Chapter 80 The Desolation of Winter

According to Chen Dongfang, this incident indeed took place before the Liberation. At that time, everyone was poor, so the destitution of Fudigou wasn’t particularly conspicuous. Moreover, nestled deep in the mountain valley, Fudigou was relatively far from the chaos of war, and the villagers there arguably lived somewhat better lives than those outside. Yet, in that era of hardship, even though they were spared from the fires of war, they could not escape the wrath of nature. First came a severe drought, followed by a devastating flood, rendering that year’s harvest virtually nonexistent. With no hope of relief from the authorities, many people left for the interior to beg for food and seek refuge, leaving only a few behind in Fudigou.

At that time, the patriarch of the Chen family, Chen Tianfang—Chen Dongfang’s grandfather—was the head of the clan in Fudigou. That winter was particularly harsh. The village backed onto the Funiu Mountains, and many villagers were part-time hunters. When farm work was scarce, hunting provided a decent income. In winter, after heavy snow sealed the mountains, it was common for rural folk to set traps and snares for weasels. That year, at first, every trap seemed to catch something, and soon enough, weasels began entering the village at night, even appearing openly during the day. The elders would say that it wasn’t just people suffering from famine—even the weasels had fallen on hard times. If not driven by starvation, weasels would never venture into the village, let alone wander about in broad daylight.

For the villagers, as humans atop the food chain, this was a stroke of luck. The entire village became obsessed with setting traps and snares for weasels. Every household caught plenty—not just for the meat, which mattered little, but for the pelts. Weasels, also called “yellow skins,” fetched a good price in winter because their fur didn’t shed, making it ideal for coats. Fudigou’s abundance of weasels even attracted fur traders to the village. At first, a full weasel pelt could be traded for over a pound of meat, but eventually, it was only worth half a pound—sharp bargaining on the part of the traders. Still, this did nothing to dampen the villagers’ enthusiasm, for there were simply too many weasels to catch.

It was near the New Year when Chen Daneng caught a weasel that had gained a spirit’s cunning. The creature was not only old by the looks of it but also unusually large. The pelt of this weasel fetched a sky-high price, selling for three silver dollars—a sum worth nearly a thousand yuan in today’s money. This sparked immense envy among the villagers, and everyone pestered Chen Daneng to learn his secret. He boasted that it was all thanks to the thick rope he used for his snare. When he found the weasel caught, it was gnawing at its own leg, trying to escape by chewing it off. He rushed over and finished it off with a club.

As the head of the Chen family, Chen Tianfang possessed knowledge of certain arcane arts handed down through generations—a fact evident from the abilities of the Third Granduncle. So, when the weasels began flooding into the village, Chen Tianfang felt something was amiss. Still, he reasoned that the mountain weasels were simply fleeing the famine, just as the people were. In times when humans themselves were starving to death, these weasels were a godsend. He didn’t give it much further thought—until he heard that Chen Daneng had caught an old weasel whose fur was almost white with age. Then, he began to worry. Weasels were considered sinister creatures, revered as spirits in some regions, even worshipped as “Yellow Immortals.” Ordinary weasels were one thing, but one that had survived so many years might well have gained supernatural powers.

Despite his misgivings, even as clan leader, Chen Tianfang couldn’t curb the villagers’ zeal for hunting weasels. As a landowner, his family had surplus grain, but the rest had none. To forbid hunting would be to cut off the villagers’ only means of survival—no one would obey. So, after quietly observing Chen Daneng for several days and seeing nothing unusual, Chen Tianfang dismissed his fears, and the matter slipped from his mind.

But about half a month later, the once high-spirited Chen Daneng—buoyed by his unprecedented catch—suddenly grew despondent. He no longer left early and returned late to set his snares. Others might not have noticed, but Chen Tianfang had someone keeping an eye on Daneng, so he was the first to become aware of this change. Seizing an opportunity, he summoned Chen Daneng to his home.

After just a few days, Chen Daneng seemed like a different person—spiritless, gaunt, his eyes lifeless, nothing like the robust youth he once was. He even carried a strange, musky odor. Chen Tianfang immediately suspected that the aged weasel had brought a curse upon the young man.

“What’s been going on with you lately?” Chen Tianfang asked.

“Nothing, clan leader,” Chen Daneng replied, trying to put up a front, but his evasive gaze betrayed his lie.

“You think I don’t know the weasel spirit has attached itself to you? If you don’t tell the truth, I can’t save you!” Chen Tianfang pressed.

At this, Chen Daneng stared at him in disbelief, then fell to his knees with a thud. “I knew it—nothing escapes the clan leader’s eyes! You must have the Heavenly Eye to see such things. Please, save me—save my mother!”

Seeing that the truth was out, Chen Tianfang waved his hand. “Enough with the flattery. Tell me what happened.”

It turned out that Chen Daneng was a dutiful son. His father had died early, leaving only his mother to raise him in poverty. Because of their circumstances, though he was of age, he still hadn’t found a wife, living alone with his aging mother. Though she was only in her forties or fifties, years of hardship had made her seem like a woman of sixty or seventy. In those days, age showed harshly on both body and face.

When Chen Daneng caught that old weasel, he sold the pelt, but kept the meat. He couldn’t bear to eat it himself, believing that the older the animal, the more nourishing it would be. Wanting to strengthen his mother, he cooked the old weasel’s meat for her bit by bit, while he himself ate the meat of ordinary weasels. His mother, who usually had little appetite, found the meat delicious and said she’d never tasted anything so fragrant.

After finishing the old weasel’s meat, her health visibly improved, and Chen Daneng was overjoyed. But in recent days, he noticed something wrong. At night, he began hearing her grind her teeth—a sound already unnerving, like the cracking of bones. But when he got up to check, he witnessed something even more bizarre: his mother would clutch the legs of tables and beds, gnawing on them like a rat, her hunched posture disturbingly similar to that of a weasel caught in a trap.

When he woke her, she remembered nothing. He tried to convince himself she was sleepwalking. But in the last two days, she not only chewed on things at night but crawled on the floor like a weasel. Worse still, her appearance began to change—she was starting to resemble an old weasel herself. Her eyes, especially, grew round and sly, glancing about just like a weasel’s.

“Just yesterday, my mother lost her mind even during the day. She completely turned into a weasel, saying I’d taken its life—and now that she’d eaten its flesh, it wanted mine in return!” Chen Daneng wept as he spoke.

Chen Tianfang knew this was dire. He looked at Chen Daneng and asked, “Don’t panic. Where is your mother?”

“I tied her up—bound hand and foot at home. Clan leader, please, I beg you, save us!” Chen Daneng pleaded.

Chen Tianfang sighed. “Ah, I knew trouble would come from catching a spirit weasel. No matter how weak an emperor may be, he is still a true dragon. Now that the emperor has been toppled, the dragon is gone—and all manner of demons and ghosts are coming out to play.”