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墨書 Inktalez
Human Sacrifice
I closed the Feng Shui Secret Record, pondering the intentions behind Guo the Blind's actions.
First of all, Zhou Manman was trapped in the coffin by the Soul Fixation Nail and could not escape. The red cinnabar talisman affixed to the inside of the coffin was meant to gather the pure Yang energy of the sun to refine her soul. After seven days, when the coffin was opened, even the most powerful ghost would dissipate into nothingness.
Secondly, if the red cinnabar talisman were affixed to the outside of the coffin, its effects would be entirely different. Not only would it fail to dispel ghosts, but it would actually attract them.
Zhou Manman was already inside the coffin; what kind of ghost was Guo the Blind summoning?
I recalled the night Huang the Lame died. When the Soul-collecting Bell rang above him, he saw the Big Black Cat and mistakenly thought it was a Ghost Cat. However, when he chased it down, he discovered that his compass showed no reaction to the Big Black Cat, clearly indicating that it was a living creature and not a Ghost Cat. Thus, Huang the Lame realized he had been lured away.
Since the Big Black Cat was alive, the yellow talisman on the outside of the coffin would have no effect on it. A sturdy coffin like that could not be broken open by a Big Black Cat; otherwise, it wouldn't have been unable to break through after guarding under the Big Red Coffin for seventy years.
With Zhou Manman's soul trapped inside and the Big Black Cat unable to enter, it was clear that this entire situation had nothing to do with the Big Black Cat.
The youths armed with shotguns to guard against the Big Black Cat stealing souls were merely a smokescreen; Guo the Blind would not engage in such meaningless theatrics.
I found myself isolated in Futu Ridge, with Huang the Lame—who understood Feng Shui—now dead. I had no one to turn to for help and could only rely on myself.
In the afternoon, I visited Old Man's house and played a few games of chess with him. My chess skills had been honed by learning from him over time; now his skills were no match for mine, and managing to draw with me was already quite an achievement.
Old Man noticed my recent gloominess. Anyone would feel down upon discovering their girlfriend wasn't alive anymore. However, he didn't try to console me but simply kept me company while we played chess. Old Man wasn't very good at comforting others; he used to be a teacher in Village and had a straightforward personality. He had experienced his share of hardships and had learned to hide his feelings as he aged, becoming quite cultured in his old age.
Now over a hundred years old, he had thinning hair at the back of his head. In his orchard, he grew some cucumbers and sometimes picked them to share with the children in Village.
As evening approached, I casually asked Old Man about coffins. Upon hearing "coffin," he became interested and led me to what used to be his granary.
Inside the granary, I saw a coffin covered with a red blanket.
The Old Man fell ill at the age of ninety, believing he was on the brink of death. He asked the villagers to go to the town's coffin shop and have Chen the Old Man make him a coffin. This coffin was made of fine Cedar wood, a prized possession of Chen the Old Man's shop. They were close friends, and upon hearing that the Old Man was nearing his end, Chen the Old Man reluctantly gifted him his beloved Cedar coffin.
However, to everyone's surprise, the Old Man recovered shortly after and remains in good health to this day, while Chen the Old Man passed away five years ago.
For ordinary folks, Cedar, Cypress, and Cypress wood are considered high-quality materials for coffins. Aside from the golden coffins used by emperors and prime ministers in ancient times and the Crystal Coffin, the best wood affordable for common people is Spring Bud Wood and Teak. In Taiwan, prominent individuals are buried in Sandalwood coffins. These types of coffins do not absorb moisture or attract insects and can even preserve bodies well, leaving a good reputation for their descendants.
I asked the Old Man which type of coffin wood would have clearly defined tree rings on its surface. He thought for a moment and replied, "If the coffin surface is uneven, it’s considered inauspicious. Poplar has many growth rings; however, if it’s coated with varnish, you won’t be able to tell much. Generally, families that aren’t too poor wouldn’t use this kind of coffin."
I nodded in understanding but realized it was getting late, so I stood up to bid farewell to the Old Man.
I told him that my mother had bought two fish in town today and that I would bring one over for him to taste at dinner. The Old Man didn’t refuse; he went to his garden and picked some sweet cucumbers for me to take later.
"Yang Hao," he said, "you’re still young; there’s nothing you can’t get through."
I nodded again, knowing that he misunderstood my question about coffins as being related to my feelings about Zhou Manman being confined inside one.
The next morning at dawn, I got out of bed, changed into clean clothes, and rode my bike into town. There aren’t many people in Futu Ridge; it’s just a small street that stretches about three hundred meters. I knew where the coffin shop was located.
Five years ago, when Chen the Old Man passed away, his son took over the shop. Because he had dark skin but did excellent work, everyone nicknamed him Chen Coffin.
Chen Coffin was somewhat awkward and straightforward. Like his father, he was a reliable man who kept his word. The craftsmanship of his coffins couldn’t be too rough; besides, there must be ready-made coffins available in the shop. I felt something was off about the coffin Guo the Blind used for Zhou Manman.
