The Hand of Confession – Chapter 330

Volume 10: Days of Cultivating in the Republic of China

Haunted House

To hear it told, it seems a few more people who aren’t afraid of death have moved in again lately.

In the end, the three women held their bowls and squatted at the roadside, becoming the small town’s most dazzling line of scenery¹.

It was the lunch hour. The noodle stall didn’t have enough tables and chairs; the extras could only choose to squat by the roadside or go without food. Quite a few people ate squatting by the road, though most were nearby boatmen or laborers. The women of this era hadn’t been completely liberated yet; most still stayed “not out the main gate, nor over the second gate”². People as unbothered by small proprieties as these three were rare, so naturally they drew pointing fingers and whispers.

Sisi was thin-skinned. She kept her head down staring at her noodles as if looking at a sworn enemy, wishing she could bury her head in the bowl and fight it out to the death with the noodles.

Shen Maomao, on the other hand, didn’t care at all. In three strokes, five-minus-two³ she drained the soup, carried her bowl to the counter herself, and smiled sweetly. “Boss, mind if I ask you something?”

If he hadn’t just seen the way she ate, the proprietor would really have believed the sweetness.

Kneading dough, he replied, “Little lass⁴, what do you want to ask?”

Shen Maomao said, “I want to know about that Western-style house by the river.”

His hands paused. His voice unconsciously lowered. “What are you asking that for…”

“Just curious,” Shen Maomao mumbled.

“There are things you shouldn’t be curious about. Curiosity killed the cat—do you understand?” the proprietor said sternly.

The more serious he sounded, the more curious Shen Maomao became. “Here’s the thing, sir, a few of our classmates insist on spending the night in there to ‘train their guts.’ I don’t want to go, so I’m trying to see if there are any scary legends I can use to frighten them off…”

“In that case, wait a bit,” the proprietor said, speeding up his kneading. “When this next wave of customers clears, I’ll tell you.”

Shen Maomao’s eyes curved into two crescent moons⁵. “Thank you, then!”

Sisi, still squatting at the roadside, said gloomily, “Isn’t she fully capable of handling everything herself? Why are we here letting people gawk at us too?”

Golden Retriever sighed in his heart.

I don’t even know how to reply, because I’m just a poor little mute.

Once the lunch rush passed, fewer people remained at the stall. The proprietor wiped off a table and beckoned her over to sit.

Shen Maomao went over, with two fart-following bugs⁶ trailing after her.

The proprietor looked up and swept his gaze over them. Shen Maomao immediately explained, “They’re my classmates. They don’t want to go test their courage over there either.”

Sisi and Golden Retriever hurried to bare their teeth in grins at him.

He withdrew his gaze, sighed, and said, “This goes back twenty-three years.”

“Twenty-three years ago, the son of a wealthy merchant in town returned from studying overseas⁷, and brought Western gadgets into Huaizhen⁸. The first Western-style mansion in town is the one by the river. Once it was built, the merchant’s son moved in with his family.”

“The merchant’s son married a Main Wife⁹ of ‘matching gates and paired households’¹⁰ and two concubines¹¹ as lovely as flowers and like jade¹². Unfortunately, none of the three ladies bore him a son; daughters, on the other hand, came one after another—three in all.”

“Later, desperate for a son, the merchant’s son made a vow to the River God¹³, wanting a boy. That very night he had a dream. A voice asked him whether he was willing to pay an equivalent price. He agreed. The next day, his youngest daughter slipped and fell into the water while playing by the river—her body was never recovered.”

“But not long after, his wife suddenly reported she was pregnant again, and a year later she gave birth to a big, fat baby boy. The joy of having a son washed everything away. The merchant’s son put the girl’s death out of his mind and assumed it was an accident.” Here the proprietor deliberately lowered his voice, as if chanting an ancient spell. “So another two years passed, and in the third year after the little girl’s death, she crawled up from under the water…”

He told the story with sound and color¹⁴, even drawing in several diners nearby. One of them, upon hearing this point, chimed in, “Could it be the little girl turned into a zombie¹⁵ and came back?”

“Exactly so.” The noodle-stall proprietor nodded, stood up outright, and swept a glance around to make sure everyone heard. “She’d been singled out by the River God and taken as his goddaughter¹⁶. This time she could return to shore because the River God opened the back door for her¹⁷, letting her go home to see her family and ease her longing.”

Another person cut in, “If she’d been soaking in water for three years, wouldn’t her face be swollen like a steamed bun?”

“So it was.” The proprietor got into it, more excited the more he spoke, almost wanting to climb onto the table to give a speech. “Not just her face—her whole body was water-soaked and puffed up, swollen like a monster. Naturally the merchant’s family were terrified at the sight. They didn’t even listen to an explanation before driving her out, and they invited a Daoist priest¹⁸ to strike the little girl. Her own father not only failed to recognize her but tried to have the priest make her turn to flying ash and vanishing smoke¹⁹. Luckily the child was extremely clever and found a way to escape.”

