Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Boy Troublesome as a Dog
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Boys at eight or nine are an age even dogs find annoying.
Chen Shi was already eleven, past the age that dogs found annoying, yet he was still mischievous and naughty, practically a local tyrant in Huangpo Village. Wherever he went, chickens scattered and dogs fled in panic. Even ducks passing by his side had to lay an egg before they could leave. He was the kind of kid people despised and dogs loathed.
This morning, after finishing breakfast, Chen Shi set down his bowl and chopsticks and bolted out the door with excitement, shouting from his mouth, “Grandpa, I’m heading out to play!”
Grandpa was tall and sturdy, dressed in a black robe embroidered with large peony flowers. He stood before the offering table in the main hall, head lowered, and responded in a deep, muffled voice, “Don’t go too far. Stay away from the river. Come back early for lunch…”
“Got it!”
Chen Shi didn’t wait for Grandpa to finish before he dashed off like smoke, vanishing without a trace.
Before the offering table, Grandpa remained facing it, slowly chewing away. After a long moment, his throat bobbed with difficulty as he swallowed the food. Then, he stuffed the candle in his hand into his mouth and bit down, chewing it unhurriedly.
On the offering table sat two candlesticks and an incense burner. The candle in the other candlestick had been eaten down to just the wax tears at its base, while the incense in the burner emitted curling wisps of smoke, nearly burned out.
Grandpa set down the half-eaten candle, lit a few sticks of incense, and inserted them into the burner. He took a deep inhale of the smoke, his face showing utter bliss.
Behind the incense burner sat a black spirit tablet.
Engraved on the spirit tablet was Grandpa’s formal name.
Virtues inherited and flourishing, Spirit Tablet of Chen Clan’s Chen Yindu.
“Once full, it won’t eat people anymore.”
Chen Shi beat Grandma Yuzhu’s dog until it yelped in submission, then led three or four village dogs into a great battle against the dogs from the neighboring village. Triumphant in return, he climbed a tree to raid a bird’s nest, getting pecked full of lumps on his head by the mother bird, nearly tumbling down from the branches.
Moments later, the boy picked up a dead snake to scare the village’s Erni at the east end into crying for her father and mother. Soon after, he sneaked into Old Lady Wuzhu’s melon patch to steal melons, chased three li by the murderous Old Lady Wuzhu before barely shaking her off.
This was Chen Shi’s simple and unadorned morning.
By midday, Chen Shi arrived at the Jade Belt River outside the village. Though sweating buckets from the heat, he resisted the urge to jump in.
Laughter and splashes came from the river, where three boys about his age frolicked in the central current, having a grand time.
Those were three water ghosts, drowned two years prior, so Chen Shi dared not join them in the water.
The last time he’d jumped in to play, these three had dragged him to the deep water: one hugging his legs, one wrapping his waist, one throttling his neck, nearly drowning him.
Grandpa had leaped into the river, beaten the three water ghosts soundly, and pulled him out.
“Chen Shi, come play with us!” one boy waved to him.
The other two wore innocent smiles as they beckoned too. “Come on! Four people make water fights way more fun!”
The oldest boy grinned. “Don’t be scared. It’s not deep at all—just up to our waists!”
“Come on down! What’s the fun in playing alone?”
…
Chen Shi ignored them and turned toward an old willow tree at Huanggang Ridge.
The three boys stayed in the river’s center, but their laughter faded, smiles gone, as they slowly sank beneath the surface.
“Damn brat from Old Chen’s family—we’ll drown you someday to take our place!” one boy spat bitterly.
The river water gradually covered their lips, noses, eyes, and heads until the three boys vanished completely.
A pair of feet slowly dangled down from the willow tree, swaying before Chen Shi’s face.
A scholar hung from the tree. Spotting Chen Shi looking up, he stuck out his scarlet tongue at him—a full foot long.
Chen Shi paid it no mind. The scholar had hanged himself long ago; his body had rotted away, leaving only his soul dangling there.
