Chapter Thirty-Five: The Pine Slope Forest

In the county town of Husu, there lived a family by the name of Wen. The household consisted of three: the fifty-year-old patriarch, Old Wen, his son Wen Dalang, and Dalang’s wife, Madam Liang. The Wen family operated one of the few coffin shops in all of Husu County—a trade that brought considerable income, allowing them to live in relative comfort.

Wen Dalang and Madam Liang had been married for two years, their relationship always harmonious. The only thing that troubled Old Wen was his daughter-in-law’s persistent childlessness. Eager for a grandson, he would urge the couple to douse the lamps and retire early each night after supper.

That evening, having made their attempt at producing an heir, Dalang and Madam Liang lay together, talking softly. In the midst of their conversation, Dalang recounted the day’s events.

“Xiaohui, didn’t I go to He Village today to deliver a coffin? Guess who passed away there?”

“The eldest in He Village is Old Master He. Didn’t we consult him for a remedy about having children? It couldn’t be him, could it?”

“Not at all! Old Master He is still in good health! I knew you wouldn’t guess. I’ll tell you—it was one of Old He’s grandsons who died!”

“What? Old Master He’s grandson was so young. How could something happen to him?”

“That’s what makes it so strange. Otherwise, why would I mention it? People are saying he was killed by an evil spirit!”

“An evil spirit? Husband, don’t frighten me!”

“Why would I frighten you? Many in the He family saw it with their own eyes. Xiaohui, do you want to hear the details?”

“Yes—yes, I do,” Madam Liang replied, her voice trembling with both fear and curiosity.

Dalang proceeded to recount everything he had heard, especially the tale of the withered hand beneath He An’s bed, describing it with great vividness. Madam Liang, terrified, burrowed into his arms.

Dalang, delighted, comforted his wife for a long while until her fear subsided. Then, in a teasing tone, he said, “Xiaohui, I’m not quite satisfied yet. Shall we…”

“Mmm,” Madam Liang murmured, nodding shyly in his embrace.

“If you’re still afraid, why don’t we light the lamp? Since our marriage, I’ve never really seen you properly.”

“Mmm.”

Madam Liang had always been reserved; ever since their wedding, she had never allowed him to light the lamp, so Dalang had never enjoyed that particular delight. Tonight, by a little trick, he finally got his wish and was overjoyed. However, just as he lit the oil lamp and was about to admire his wife’s form, Madam Liang screamed in terror in his arms.

“Xiaohui, what’s wrong? The lamp’s on; what is there to fear?”

“Husband, a hand—a hand—”

“What hand? Aren’t my hands right here with you?”

Suddenly, Dalang felt a chill at his back and heard the grinding of teeth. Sensing something amiss, he quickly turned around—and his face drained of color.

“Father! Father!”

Old Wen was dreaming of holding his grandchild when suddenly he heard Dalang’s voice behind him. He turned with a start and saw Dalang, his face smeared with blood, wailing, “Father, my wife and I are about to be devoured by a ghost. I came to bid you farewell!”

The nightmare shook Old Wen awake. Drenched in cold sweat and deeply unsettled, he threw on a robe and hurried to his son’s room.

The lamp in Dalang’s chamber burned brightly. Old Wen, unsure of the situation and too embarrassed to barge in, poked a hole in the window paper and peered inside.

What he saw made his hair stand on end. Inside, crouched beside Dalang’s bed, was a monster as large as an ox, its head as massive as a bucket. Its body seemed wrapped in dried bark, its skin the color of upturned earth—dull and yellow. The creature, back to Old Wen, was hunched over, gnawing at something. The bed was soaked in blood, with several pale leg bones faintly visible.

Terror gripped Old Wen, but concern for his son’s safety overcame him. He was about to kick down the door when the creature, as if sensing his presence, abruptly turned and met his gaze through the window.

What shattered Old Wen’s soul was the sight of that withered, enormous hand clutching two half-eaten human heads—still recognizable as his son and daughter-in-law from the remaining features.

Old Wen wailed in anguish, wanting to fight the monster, but the creature’s face was even more terrifying. It had an indigo visage, crimson hair like steel needles, and a face resembling a skull barely covered in dried skin. Its eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, glowed with a cold, eerie light. Its teeth were razor-sharp and densely packed like two rows of steel saws. Its fingernails were long, sharp, and hooked like claws.

All courage deserted Old Wen at the sight. As the creature bared its fangs, clearly eyeing him next, he screamed and fled at once.

At dawn, the county magistrate’s office in Husu was alerted by the beating of the reporting drum. The murders at the Wen family coffin shop on the city’s east side alarmed Magistrate Cui Shen and his adviser Xie Ping.

The informant was Old Wen himself. Having witnessed his son and daughter-in-law’s deaths, he had hidden in a coffin in terror, emerging only after the third crow of the rooster to ensure his survival. Tearful and trembling, he recounted the night’s horrors, leaving both Cui Shen and Xie Ping deeply suspicious.

After Old Wen left, Cui Shen turned to Xie Qiao and asked, “Ziping, what do you make of this?”

“My lord, tales of evil spirits devouring people sound terrifying, but whether they are true requires careful investigation. On a darker note, it’s not impossible that Old Wen killed his own kin and blamed it on the supernatural. We must look into every detail before reaching any conclusion.”

