Chapter 540: That Song

Huá Sāng only learned about Teacher Huang’s passing three days after it happened.

That afternoon, the Cicada’s cries were endless. Grandma wasn’t home–who knew where she’d gone–and had told her to stay in and rest.

She lay in bed, half asleep and half awake, when suddenly a burst of laughter and play woke her.

Hearing the noise, Huá Sāng got out of bed, put on her shoes, dragged over a chair, climbed onto the windowsill, and leaned halfway out to look. She saw several children playing in the bamboo grove behind the small building, among them two familiar figures–her classmates.

Seeing this, she frowned, put her hands on her hips, pouted, and shouted fiercely, “Qiangwa, Ximei, you two actually skipped class to play? Be careful, Teacher Huang will catch you and deal with you!”

Hearing Huá Sāng’s shout, the two children stiffened slightly.

Immediately, the skinny, dark-skinned boy called Qiangwa took a few steps toward her, displeased. “We’re not skipping class! School’s on holiday, that’s why we’re out playing.”

School’s on holiday? Why would there be a holiday for no reason? Huá Sāng tilted her little head, her eyes full of confusion.

Before she could voice her doubts, the fair-skinned girl called Ximei glared at her and muttered, “Exactly! And you keep mentioning Teacher Huang–Teacher Huang is dead!”

“You’re lying! Teacher Huang came to see me just a couple days ago!” Huá Sāng blurted out. “I’m going to tell on you, tell on you for skipping class to play!”

“Ximei isn’t lying…”

Maybe worried Huá Sāng would really go tattle, a slightly older boy in their group stepped forward and said, “Teacher Huang has been dead for three days. My dad said he was bitten to death by the Water Ghost, looked really scary. When the principal found him at his house, he fainted from fright.”

“That’s right, that’s right!” Xiaopang Dun’er chimed in, “My grandpa said so too. The village has been haunted by Water Ghosts lately. Yesterday, Li Niangniang from the chicken farm was also bitten to death by a Water Ghost.”

Teacher Huang, Li Niangniang… As Huá Sāng listened, her eyes reddened, her little face flushed, and she shouted loudly, “I don’t want to hear it, you’re making things up, you’re making things up!”

Just a few days ago, Teacher Huang had come to see her, bringing her textbooks. Yesterday, Li Niangniang from the tea shop had come too, bringing her a big bowl of tea eggs, so fragrant.

Hearing the news of their deaths, realizing she’d never see them again, Huá Sāng’s chest suddenly felt as if something had stabbed it, aching faintly.

A sudden gust of wind rustled the bamboo leaves, and just then, some child shouted, “The Water Ghost is coming!”

So, amid strange cries, the children scattered in all directions.

While other kids her age still didn’t really understand life and death, could still laugh and eat at banquets–

Young Huá Sāng already vaguely understood what death meant for a person.

Dead meant there was no longer that person in the world, never to be seen again.

She didn’t know if that was lucky or unlucky.

Listening to the gradually fading noise outside the window, Huá Sāng leaned against the wall, hugging her knees with her small hands, pouting in grievance, tears swirling in her eyes. She tried hard to hold them back, but the faint sobs escaping her lips were penetrating, echoing in the empty little building.

A long time passed.

Once her emotions calmed a bit, Huá Sāng quietly went downstairs, disregarding Grandma’s instructions, left the house, and headed toward Teacher Huang’s home.

It was the first time in her life she’d disobeyed Grandma, but she didn’t believe–or didn’t want to believe–what Qiangwa and Ximei had said. She had to see for herself.

Walking along the winding, peaceful village paths, her heart thumped wildly, as if it might leap out of her small body.

——–

On the dilapidated rooftop, heavy rain began to fall again.

Lu Yibei held a broken umbrella, shielding herself and Qing Ji’s head. Hearing this part, her expression changed, and she slapped her thigh, saying, “Damn it, isn’t this naughty kid messing things up? Now it’s all going wrong!”

As she spoke, she heard a girl’s voice come from Qing Ji’s mouth: “Heh, never thought my first time disobeying would lead to something like that…”

“I kept thinking afterward, if I’d listened to Grandma that day, would nothing have happened?”