A few diners had other business; after paying, they left reluctantly. But people around them multiplied at a speed visible to the naked eye, surrounding the noodle stall until not even water could leak through²⁰.

“After the little girl fled, she launched a frenzied revenge against the merchant’s family. First, his eldest daughter inexplicably broke her leg on the stairs. Later, the second daughter also fell into the river at the same spot—and just like the youngest, no matter how they searched, they couldn’t find the body. Sensing something was wrong, the merchant’s son hurriedly sent his boy overseas. At that point, the house held only the three concubines and the merchant’s son himself.”

Someone else piped up with a laugh, “Hey—Old Jiang-head, why is the version I heard not quite the same as the one you’re telling?”

Boss Jiang shifted aside to make room. “Come on then, you tell it.”

The man quickly retreated to the back of the crowd, waving his hands. “No, no—I’m not as mouth-like-a-hanging-river²¹ as you.”

Boss Jiang spat at him from afar and climbed down from the bench. “Buzzkill thing, I’m done talking—scatter now, don’t delay my business.”

A chorus of boos rose from below.

Shen Maomao had been listening intently when Boss Jiang suddenly threw a tantrum and stopped halfway. She hurried up to coax him: “Don’t, Old Sir²² Jiang, how can you leave a story half-told?”

Boss Jiang waved his hand. “Ah, what’s left to say? The merchant’s son and his three ladies must have died too. One drank water like mad until his belly burst, one jumped from upstairs and died, one found a corpse in the well. The one left was the little girl’s birth mother. She didn’t die at the time but went mad, and when they found her she had starved to death on a swing. After that, people kept dying in that house, in the exact same ways as the merchant’s family. Later, the place was left idle.”

At this point, he glanced toward the direction of the mansion and sighed. “To hear it told, it seems a few more people who aren’t afraid of death have moved in again lately. Even if your classmates want to go test their courage, the current tenants might not agree. Best give up that idea early.”

The trio-who-aren’t-afraid-of-death: “…”

Sisi asked, “Isn’t there one more? What about the merchant’s son’s son?”

“Who knows? Probably too scared abroad to dare come back.”

It was a very detailed story—so detailed it was as if the noodle-stall proprietor had personally been there. It even lined up with their experience. But if those two little ghosts only died twenty-three years ago, then who were the River God’s twin sisters from fifty years ago that the boatman mentioned? How many ghosts are actually in this scenario?

Thinking that, she asked again, “Sir, do you know the backgrounds of Huaizhen’s five River Gods?”

“What five River Gods?”

Shen Maomao froze, thinking their previous searches had all been fake. But then the proprietor said, “In my heart, there’s only one River God!”

Shen Maomao: “…” So the old gentleman was a solo stan²³.

“What a mess of River Gods!” the proprietor added. “All inventions of those people’s imagination! The true River God is only one! It’s the East River God, my lord!”

Others could no longer stand it. “Listen to you talking crap! Clearly the Southeast River God is the true Lord River God!”

“You traitor from the east side of town!”

“Ptui! And you’re the southeast’s running dog²⁴!”

“Don’t argue—if you ask me, the North River God is the real River God; the others are fakes.”

“You’re full of it!”

Seeing the uncles and uncles-about-to-fight over their idol preferences, Shen Maomao quickly led the two girls away.

The three squeezed out of the chaotic crowd and walked along the riverside, with no intention of heading back.

Shen Maomao shared her view with Sisi. “I think this scenario might be a big story wrapped around a small story kind of rhythm. We started off working in the wrong direction.”

“How so?” Sisi asked.

“I’ve been through a similar instance before. The larger background was the Black Death, but the main plot happened in a manor. Maybe it’s the same this time. Who the River God finally chose might not matter at all, and the ghosts we met in the Western-style building might not have much to do with the River God either.”

“In that case,” Sisi said, “I actually suspect that Kang Yuanhuai is the merchant’s son’s son who was sent abroad.”

“What a coincidence—I was thinking the same.”

Kang Yuanhuai says he’s from Huaizhen, yet he knows little about it, clearly not having lived there long. But upon returning, he immediately chose the house everyone in Huaizhen calls a Haunted House, which obviously means he came prepared.

But his surname is Kang, while the little ghosts said their surname was Hu. There must be something they don’t know.

She sighed, wringing her hands. “If I’d known, I would’ve asked what the merchant’s family’s surname was.”

Sisi glanced back. Even from here, they could still hear the ruckus at the noodle stall. “I doubt the proprietor has time to answer your question…”

Shen Maomao: “…” Solo stans are terrifying.

“Let’s make an assumption,” she said. “Assume Kang Yuanhuai is the child who was sent away. What do you think he came back for?”

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