Cui Shen nodded. “You’re right, Ziping. However, I’m preoccupied for now. I’ll have to entrust you with full responsibility for this case.”

Xie Ping noticed bloodshot eyes in Cui Shen. “My lord, what troubles you? You look exhausted.”

Cui Shen sighed. “Siniang is ill—gravely so. My wife said she has been unconscious with a high fever since returning from He Village yesterday. The physician found nothing amiss. My wife and I stayed by her side all night; we are utterly spent.”

Xie Ping was taken aback. “Siniang has always been healthy since she began martial training. How did she fall ill?”

“According to Wulang, she was frightened two nights ago in He Village. What’s more, a young woman who returned with them has vanished.”

“My lord, who is this woman?”

“My wife told me she came to Husu seeking relatives, but her kin were already gone. She was harassed by ruffians and rescued by Siniang. I haven’t met her, but I hear she’s gentle and well-liked by my wife and Siniang, so they took her in. Siniang even brought her to He Village, but upon their return, the woman was missing—quite a puzzle.”

Xie Ping listened in silent astonishment. Cui Shen then added, “Oh, I recall, Old Master He’s grandson also died two nights ago, reportedly by an evil spirit. The incident is similar to the Wen family case, though the He family hasn’t reported it. You should go to He Village and see if there’s any connection between the two.”

“Yes, my lord!” Xie Ping bowed and left the office.

In He Village, He An’s remains had already been laid to rest. As the county’s renowned physician, Old Master He’s sons had all inherited his profession. The family’s extensive connections drew many friends and relatives to attend He An’s funeral.

Zhou Hongxian mingled anonymously among the mourners. Listening to the somber music and watching the coming and going of guests, her face was clouded with melancholy—not for He An, but for Cui Yu. Her sorrow was deepened by exhaustion.

She had spent the previous night searching the entire He Village and its surroundings for Cui Yu’s soul. Afraid to overlook any corner, she dared not use her fox-magic to shrink distances, but instead scoured everywhere on foot, only to be left disappointed. With no other choice, she returned to Old Master He’s house, hoping she had missed something.

The funeral was still underway, but a dispute had broken out among the He family. He Ping, as He An’s father, wished to bury his son in the ancestral tomb. His brothers opposed him, fearing that such a violent and mysterious death would bring misfortune if He An was interred with the ancestors. They insisted on burying him in the Pine Slope Woods to the west of the village.

Pine Slope Woods was a notorious burial ground near He Village, a haunt of restless spirits where corpse lights were said to flicker at night. People hesitated to enter even in broad daylight. At the thought of burying his son there, He Ping could not agree, and so a fierce quarrel erupted among the brothers.

Zhou Hongxian paid little mind to their dispute, but when she heard the words “Pine Slope Woods,” her eyes lit up. She remembered that the woods lay between Husu county town and He Village, about ten miles from the latter. When she and Cui Yu had come to He Village, they had passed by the bamboo grove there. Cui Yu had joked, in a mock-ominous tone, that the place was haunted—stories she must have heard from others, as Zhou Hongxian had only smiled.

Now Zhou Hongxian realized that Cui Yu’s soul, seeking to return to Husu, might have strayed into Pine Slope Woods along the way, mistaking the ghostly scenery for the living world in the darkness. This thought rekindled her hope. Glancing at the sky, she reckoned it was about three or four in the afternoon. With winter’s early dusk, she resolved to set out at once for Pine Slope Woods.

Just then, a young man from He Village rushed over, reporting to Old Master He, “Sir, Master Xie from the magistrate’s office has arrived!”

Old Master He was taken aback, then quickly replied, “Invite him in at once!”

Outside, a man’s deep, resonant voice announced, “Old Master He, I fear I come uninvited. Please forgive me.”

Zhou Hongxian, lost in thought, left the house. She sensed several people brush past her, unseen by them and uncaring herself, drifting away like a breeze after they passed.

Of the two constables accompanying Xie Qiao, one shuddered and whispered, “Master Xie, the gloom here feels even heavier than at the Wen home. I felt a chill the moment I entered.”

Xie Qiao too noticed the breeze but pointed to the sky and chided, “Nonsense. It’s broad daylight—where would any chill come from?”

West of He Village, some ten miles away, lay Pine Slope Woods, tangled with weeds and dotted with abandoned graves, many without even a headstone. Zhou Hongxian stood alone among the wild grass and tombs. In the evening’s fading light, her graceful figure merged with the desolation, creating a lonely and eerie beauty.

Despite being a fox spirit, Zhou Hongxian was still, in essence, human in her previous life. To say she felt no fear in such surroundings would be a lie. She waited anxiously as the sun sank, and the world grew dark and sinister.

Soon, ghostly flames began to appear among the graves—some green, some white, some yellow—floating just above the ground, casting a ghastly light on Zhou Hongxian’s face. After a while, the flames settled and transformed into faint human shapes. As darkness deepened, these figures grew clearer, and the wild graves and tombs faded into the semblance of houses. Before Zhou Hongxian’s eyes, a ghostly town emerged, as if it were the world of the living.

Clenching her palm to steady herself, Zhou Hongxian relied on pain to stifle her fear. When her heart finally calmed, she surveyed the ghost town before her. She found herself standing at its entrance, beside a stone stele inscribed with three large characters: “Pine Slope Town.”