Lu Yibei, “……”

She had no way to answer that question.

——–

After crossing most of the village, she saw Teacher Huang’s small courtyard at the foot of the mountain, beside the creek. From far away, she could see the memorial altar set up in front of the courtyard and hear the mournful music drifting from inside.

White, flowered soul banners hung limp under the scorching sun, drooping listlessly. The village adults gathered on the open ground outside the memorial altar, intentionally or unintentionally keeping their distance, all with grave expressions, occasionally discussing something in low voices.

“What do you think happened to Teacher Huang? Such a strange way to die.”

“You’re asking me? How would I know? Even the police came and didn’t find anything.”

“Could it really be the Water Ghost?”

“……”

Huá Sāng knew the village had rules–children weren’t allowed near the memorial altar–so she hid herself among the thick wild grass by the creek and quietly slipped behind the altar.

She lay on the roof of the altar, timidly poking half her head through a gap, and saw Teacher Huang lying in the ice coffin.

Seeing that highly decayed corpse, Huá Sāng’s mind buzzed blank, plunging into emptiness.

She couldn’t move, frozen there, body numb, hands and feet cold, until a wailing cry startled her awake.

“Oh heavens, child’s father, hurry up and come see, Qiangwa isn’t going to make it!”

A sturdy woman wailed on the open ground–that was Qiangwa’s mother.

Soon, Xiaopang Dun’er’s grandpa arrived, his face full of anger and grief, shouting, “My Pengwa is done for too, he’s lying at home right now, about to go!”

“I told you all long ago, someone in our village has provoked a Water Ghost, something big is going to happen, something big is going to happen!”

Teacher Huang, Li Niangniang, Qiangwa, Xiaopang Dun’er…

In just three or four days, four people–two dead, two gravely ill. For this tiny mountain village with barely a hundred households, it was as if the sky had fallen.

The open space in front of the memorial altar instantly descended into chaos, no one noticing Huá Sāng hiding behind the altar, stumbling home like a frightened little animal.

What was happening in the village was too strange, too bizarre, far beyond what Huá Sāng could comprehend. And the vague realization that these terrifying events might be connected to her made it even harder for her young heart to bear.

Back home, she darted straight into her room, curling up in the gap between the small window and the corner of the wall, shielding herself with a pillow, hiding away.

Without warning, the stifling air suddenly turned cool. Wind blew in from the mountains, the sky darkened, as if day had turned to night in an instant.

“Boom—-!”

A thunderclap shook the heavens and the earth, and then the torrential rain began.

Huá Sāng peeked out from behind her pillow, lifting her eyes to look outside the window.

The leaden clouds in the sky loomed like mountains, blocking out the light, pressing down so heavily it was hard to breathe. The vast mountains were dim and shadowy, water vapor thick in the air, as if lost in another world, blurry and unfamiliar.

The pounding rain drummed on every rooftop in the village, like a dying scream in its final moments.

Huá Sāng’s consciousness gradually grew hazy as she developed a high fever.

In a daze, she felt her body become weightless, floating up, drifting above the village.

The village was deathly silent, not a soul in sight. In the pouring rain, that towering beast walked through the empty village, its massive, oppressive shadow enveloping everything.

Lost in this grotesque and evil dream, a strange thought suddenly arose in her mind…

She was that giant beast.

——–

Grandma didn’t return home until the sky was completely dark.

When she got home and saw the house unlit, pitch black, she was startled. Before she could turn on the light, she anxiously called out.

“Sansang? Sansang! San…”

She had only called out two or three times when she heard a faint rustling from upstairs, and her voice abruptly stopped.

She hurried upstairs, turned on the light, and saw Huá Sāng curled up in the gap by the bed.

Hearing the sound, Huá Sāng slowly woke, struggling to open her eyes. When she saw it was Grandma, her eyes instantly reddened and she began to sob softly.

“Grandma, Grandma, are you… are you going to abandon Sansang…”

At these words, Grandma stepped forward, gently touched Huá Sāng’s forehead, and her expression changed dramatically, as if she had discovered something terrible, her clouded eyes trembling.

