05: The Night Vigil

In the countryside, there are many taboos for pregnant women. They must avoid entering others’ homes, and it is especially forbidden to go to places heavy with yin energy, such as graveyards and old burial mounds. It’s said such places can affect the unborn child.

When I finally recovered from my confusion, I couldn’t understand how my mother ended up giving birth to me beside a grave, so I asked her about it.

At that time, my father was working at the quarry behind the mountain. Because of the chaos stirred up by Jiang Yan, my mother said she would go to bed early those days. One day, Uncle Zhang, who worked with my father, brought word that my father had been injured at the quarry.

As soon as my mother heard he was hurt, she became frantic. Without thinking much, she set out with her large belly to go see him.

Behind the village is a small path that leads straight to the back-mountain quarry. My mother, in her haste, took that path. But as soon as she reached the back mountain, a fog settled in. Disoriented, she accidentally took a wrong turn, and by the time she realized it, she had wandered into the graveyard.

Alone in the graveyard at night, my mother was terrified, especially when she saw that she was right next to Jiang Yan’s grave. Just as she turned to leave, something tripped her and she fell. As she tried to get up, a sharp pain seized her belly.

At first she thought something had happened to me, the baby inside her. But gradually she realized something was wrong—it was time for me to be born.

She said, by her calculation, I shouldn’t have been born for another two months.

My grandmother said that when she finally found my mother, I had already been born and was lying beside Jiang Yan’s grave. She thought at first I was dead, but upon inspection, I was fine.

Yet, because I was born prematurely, and in a graveyard at that, my life has always been fragile.

No one knows if it was my birth or my grandmother’s rituals that had an effect, but ever since I was born, Jiang Yan suddenly vanished. Those who were hospitalized, including Wang Po and a few others from the village, all gradually recovered.

Afterward, a rumor spread in the village: Jiang Yan loved children, and it was she who lured my mother to her grave, causing my early birth. They said I was born kneeling at her grave, as if I had worshipped her as a godmother, which appeased her lingering grudge.

Others credited my grandmother’s skills, but this theory was quickly dismissed: If Grandmother had such power, why hadn’t she stopped Jiang Yan earlier? Why did everything only quiet down after my birth?

“I thought Jiang Yan had dissipated,” my grandmother told me, “but when your soul was lost at age ten and we tried to call it back, she appeared again, standing across the bridge. She followed the ritual that night, which is why I gave you the cloth pouch for protection.”

Her words chilled me to the bone—I hadn’t realized Jiang Yan had never truly left.

Now it seemed likely that the presence watching me sleep in my room was her. Otherwise, after Grandmother’s ritual, that oppressive feeling wouldn’t have disappeared.

Because she was no longer human, only Grandmother’s methods could restrain her.

Only then did I understand why the village chief looked at me with pity when he saw the birthmark on my face. He must have believed Jiang Yan had returned to take me away.

Regaining my senses, I thought of the sudden appearance of the birthmark on my face and asked Grandmother if I truly had some connection with Jiang Yan.

Grandmother said she didn’t know exactly what was going on. After my birth, she prayed for a blessing and found no link between my premature birth and Jiang Yan. But when she did a fortune-telling at my full moon, she foresaw I would face great calamity at eighteen. To help me avert it, she named me “Chen Ziwu.”

She explained: in the Chinese zodiac, the hours of Zi and Wu are in opposition, and using such a name is highly taboo. But for me, it was fitting. Born in a graveyard, beside Jiang Yan’s grave within her seven days of death, I had inevitably been tainted by something unclean. The name “Ziwu” would counteract it.

It seemed the whole matter had started even before I was born. Thinking of the black handprint on Wang Po’s window, I couldn’t help but ask, “Didn’t Wang Po die of illness?”

Grandmother didn’t reply. Her expression told me that bringing me to see the handprint was her way of telling me Wang Po hadn’t died of natural causes.

Now, being asked to keep vigil for Wang Po—a woman I’d barely spoken to since childhood—I nervously asked Grandmother why it had to be me. She replied, “The birthmark on your face matches hers. It means she’s set her sights on you. If she’s returned, she will appear wherever you are. Wang Po’s death is also connected to her. It’s been eighteen years—I want to talk with her and find out what she’s after, following you like this.”

