Chapter Sixty-Two: Another Secret

On nights like this, the crimson light from the red lanterns at the entrance of the Chen family ancestral hall cast an eerie glow upon the group of paper figures. The scene was so unsettling that I could barely stand upright. Glancing back at Chen Dongfang, I saw that he too was tense, his gaze fixed intently on the slowly approaching procession of paper men, paper horses, and the stone coffin. Even the blind monk, usually so carefree, wore a grave expression.

My heart was pounding, nearly leaping out of my chest, when suddenly a hand gripped my shoulder. Turning, I saw it was Chen Dongfang. He nodded at me, his voice barely audible. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, reminiscent of a skilled masseur, and it seemed to dispel my fear, bringing a calm over me.

At that moment, the paper men, leading the paper horses and cart, finally stopped before the ancestral hall. The figures moved with uncanny realism, parking the paper cart. Then one pushed open the ancestral hall’s door and entered. Not long after, a few paper men emerged, carrying a person—the third grandfather, dressed in burial robes.

Li Qing made to act, but Chen Dongfang blocked him with a hand, shaking his head and whispering, “Don’t move.”

After carrying out the third grandfather, two paper men climbed onto the paper cart, opened the stone coffin, and placed his body inside. The lid was replaced, and then the figures gathered the reins, turned the horses, and gradually faded from our sight.

Only when the paper procession vanished did I exhale deeply, nearly collapsing to the ground. Chen Dongfang was drenched in sweat; he took out cigarettes, handing one each to Li Qing and me. We lit up, though Li Qing merely held his beneath his nose, sniffing but not smoking.

I wanted to ask what had happened, but lacked the strength to speak. The three of us sat in silence for nearly ten minutes before Chen Dongfang stood and said, “Come, let’s talk inside the ancestral hall.”

My legs were still weak, so Li Qing supported me as we entered. As expected, where the third grandfather’s body had rested, only a blanket remained; the corpse was gone. My last shred of hope faded. I had thought perhaps the paper men had taken only his soul, not his flesh.

Chen Dongfang’s expression was grim, but he managed a bitter smile. “Now you understand the horror, don’t you? This is why I refused to get involved with the affairs of Fudigou. It’s too complicated.”

I nodded, asking, “Is this what my brother meant by helping tonight?”

Chen Dongfang nodded. “Yes. He wanted to help me stop the ones who would take the body, but I dared not do it.”

The truth was now apparent. It explained why Chen Dongfang had insisted the body not be cremated before his return, and why his expression had been so strange when I delivered my brother’s message. He must have wondered how my brother knew about this. Yet I couldn’t understand why, if Chen Dongfang knew the paper men and horses would come for the body, he did not try to stop them. Knowing my brother as I do, he never acts without assurance; if he intended to stop them, he would surely succeed.

Chen Dongfang seemed to read my thoughts. He gazed at the ancestral tablets within the spiritual alcove and spoke softly, “Yezi, you must wonder why I didn’t intervene, and what all this means. I hadn’t planned to tell you, but I don’t know how your brother Sun Zhongmou knows so much about the Chen family. I believed this was a secret even deeper than the Dragon Head Stele, but I’ve decided to let you witness it. This may be the last thing I can do for you before I leave. Your third grandfather is gone; I will not return to Fudigou again.”

He placed incense before the ancestral tablets, settled on a cushion, lit a cigarette, and spoke quietly. “This is the curse of the Chen family patriarchs who guard the Dragon Head Stele.”

According to Chen Dongfang, Fudigou was not originally a village, but a place where the Chen ancestors settled centuries ago specifically to safeguard the Dragon Head Stele. Whether the stele was erected by a powerful ancestor or the Chen family was merely its guardian is lost to history, perhaps hidden among the secrets known to Chen Shitou.

From that time on, every Chen patriarch who guarded the place suffered this calamity after death. The title of patriarch was hereditary, so this lineage referred specifically to the third grandfather’s branch. On the third night after the patriarch’s death, paper men and horses would arrive with a stone coffin to take the body. No one knows where they come from, nor where the body is taken.

No patriarch has ever escaped this fate.

Attempts have been made to stop it, but none succeeded. Most so-called geomancers and occultists today are frauds, but in the old days, there were true masters; the Chen family hired several, some of great power, but not one could prevent it.

When Chen Dongfang reached this point, I asked, “Has no one ever managed to block the paper men, horses, and stone coffin?”

He shook his head. “It’s not that no one managed, but the outcome was always the same—or worse. Your third grandfather once told me about a particularly skilled geomancer who, at the Chen family’s request, set up a profound Daoist array in the ancestral hall months in advance. On the third night, the paper men and horses were indeed blocked, and the stone coffin retained. But on the fourth night…”

He paused, lips pale, then gritted his teeth and continued, “On the fourth night, a troop of headless ghost soldiers arrived. Dead bodies, all without heads, impervious to weapons and formidable in battle. The geomancer realized he had caused disaster and, to spare the Chen family, confronted the ghost soldiers alone with the patriarch’s body. He was torn to pieces, and the body and stone coffin were carried off by the ghost soldiers. So you see why I dare not intervene. Even with your brother, Li Qing, and myself, stopping the paper men and horses would be easy—but what would come next? Ghost soldiers. Even if we somehow defeated them, what would come on the fifth night?”

I opened my mouth, but bitterness made me mute.

“Now that there’s no more Chen patriarch, does this still happen?” I asked.

Chen Dongfang smiled bitterly. “Your third grandfather is no longer the patriarch, but it makes no difference. Now the patriarchal line falls to me; by ancient custom, I would succeed as patriarch. So after my uncle’s death, this will happen to me as well. Even hiding in Shanghai won’t help.”

“What is this thing?” I asked.

“I don’t know. As someone destined to face this calamity, I truly hope your brother can solve the riddle of the Twelve Ghost Caves. But as your uncle, I don’t want you drawn into this.”

I looked at him, at a loss for words or comfort for this man who had proved himself so strong.

“But once caught up in this, no one escapes. None meet a good end. That’s fate.” Chen Dongfang’s eyes reddened as he spoke. Then he stood. “Come, let’s seal the coffin at home. Tomorrow morning we’ll bury it. Yezi, you must wonder how the Chen patriarchs have been buried over the generations. In truth, it’s just a memorial mound. Not unwilling—there simply is no body to bury.”