She steadied herself, forced down her fear, and stroked Huá Sāng’s head with a face full of heartache, speaking softly, “There, there, Sansang, be good. Grandma won’t go out these days, I’ll stay home with you, I’ll stay home with you…”

While softly comforting Huá Sāng, Grandma fetched cool water to wipe her down and bring down her fever, carried her onto the bed, then sat at the bedside and began to hum a lullaby.

“The moon is bright, the wind is still, tree shadows shade the window lattice. Crickets chirp and chirp, like the sound of zither strings, the zither plays softly, the melody is sweet, the cradle gently sways…”

That lullaby was the one Grandma had sung to Huá Sāng since she was little, every time she cried.

With the gentle song and the patter of rain, she drifted off to sleep, a faint smile on her small face…

——–

In front of Yanzhi Restaurant.

Qing Ji seemed to sober up, staring blankly at Huá Sāng. After a long silence, he poured her a cup of wine and said quietly, “I guess, that night, something big happened in the village, right?”

He had originally wanted to ask, “Did everyone in the village die?” but, considering Huá Sāng’s feelings, he chose this more tactful way.

Actually, when Huá Sāng mentioned Teacher Huang’s unexpected death, he had already guessed that it was the Night Corrosion leaking from Huá Sāng’s out-of-control Spirit Pattern that caused it.

And when Huá Sāng said she had ignored her grandma’s warnings and snuck across most of the village to Teacher Huang’s memorial altar, Qing Ji knew something terrible was about to happen.

Given what Qing Ji knew about Huá Sāng’s condition, such an act would have left a certain level of Night Corrosion in the places she passed, enough to make the weak fall ill, or even die.

“Mm.” Huá Sāng nodded, her brows lowered. “That night, people died. Seventeen people died.”

“In the following day or two, you could hear funeral music at any time, the air was thick with the mixed smell of incense candles and blood, and sitting in the yard, you could often see yellow paper drifting overhead. The whole village was shrouded in an ominous atmosphere.”

“The epidemic station people came more than ten times, taking samples and investigating the cause of death. Then one day, they suddenly stopped coming. Everyone panicked, thinking they’d been abandoned, and then…”

“Somehow, the villagers guessed the problem was with me. They braved the rain at night, carrying hoes and sickles, surrounded my house, demanding an explanation from my grandma. Even Grandpa Village Chief couldn’t stop them.”

“What did they do to you?” Qing Ji asked cautiously.

The usually kind and friendly villagers had suddenly turned into crazed beasts. For a little girl to face that, she must have been terrified, Qing Ji thought.

In a frenzy, with reason lost, those people were capable of anything.

“They…” Huá Sāng took the wine cup Qing Ji handed her, her pupils dull, eyes unfocused. After a long, long silence, she finally said slowly, “They didn’t do anything…”

Qing Ji frowned, a trace of doubt in his eyes, then as if realizing something, his pupils contracted slightly.

If the villagers did nothing, then it must have been her who did something…

Early in the morning, the rain that had fallen all night finally stopped.

In the bamboo grove behind the small building, droplets of water on the bamboo leaves were crystal clear, quietly sliding from the edges, falling down, and, because of the wind, traced beautiful arcs through the air.

The damp, icy chill and the unbearable stench in the wind woke Huá Sāng from her sleep.

She opened her eyes, lying motionless on the bed, feeling her body heavy, as if something was pressing down on her.

Outside the window was dead silent, only the faint sound of water droplets falling from one bamboo leaf onto another could be heard.

Usually at this time, the villagers would already be up, but today it was unusually quiet.

The morning crow of roosters, barking of dogs, the cries of children unwilling to go to school, the chattering of aunties heading to the tea mountain for work… all the familiar sounds had vanished.

And as the morning breeze blew in, there was also a faint, unbearable stench.

She struggled to crawl to the edge of the bed and shouted downstairs a few times, “Grandma!” but received no response.

She vaguely sensed something was wrong, so she climbed out of bed and headed downstairs.