He went behind the willow, placed a chunk of watermelon before the stone tablet at its roots, and kowtowed to it. “Godmother, I’ve come to see you again. Brought you some watermelon—it’s super sweet.”
The stone tablet was his godmother. When Chen Shi was very young, Grandpa had said the boy was fine in every way but his fate wasn’t tough enough; he needed to take a hard-fated godmother to survive. So he’d brought him under this crooked-necked willow and had him拜 this stone tablet as godmother.
On holidays and festivals, Chen Shi had to come pay respects to his godmother, offering food and incense.
Such were rural customs.
Country folk took godmothers who might be ancient trees, stones of unknown origin, temple doors in the hills, or nameless broken statues on ridges—all to pray for safety from external evils.
Grandpa had said this stone tablet was of ancient origin, surely spiritual, and could protect Chen Shi, so he’d made him take it as godmother.
Yet these past two years, Chen Shi hadn’t felt any spiritual protection from kowtowing to her.
The stone tablet was ancient, with faint characters visible—something like “Lao” and “Qi.”
Other text was buried in the soil, entwined by the old tree’s roots, impossible to dig out.
After paying respects to his godmother, Chen Shi muttered to himself, “Godmother, Grandpa’s getting weirder. He always faces away from me. Haven’t seen his real face in days. He eats stuff behind my back too—I don’t know what. Yesterday morning, several of our chickens died. Wasn’t weasels; they don’t dare steal from our house…”
The stone tablet gave no reply.
But whether from a trick of the eye, Chen Shi thought he saw the characters on the tablet glimmer faintly, then fade.
The boy thought nothing of it, lit a few sticks of incense, and stuck them in the dirt before the tablet.
The hanged scholar on the tree grew frantic, kicking his legs.
“There’s some for you too.”
Chen Shi lit another stick and planted it beneath the scholar’s feet. The ghost, hanging from the tree, sniffed the incense smoke and showed bliss.
Chen Shi stretched lazily, lounging under the tree with hands behind his head, utterly unafraid of the scholar ghost or the water ghosts in the river. He didn’t know when it started, but he’d long grown used to seeing these “people” others couldn’t.
“Grandpa’s probably got lunch ready by now, but lately his cooking’s gotten worse and worse. Yesterday’s chicken was still raw, served up bloody. Godmother, I keep feeling like something’s off with Grandpa lately—like he wants to eat me.”
Chen Shi chewed on a grass stem, staring blankly, his face mature beyond his years as he murmured low, “Last night Grandpa boiled me medicine again, made me soak in the tub, but the fire was too hot—the water boiled. I think he wanted to cook me…”
After a moment, the scholar ghost finished his incense, stretched lazily, and said, “All done. Little Ten, you can ask now.”
—Little Ten was Chen Shi’s nickname; some in the village called him Little Honest, though usually sarcastically.
Putting aside his worries, Chen Shi pulled out an ancient book and read while asking, “I still don’t quite get this line: ‘The first maker of figurines—may he have no descendants?’ What does it mean?”
Huangpo Village was remote, with no private school, and the Chen family poor, so Chen Shi had nowhere to study. But luckily, a scholar hung from this tree. Chen Shi dug out old books from home and came to the willow whenever he wanted, consulting the ghost.
Sated on incense, the scholar ghost would answer his questions. Thus, though just past ten, Chen Shi was well-read in poetry and classics.
“This means the Master said, ‘The first one who offended me—I’ve beaten him until he has no heirs.’”
The scholar ghost explained, “The Master meant we must cut the grass at the root when acting, especially against those who wrong us.”
Chen Shi nodded in dazed understanding, reading word by word, then asked, “And ‘Since we’ve come, then settle here—what does that mean?’”
“With enemies here, don’t let them leave—bury them on the spot.”
“And this one: ‘On the riverbank he said: It passes like this, not ceasing day or night—what’s the meaning?”
“The Master stood by the river and said: ‘The truly great stand by the river like me, watching enemies’ corpses drift downstream day and night without cease.’ The Master was incredible, enemy bodies floating the whole river. We scholars must learn from the Master.”
