Chapter Sixteen: The Mysterious Ritual

But the old man seemed not to hear us at all and simply watched us in silence. With no other choice, Qian Xiaozhen and I had to wait patiently. After quite some time, the old man finally tottered over with a broom in his hand.

He used his rough, calloused hand to open the wooden gate. In truth, I could have easily climbed over it, but after all, this was someone else’s domain—we couldn’t afford to make trouble.

He first opened the door just a crack, peered at us, and only then slowly swung it wide enough for us to enter. It was only then that I truly saw the old man’s full appearance.

He looked even older than my second uncle, his white hair nearly as long as a woman’s, his whole body nothing but skin and bone, utterly devoid of vigor, his eyes clouded and dull.

Perhaps seeing that we didn’t look like troublemakers, the old man sighed, pointed to the courtyard, and gestured for us to go inside. Only once Qian Xiaozhen and I had made our way in did he carefully close the gate behind us.

We followed him into his humble earthen house. It was not nearly as dirty or chaotic as I had imagined; rather, it was simple, even imbued with a rich ancient fragrance.

The entrance led straight into a main hall, sparsely furnished: a single wooden table and a couple of wooden chairs, with an unlit oil lamp sitting on the table.

The old man motioned for us to sit, then fetched a brush and began writing, lost in his own world. To my surprise, he wrote in classical Chinese, and his calligraphy was remarkably elegant.

This presented a bit of a challenge for me. I didn’t know the meaning of every word, but thanks to my high school education, I could understand most of it with reasonable accuracy.

After a while, the old man handed me the paper. I studied it for a moment, then turned to Qian Xiaozhen, who had been silent all along.

“The old man is probably asking why we’ve come here and what our names are,” I said.

He nodded when he saw my translation, which meant I’d gotten it right.

“Just tell the truth,” Qian Xiaozhen said, having stared at the writing for some time, perhaps because he couldn’t read it.

“My name is Lin Yao, and he is Qian Xiaozhen,” I replied. “We’ve come here to seek the secret of why the villagers don’t speak.”

Unexpectedly, the old man seemed quite troubled and even angry about our purpose, though the emotion vanished almost instantly. Then, gripping the brush, he thought for a while before writing another line.

I took the paper and read it over. “He says: We may stay here for a few days, but we must not inquire into other matters.”

Qian Xiaozhen understood, as did I—the implication was clear: don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

I told the old man, “Alright.” He seemed very satisfied with this response, pointed to a room behind me, and wrote in classical script on another sheet, “You may stay in that room.”

I had just finished reading the words and was about to thank him, but he was already back in his own room, bolting the door behind him.

There was nothing for it; Qian Xiaozhen and I entered our assigned room to rest. Upon stepping inside, I was hit by a pungent odor of medicinal herbs, though I grew used to it quickly.

The room contained only a kettle filled with water, a table, and two chairs.

“These villagers really don’t talk, do they?” I remarked as I took off my coat.

“We’ll see tomorrow. Don’t be impatient,” Qian Xiaozhen replied.

And so, we spent our first night in this mysterious village, lodging in the old man’s house.

The next morning, I woke at the crow of the rooster. Seeing that Qian Xiaozhen was still asleep, I decided not to disturb him and went outside for a look around.

Stepping out, I found that two bowls of plain rice porridge and a small dish of pickled radish had already been set out on the table. The old man had also left a note: “After breakfast, you should leave.”

I was puzzled. “Yesterday he said we could stay, but today he’s sending us off?”

I pulled out my phone; it was only 3:30 in the morning. I was about to put it away when I noticed there was no signal at all.

No wonder this place seemed both isolated and not isolated from the world. Isolated, because there was no signal, apparently no electricity, and few visitors. Not isolated, because it wasn’t far from the city and wasn’t particularly hidden.

As I pondered this, Qian Xiaozhen woke up. He greeted me sleepily. I called him over, showed him the note, and explained its meaning.

“There’s definitely something wrong with this village!” Qian Xiaozhen declared, and I agreed. From the moment we arrived, I had sensed a darkness hanging over this place.

Seeing the simple breakfast left by the old man, Qian Xiaozhen didn’t stand on ceremony—he picked up a bowl and began to eat noisily. The sight made me realize I was hungry too. Whatever might be in the food, I decided to fill my stomach first.

After breakfast, we packed up and set out to explore. Once we reached the street, it was just as deserted as the night before—not a soul in sight. Maybe it was simply too early?

The sun had already risen, the breeze brushing gently across my face, bringing an inexplicable sense of comfort. Qian Xiaozhen and I wandered the streets aimlessly and soon discovered that the village was quite small, with just over a hundred households, surrounded on three sides by mountains.

As we walked, I suddenly heard the sound of drums and gongs from up ahead. Qian Xiaozhen followed my gaze toward a slope.

We exchanged a glance and headed up the hill together. Halfway up, I caught a glimpse of the scene ahead.

A group of people knelt on the ground, flanked on either side by two large drums, with four young men furiously beating them.

As I drew closer, I saw the full scene at last: the villagers were kneeling in worship before a dilapidated temple.

At the front of the group was a large incense burner, with three sticks of incense smoldering.

I peered into the temple; it was empty except for a massive cauldron.

“Are they worshiping the cauldron?” Qian Xiaozhen wondered aloud. I too was baffled as to why the villagers would offer such devout worship to an empty vessel.

I glanced at the drummers, who noticed me as well. They lowered their drumsticks and, in unison, pulled machetes from behind their backs.

“What the hell is going on?” I was stunned and then instantly alarmed, grabbing Qian Xiaozhen and running.

Looking back, I saw a group of young men with machetes chasing after us.

“When I was looking at the statue, I suddenly felt like I was lost in a void, completely ensnared...” Qian Xiaozhen explained, which made sense—no wonder he’d been dazed for so long.

“So now what? Do we fight?” I asked, but before I could finish, a few burly men blocked our way.

There was no avoiding it now.

For the first time, I saw Qian Xiaozhen draw his weapons—two short, gleaming silver swords that flashed brilliantly in the sunlight.

“Break through, don’t get bogged down,” he said, charging forward. I pulled out my dagger and followed his lead.