However, it was only after getting out of bed that she realized her body was so heavy, as if every inch of her bones was filled with lead. Every step seemed to drain all her strength.

From her room on the second floor to the courtyard, Huá Sāng took about half an hour, stopping and starting along the way. By the time she reached the courtyard, she was drenched in cold sweat, her little face pale.

And when she looked through the half-open main gate and saw the scene on the drying ground in front of the courtyard, all color drained from her face, her lips trembled, her pupils shrank to a dot, and her small hands, as if unaware of pain, gripped the doorframe tightly until her knuckles turned white.

On that flat ground, dozens of villagers, men and women, young and old, all holding farm tools, lay on the ground, their bodies stiff, skin exposed under their clothes covered in blisters and rashes, flesh highly decayed, flies and mosquitoes swarming, the stench overwhelming.

Seeing that scene, she wanted to run, but her body grew heavier and heavier, as if something was pressing down on her, her joints and bones making a series of teeth-grinding noises.

Finally, her emotions burst forth like a flood breaking through a dam. She covered her eyes and, unable to control herself, wailed in terror.

“Waaaah—-!”

Her cries echoed over the deathly still village, spreading far and wide, filled with despair.

At that moment, a faint, intermittent humming drifted into Huá Sāng’s ears, and her crying stopped abruptly.

“The moon… the moon is bright, the wind is still… the shadows of trees… shade the window lattice…”

Grandma’s low singing voice floated through the misty village. With tears still on her face, Huá Sāng looked around in confusion, shouting, “Grandma, Grandma, where are you?!”

Her call received no answer.

Then, she didn’t know where a surge of strength came from. Bearing the invisible weight on her body, she rushed out of the small courtyard and ran toward the piles of corpses, searching through them one by one…

——–

At the wine table in front of Yanzhi Restaurant, the cup in front of Huá Sāng had been empty for a long time.

Qing Ji quietly watched her, not asking whether she had found her grandmother in the end. After a long silence, he changed the subject and asked, “So how did you end up at the Great Pure Palace?”

“Because of a man.”

“A man?” Qing Ji frowned. “Was he a disciple of the Great Pure Palace?”

Huá Sāng shook her head.

——–

In a single night, everyone in the village died, a total of 283 people, all dying miserably. Even the livestock raised by the villagers were not spared–truly not a chicken or dog left.

Those who were eroded by the night and contracted acute Nocturnal Syndrome had corpses so disfigured they were completely unrecognizable.

And Huá Sāng, being young and physically weak, coupled with that invisible pressure, the sudden burst of strength she had did not last long before it was exhausted.

She collapsed to the ground, which was covered in foul, sticky water, piles of corpses right beside her.

Fear, cold, exhaustion… caused Huá Sāng’s consciousness to gradually fade.

In a daze, she saw wisps of black mist drifting from the corpses, turning into clawing ghostly shadows, then gathering together to form a gigantic monster, step by step approaching her.

Carrying a gloomy, savage aura and a suffocating oppression.

As if it was about to come over and crush her body.

At that moment, a tall man in white walked over from afar, squatted beside her, touched her forehead, and said, “Little one, finally found you. Sorry, I’m late.”

“Don’t… don’t touch me, you’ll…”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” the man said gently. “Little one, your name is Huá Sāng, right? Are you willing to come with me?”

“…” Huá Sāng was silent and shook her head.

She only wanted to stay with her grandma.

She always felt her grandma was still in the village, maybe even that corpse with the completely ruined face right beside her.

“This puts me in a tough spot!” The man gave a wry smile. “Taking you to a magical place to cure your illness and help you grow up healthy was something your grandma entrusted me with before she died!”

“Where is my grandma?” Huá Sāng asked anxiously.

“She… she went to a place very, very far away. When you grow up, she will…”

“Died?” Huá Sāng said flatly.

“Tsk!” The man clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I really can’t stand precocious kids like you… So, are you willing to come with me?”

Huá Sāng hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

So, she followed that man, climbed Zhenwu Mountain, and entered the Great Pure Palace.