…
Chen Shi finished asking all his questions; the scholar ghost answered fluidly, earning the boy’s utmost admiration. Looking up, he said, “When I grow up, I’ll be like the Master too—with virtue conquering all! By the way, Scholar Zhu, you’re so learned and talented—why’d you hang yourself here?”
The scholar ghost sighed deeply, choking up. “These days, treacherous villains control the court and literary fortunes. Despite my belly full of knowledge, I failed the exams ten times straight, shaming the Sage’s teachings and unable to face my family—so I hanged myself here and ended it all.”
Just as he spoke, the rumble of wheels approached.
Chen Shi closed his book and stood to look. On the country road, several fine horses escorted a delicate, ornate carriage heading their way.
Stout men in red flying-fish robes sat the horses, sharp and professional, eyes like torches sweeping over.
“My lord, there’s a child!” one man said from horseback, bowing toward the carriage.
“A child? Children are good, children are good.”
A woman’s voice came from the carriage, laughing. “Children are innocent, no schemes—easy to handle, no loose ends. Fang He, go ask the child.”
“Yes!”
One flying-fish robe man leaped from his horse and strode quickly to Chen Shi, pulling out a thumb-sized piece of broken silver and smiling kindly. “Little kid, this silver’s for your candy. Big brother has a question: while playing in the village, have you seen any odd children? The kind that don’t look alive—like a bunch of porcelain dolls!”
Scholar Zhu dangled from the tree, warning sharply, “Little Ten, ignore him! He’s an Embroidered Uniform Guard from the city—lackey of the powerful, up to no good. Their money’s called ‘buy-life silver’—take it, and beware losing your little life!”
Though still the Great Ming Dynasty, imperial power waned, local magnates rose, and the Embroidered Uniform Guard were no longer the emperor’s personal guards but retainers of noble houses, doing their bidding.
Chen Shi eyed the broken silver in the flying-fish robe man’s hand, wanting it badly, but shook his head. “Grandpa says I can’t take things from strangers.”
The man grew kinder still, smiling. “I’m Fang He. We were strangers before, but now you know my name—we’re acquaintances, right? This is my payment to you—not from a stranger, is it?”
Chen Shi nodded gladly and took the silver.
Fang He’s lips curved. “Now that we’re friends, can you tell me if you’ve seen those porcelain doll kids?”
Chen Shi nodded. “The kids you mean—are they less than a foot tall, always in groups?”
Fang He lit up, nodding eagerly, turning away with trembling voice. “My lord, those things are really here…”
Before he finished, a shadow flashed from the carriage. Chen Shi felt a rush of fragrance as a dignified, beautiful purple-clothed woman appeared under the tree.
The other flying-fish robe men dismounted swiftly and hurried over, encircling Chen Shi and the purple-clothed woman.
The woman was lovely, skin snow-white, clad in a purple flying-fish robe above and horse-face skirt below, face excited yet feigning calm as she smiled faintly. “Little brother, you’ve seen those porcelain dolls? Where are they?”
But Chen Shi said nothing, staring oddly at her shoulder.
The woman blinked, glancing at her shoulder—no oddity there.
“Little brother, answer the lady!” one flying-fish robe man stepped forward, barking with authority.
Chen Shi looked away. He’d stared at her shoulder because the scholar’s feet rested right on it.
She stood precisely where the scholar hung.
The purple-clothed woman shot the man a glance, face darkening. “Insolent!”
The man retreated hastily.
The purple-clothed woman softened. “Little brother, we’re from Xinxian—we’re not bad people…”
Chen Shi looked up, meeting her eyes, and grinned sweetly. “Big sister, you’re so pretty—prettier than Zhu Youcai!”
The woman beamed inwardly. *This kid’s got a sweet tongue; I can leave him a whole corpse later. But Zhu Youcai—that’s no woman’s name. Probably some pretty girl; these peasants name crudely.*