "Heart Technique" he often recited! But whether due to Zhou Yang's nature or because fear had reached its extremity, it nonetheless sparked a measure of anger—nameless flames surged forth from Zhou Yang's chest, and relying on this anger, he nearly ground his teeth to pieces!
His position now was right next to the courtyard wall by the door. An iron shovel leaned against the wall. Zhou Yang instinctively reached out and grabbed that iron shovel. He made up his mind: if the ghost came to eat him, he would stake his life to strike that ghost's head once!
However, after making full psychological preparations, when he looked toward the doorway of the main hall again, where was there any blood-drenched flaying ghost? Where was there any human skin covered in blood foam? Only the door of the main hall creaked open, and Afu—bare-chested, wearing only a pair of shorts below—walked out. He kicked the large wooden tub under the steps aside, took a few steps to Zhou Yang, and stared at Zhou Yang's hand gripping the shovel for a while. Then he suddenly rolled his eyelids up, his black eyeballs clustering into a tiny ball, glared at Zhou Yang, and asked in a gloomy voice: "What are you holding the shovel for?"
"Yesterday's rain washed out many potholes on the road in front of your door. I'll shovel some dirt to level them. Otherwise it's too hard to walk."
Zhou Yang steadied his breath and answered aloud. As he spoke, he seemingly casually rubbed the sole of his straw sandal against the edge of the shovel, rubbing off a layer of yellow mud.
In Guancun, the persona Zhou Yang had set for himself was not that of a warm-hearted person. Therefore, even now, if he was going to level the road, it could only be to satisfy his own personal need.
Afu lowered his head, standing still, not knowing what he was thinking. A trace of a slightly astringent plant smell drifted from him. Zhou Yang recognized this smell. It was the smell formed after soaking soapberry pods in water. Not exactly fragrant, but certainly not unpleasant. He glanced again at the wash basin Afu had kicked aside, lowered his eyelids, and put on a wooden face.
"Even if Mount Tai collapses before one and one's countenance does not change, even if a deer stirs to one's left and one's eye does not blink..." Such a state was truly too difficult to achieve. An ordinary person like him, when facing terror, could not even maintain a fierce demeanor. And terror like today's—it could be foreseen. There would surely be more in the future. If every time he faced such things he would "lose his composure," revealing more and more flaws, before long his persona would crumble. The group of ghosts would discover his true form, and he would be killed.
So, starting now, he set a goal for himself first: "At least the next time he faced a terrifying dangerous situation, even if flustered, he could still muster a bit of presence of mind to barely maintain the situation."
Afu now put his hands behind his back and walked toward the wing room: "You can go level the road at noon. This time, work with me. The less work you do, the less wages I'll give."
Since Zhou Yang had met him, he had never asked a single question about Zhou Yang's name or identity. Zhou Yang had also not introduced himself to him. This was because Afu was different from most villagers in Guancun. From the first time Zhou Yang worked at his shop and introduced himself, Afu had recognized Zhou Yang. There was no need for Zhou Yang to repeat the step of introducing himself every day like when meeting other villagers.
"The people of Guancun are actually mostly ghosts. Ghosts also have levels. According to the troupe leader Chang Dafeng of the opera troupe Ding Ling belongs to, ghosts are at least divided into two levels: ordinary gui, and more dangerous ghosts. Afu gives me the feeling of being more terrifying than most villagers in Guancun. Is it a gui, or a ghost?"
Passing the water vat beside the blacksmith shed, Zhou Yang glanced at the water vat. In a pitch-black vat of water, his and Afu's reflections were mirrored. He couldn't help but think—if he used the "mirror-combing method" within Guancun, perhaps he could see Afu's and other villagers' true faces, and see clearly whether they were gui or ghosts? But back then in the opera troupe, when Ding Ling used the mirror-combing method, the situation was so dangerous and strange, and Zhou Yang had struggled to cope, barely seizing that sliver of life for the two of them. The ghosts in Guancun were absolutely more terrifying than those in Daliang Village. If he rashly tried the mirror-combing method, even separated by a mirror, the ghosts of Guancun would surely devour him and flay him alive!
"At least raise Right Thought by several levels, learn one of the methods from 'Draft on Making Up Gods and Painting Ghosts,' then dare to try the mirror-combing method and take a look at the true faces of the ghosts in Guancun."
Afu brought Zhou Yang into the shed, then fetched an iron spade, handed it to Zhou Yang, and ordered: "Shovel the iron slag in the corner into the furnace and smelt it." He had just said yesterday that he would formally teach Zhou Yang the blacksmith craft today. But judging by Afu's current manner, it seemed he had completely forgotten what he said yesterday.
In Guancun, Zhou Yang had very few ways to obtain swords and weapons. Even in Afu's blacksmith shop, farming tools were mostly what was there. Even if there were some sickles, kitchen knives, and other ironware, they were all locked in the storehouse. Zhou Yang could not quietly steal one to give on credit to his next retribution body. Moreover, weapons forged by others—Zhou Yang might not be able to give them on credit either. So he absolutely had to master the craft of forging knives and smelting iron. If he could forge swords himself, even if the workmanship was rough, the things made would be far better than that small iron shard knife he gave on credit to Ding Ling. And the quality of the swords given on credit would directly affect the retribution body's life circumstances, and its karmic entanglement with Zhou Yang, rubbing effects, and so on.
Right now Afu didn't mention teaching Zhou Yang forging at all. Zhou Yang thought it over and decided to first finish the morning's chores, then bring up blacksmithing with Afu in the afternoon. Just now he had almost revealed a flaw in front of Afu. For now, he should steady himself. Less talk, more work.
One morning passed in a hurry. Afu watched Zhou Yang finish smelting the last batch of iron slag, then turned and left with a cold face. As his front foot stepped out of the shed, Zhou Yang's back foot stood by the door. He listened to the footsteps outside hurrying away without turning back. He waited in place for a while, then returned to the corner of the shed and plopped down on the wooden block.
The three great sufferings of life: forging iron, poling a boat, grinding tofu. Zhou Yang had not yet formally engaged in the work of forging iron. Merely doing odd jobs at the blacksmith shop made him tremble all over, barely able to endure it. Certainly partly because this work was exceptionally hard, but more importantly, Zhou Yang's own constitution was exceptionally poor. Moreover, he was now at the age of growing his body, yet the food he ate every day was mostly not normal food humans could eat, so his physical condition naturally worsened day by day.
"Savage physique, strong spirit." Zhou Yang silently chanted. He reached back and pulled out the Knife-Credit Ledger from his waist. Opening to the second page of the booklet, Ding Ling's personal history came into view. Zhou Yang's gaze swept over line after line of ink characters on the page. Those ink characters suddenly blurred, spreading into ink blots. The ink blots writhed and merged, finally turning into eight large characters:
"You have taken a knife on credit. Do you record the debt?"
Chapter 15