The village rumors came to mind again. Could it be true she wanted to take me away? But why? I wasn’t her child. Why would she want me?

I was frightened at the thought of keeping vigil that night. In a small voice, I asked if I could skip it, but Grandmother said the birthmark would not disappear unless Jiang Yan was dealt with.

I didn’t want to live my whole life with this mark, so I knew I couldn’t escape the vigil that night.

The village chief brought what was needed, and at one point pulled me aside to ask if I had really seen anything. I knew he meant Jiang Yan, so I shook my head and said no. He asked about the birthmark, and I said I’d woken up with it.

Not getting anything from me, the chief left, half convinced.

As dusk fell, Grandmother told the chief and others to take turns watching the mourning hall and took me home to prepare to recall my wandering soul.

My mother and I worked together to open the white coffin. She looked inside first and immediately screamed. I hurried over—inside, the clay figurine used as my substitute in the ritual had split into pieces.

Grandmother, who was lighting incense at the head of the coffin, rushed over when she heard this, and after a moment’s silence, slapped the coffin heavily.

The substitute was meant to recall the soul. Now that it was broken, I knew even without Grandmother’s explanation that the ritual had failed. My lost soul hadn’t been recovered.

My mother anxiously asked what to do. Grandmother shook her head and seemed just as puzzled why my soul hadn’t returned.

After a pause, Grandmother told me to grab my coat and hurried me to Wang Po’s house. On the way I asked if my lost soul could never return. She said it would, but was probably taken by Jiang Yan. Since she was back, we’d make her return it.

Only Grandmother and I kept vigil. The village chief must have sensed something was off about Wang Po’s death, for after Grandmother and I arrived, he made an excuse and left with the others.

After nine o’clock, Grandmother brought out cinnabar and began drawing talismans on Wang Po’s coffin. When I asked why, she said it was to keep Wang Po from being restless.

If the dead were restless, it meant a corpse would reanimate. I prayed it wouldn’t be like in the movies, with Wang Po bursting out of her coffin.

After finishing the talismans, Grandmother took out lengths of red thread to bind the coffin, burned paper for Wang Po, and told me that since I was growing up, I should act like a man. She said ghosts fear the fierce, and the fiercer you are, the safer you’ll be. She recounted some of her own experiences—strange as they sounded, I knew they were true.

Before I knew it, midnight had arrived. Seeing I was sleepy, Grandmother told me to find a spot to lean on if I needed to rest—she would keep watch.

I dozed off, but was suddenly jolted awake by a loud bang. I looked up to see Grandmother standing at the head of Wang Po’s coffin, staring intently at it.

Was the noise coming from inside the coffin?

I tensed up, staring at the coffin. Just as I was thinking this, there was another thunderous bang, as if someone inside was pounding on the lid. My legs started shaking uncontrollably.

Lying inside was Wang Po, long dead. Now, noises were coming from within. There was no doubt it was her causing trouble.

At that moment, the soul-suppressing lamp under the coffin suddenly went out with a puff. The stool beneath the coffin began to creak and groan.

“Ziwu, light the lamp,” Grandmother said urgently.

Though terrified, I rushed under the coffin to relight the lamp, but as soon as the flame flickered to life, it was as if someone blew it out—it extinguished with a puff.

I tried again; the flame died as soon as it was lit. I looked at Grandmother. She told me to keep trying as she circled the coffin, affixing yellow talismans.

I lit the soul-suppressing lamp five times, but each time the flame went out instantly. Grandmother didn’t tell me to stop, so I kept at it. After attaching talismans all around the coffin, she brought out an oil lamp.

“Give me your hand,” she said.

I didn’t know what she intended, but as soon as I extended my hand, she pinched my middle finger. Her nails were sharp—blood welled up and dripped into the oil lamp. Once lit, she placed the lamp carefully on the coffin lid.

Strangely enough, the coffin, which had just been shuddering and creaking, fell utterly still once the lamp was set down. Grandmother told me to light the soul-suppressing lamp again. This time, the flame stayed steady.

The room fell silent, but I couldn’t stop trembling all over.