When I arrived at the coffin shop, I knocked on the door several times but received no response. So I rode my bike towards Dagu Village with plans to return to town later in the afternoon.
Today marked three days since Huang the Lame's burial. Before he died, he entrusted me with his Feng Shui Secret Record; I needed to pay my respects.
Upon reaching Dagu Village, I saw a funeral procession circling around from a distance. Several strong men carried a coffin at its center while hundreds followed behind and ahead. This practice is known as sending soup in northern regions; we in Futu Ridge refer to it as performing a ritual. Only wealthy families in Village could afford such a large gathering.
The Huang family was prosperous; with Huang the Lame's passing, his son would surely give him a grand burial. At the front of the procession, I spotted Huang San'er dressed in mourning attire leading the way.
Huang San'er had indeed survived. Zhou Manman had intended to kill him on the seventh night after his death, but just as darkness fell, he was captured by Li Fugui and his men, allowing him to narrowly escape with his life.
Huang San'er noticed me standing by the roadside. Upon seeing me, he shot me a glare filled with resentment before following the funeral procession toward Dagu Village's Ancestral Grave.
I trailed behind the funeral procession in Dagu Village until the afternoon before preparing to leave. With so many people present, I wanted to pay my respects to Huang the Lame, but as an outsider, there was no need for me to don mourning attire just to blend in and feign sorrow for money.
From a distance, I saw the coffin being carried to the burial site when Huang San'er suddenly pointed at a few trees by the grave and scolded the villagers hired by the Huang Family behind him. I couldn't hear what he was saying from so far away. Shortly after, those villagers whom Huang San'er had berated fetched axes and began chopping down the trees surrounding Huang the Lame's burial site, even uprooting them and dragging them away.
Not long after Huang the Lame's coffin was buried, the crowd dispersed. I stopped one of the villagers hauling branches on an ox cart and asked why they were cutting down the trees.
The villager replied, "Huang San'er ordered it. I don't understand; they're just a few Locust Trees. How could they possibly obstruct his family's feng shui?"
"Locust Trees?"
I looked at the cut ends of those trees; their rings resembled those on the coffin at Bright Moon Village.
Huang San'er forbidding Locust Trees near the grave of the deceased Huang the Lame must have some hidden meaning.
I didn't know much about the various taboos surrounding Futu Ridge, but Huang San'er had been close to Huang the Lame and likely understood feng shui better than most elders due to his exposure.
As the crowd dispersed, I wanted to ask Huang San'er why he had ordered the Locust Trees cut down around the grave, but I saw him get into a black sedan and leave for the county town with his father, ignoring me completely.
The summer wilderness was filled with wildflowers. I parked my electric bike nearby and picked some white flowers by the lush riverside. I fashioned a small bouquet of white flowers and placed it beside the grave covered in various golden wreaths. Suddenly, I felt that Huang the Lame was quite a lonely person after all.
Unsure of what to say, I simply clasped my fists in respect toward his grave before turning to leave Dagu Village's burial ground.
Upon arriving in town, I noticed that Chen Coffin's coffin shop had opened its doors. I walked in and greeted Chen Coffin, "Uncle Chen, it's Yang Hao."
Chen Coffin was in his fifties. He used to enjoy listening to storytelling; no matter how far he had to travel, he would rush to hear Old Man's tales. Back then, I often followed Old Man around eagerly. I knew that Chen Coffin was the son of Chen the Old Man, a close friend of Old Man's, so I politely addressed him as Uncle Chen.
"Chen Coffin," upon hearing my voice, revealed a curious expression on his wooden face. "Oh, that little brat from back then has grown up. What brings you to my coffin shop? Come, have a smoke first."
"I don't smoke, Uncle Chen. You've misunderstood," I replied awkwardly, watching as Chen Coffin seamlessly slipped into character. "I came to ask you something. Did Guo the Blind take a coffin from here the other night?"
As soon as Chen Coffin heard this, he furrowed his brows and said, "You mean the coffin that was pretending to be a female ghost from Bright Moon Village?"
I nodded quickly. "Yes, that's the one."
Chen Coffin spoke in a deep voice, "That coffin wasn't made by me; it was just borrowed for some paint. Black paint is inauspicious, and there are no shops in town selling it. A neighbor asked to borrow some, and when I asked what it was for, he said it was for painting a coffin. Aren't you slapping me in the face? Instead of buying a coffin from me, they decided to make one themselves and come here to borrow paint."
"Did you notice anything strange about that coffin?" I inquired.
"What could be strange? The surface of the coffin isn't even smooth; it's rotten like crap," Chen Coffin replied with a frustrated puff of smoke.
Recalling what had happened not long ago when I visited Dagu Village to pay respects to Huang the Lame, I casually asked, "What if that coffin was made of Sophora Wood?"
Upon hearing my words, Chen Coffin's expression changed dramatically. "The first taboo of running a coffin shop is that you cannot use Sophora Wood for coffins. Sophora Wood nurtures ghosts; if you use it for a dead body, it will turn into a corpse!"
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