Chapter Sixty-Three: Anomalies

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Chen Dongfang and I went together to seal Third Grandpa’s coffin. Inside lay only a few of his everyday clothes; after we finished, I returned home. By the time I arrived, Han Xue was already asleep. I didn’t disturb her, instead lying alone on the sofa. For the first time in all these years, I was truly afraid. The Chen family’s patriarchal line guarded the Dragon Head Tablet in life, and in death, their bodies were dragged away by those paper figures. Even in death, they were not spared.

I chain-smoked, Chen Dongfang’s words echoing in my mind: “Once you get drawn into this, no one escapes. No one meets a good end. This is fate.” That sentence chilled me more than the paper figures themselves.

Third Grandpa was hanged, Uncle Zhuzi barely survived a fire, and twenty-three years ago, my father was flayed alive. The bodies of the successive patriarchs of the Chen family were taken after death. It all seemed to prove Chen Dongfang’s claim—no one ends well, not even in death do they find peace.

I kept thinking, weighing whether it was worth it. If my eldest brother hadn’t returned, I’d still be a village official in Fudi Ditch. Life would be dull but peaceful. His return brought danger but also richness to my days. Yet it drew me into this whirlpool—was it worth it or not?

Or perhaps, did I ever have a choice?

I sat there all night, unable to sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, scenes from recent days flashed before me: the fool in burial clothes tearing open his bloody chest, the small green drought demon with its black eyes, and those paper figures carrying coffins in sacrifice to the ancestors.

I heard the sound of the suona outside—Chen Dongfang had hired a suona band for Third Grandpa’s funeral. They started playing at dawn. My mother had already gotten up and bought two bundles of paper money. She said to me, “Though our surname is Ye, not Chen, Third Grandpa was always good to you. Go send him off. Such a fine man—how could he be gone so suddenly?”

She glanced at the cigarette butts scattered on the floor and sighed, “You didn’t sleep all night, did you?”

“I napped in the afternoon, but couldn’t sleep at night. Mom, I’ll go burn paper for Third Grandpa.” I took the paper money from her and left.

Third Grandpa’s funeral was an ordinary rural elder’s funeral. Apart from the fact that almost the entire Chen family came because of his prestige, there was nothing elaborate. Just as no one in the village except Chen Qingshan and me knew that Chen Dongfang was a powerful figure in Shanghai, so too did Chen Dongfang keep a low profile. If it were another family, they’d make a show of it.

When I arrived, I was handed a white headband and joined the funeral procession. Outsiders could attend but not make offerings along the way. When the time came, everyone lifted the coffin, and the procession started toward the ancestral graveyard, where Third Grandpa would be buried beside his father.

The procession stopped at the crossroads for a while. An altar was set up, and Third Grandpa’s relatives wailed in mourning. All went well until the last crossroads leaving the village. After the mourning ended and the coffin was about to be lifted, disaster struck—the thick hemp rope binding the coffin suddenly snapped. The young men carrying it stumbled and the coffin fell, raising a cloud of dust.

The rope was as thick as a child's arm. How could an empty coffin break it? Given everything that had happened lately, I felt a foreboding. Was this an omen?

In rural funerals, there’s always a master of ceremonies—usually a respected elder. Third Grandpa used to do this, but today it was Chen Ninth Grandpa, the youngest of his generation, now nearly seventy. When the coffin fell, the crowd erupted. Ninth Grandpa stepped forward, scattered paper money, and said, “Today is a good day for burial, nothing is taboo. Hurry and get a new rope, let’s lift the coffin.”

Such a thick rope was hard to find, and while they searched and bound the coffin again, the clear sky suddenly filled with dark clouds. Thunder rolled, and before anyone could react, a torrential rain poured down.

“Old folks, women, and children—go home and take shelter. Men, keep going. Hurry and bury the coffin, don’t miss the auspicious hour for Third Brother’s journey. Lift the coffin!” Ninth Grandpa said after consulting with Chen Dongfang.

First the rope broke, then the weather changed suddenly. My sense of dread grew. I was at the back of the procession, but as they lifted the coffin, I moved to Chen Dongfang’s side and whispered, “Uncle Dongfang, something’s wrong. What’s happening?”

Chen Dongfang’s expression was grim. He shook his head and looked up at the sky. The rain drenched his glasses. He shook his head again. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this happening. Let’s go. Once the grave is sealed, everything will be fine.”

I asked, “Should I call Fatty? He’s an expert in these matters—maybe he has insight.”

“No time,” Chen Dongfang replied.

It was their family’s affair, and since Chen Dongfang said so, I felt awkward pressing further. Still, the weather unsettled me. Back in the procession, I remembered that Fatty was in Luoyang guarding Uncle Zhuzi, but my eldest brother was nearby—Sanlitun was only minutes away.

I quietly called my eldest brother. He answered quickly. I said, “Brother, I saw what happened last night. I’m on the funeral road now, but the coffin rope suddenly snapped, and now there’s a torrential rain. I feel like it’s a bad omen. Could something be wrong?”

He paused, then said, “The Chen family’s business is not yours to meddle in.”

With that, he hung up.

I felt awkward. Though my brother’s words were cold, he had a point. Someone like Chen Dongfang was far smarter and more capable than me—if he said it was fine, why was I worrying? For example, last night, Chen Dongfang hadn’t intended for me to witness things; if not for my brother’s intervention, I’d never have known. People have their own designs, and I’m the clueless one. Besides, in summer, sudden weather changes are normal—I shouldn’t attribute everything to superstition.

After convincing myself, I followed the procession without further worry. We arrived at the Chen family’s ancestral graveyard, and the rain stopped. Summer weather changes as quickly as a woman’s mood—one moment it’s pouring, the next it’s clear. The ground was muddy, and everyone knelt in a line. After the rain, everyone’s clothes were soaked.

The grave had been dug early by some young villagers. Now, after the downpour, water filled the pit and the coffin couldn’t be lowered. Ninth Grandpa checked the time and said to Chen Dongfang, “Dongfang, the hour is nearly here. Waiting for the water to drain will take too long. Shall we go down and bail it out?”

Chen Dongfang nodded, and several young men grabbed shovels and descended into the grave to scoop out the water.

But after only a few shovels, one young man lifted out a snake. Startled, he fell back into the pit. He immediately screamed again, and when he stood up, he was holding two more snakes.

Everyone backed away in alarm, and the young men in the pit scrambled out in panic. Seeing this, I wondered if something else was about to go wrong, and hurried over.

I peeked into the pit and saw it crawling with snakes.

In the center was a snake surrounded by the others, like stars encircling the moon. It was huge—bigger than any snake I’d ever seen, like the pythons on television.

The snake showed no fear of people.

It raised its head and flicked its tongue, as if staring directly at us.

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