Chapter 1

I was born on August 20, 1986, which happened to be the 15th day of the seventh month in the lunar calendar.

China has four Ghost Festivals: the third day of the third month, Qingming Festival, the 15th day of the seventh month, and the first day of the tenth month. Qingming Festival and the first day of the tenth month are for tomb sweeping and ancestor worship, expressing respect and remembrance. The third day of the third month is popular in the Jianghuai and Jiangnan regions, with the legend that ghosts appear on this day. However, the 15th day of the seventh month (or the 14th in some places) is when the six paths open, the ghost gate opens, and wandering spirits roam, making it the day with the strongest yin energy.

Of course, these are all folk legends and don't necessarily have to be believed. However, this day is not only a folk Ghost Festival but also the Daoist Zhongyuan Festival and the Buddhist Ullambana Festival, so it is indeed special.

I started school early and was only sixteen when I graduated from high school, one to two years younger than my classmates. This wasn't because I was precocious but because in remote areas, the number of students in primary schools was small, and the age for starting school wasn't strictly enforced. This also meant that I was still naive when I took the college entrance exam and ended up failing, entering society early.

I started working in 2002. Living away from home, I felt like a floating weed, drifting from place to place. Over seven years, I lived in many places: Yiwu in Zhejiang, Foshan, Zhongshan, Dongguan, Zhuhai, and Shenzhen in Guangdong. I worked as a factory worker, a team leader, a deputy manager, sold fruits from a street stall, worked as a chef in a Western pizza restaurant, and did some time as a rebar worker on construction sites. I also worked as an insurance agent, a salesperson, and a furniture seller. In 2005, I was even tricked by a fellow townsman into joining a pyramid scheme in Hefei for a month.

At my poorest, I ate only two steamed buns over three days. At my wealthiest, I owned two houses and a car in Dongguan city.

People who stay in one place and in a small circle have no stories, only desires. But someone who has long wandered in a foreign land and seen the myriad aspects of life has many stories to tell. For example, the popular romantic encounters, the dark side of society, various strange people and events, and even the sexual culture in Dongguan (the movie "Journey to the West" is now very popular, but many of the things in it are based on real-life experiences, and many scenes are quite realistic).

There are many stories worth telling, but I will start with a turning point in my life.

At the end of August 2007, my grandmother fell seriously ill.

I was running a jewelry store in partnership with someone in Dongguan when I received the news and immediately returned home. By then, I already had my own car, a blue Passat. However, because I was not familiar with the roads, I took a long-distance sleeper bus to our county. I didn't realize at the time that this would lead me down a completely different path in life.

My hometown is in the southwestern region, a minority area bordering Xiangxi, the gateway to the Ten Thousand Mountains.

When it comes to Xiangxi, some people think of Mr. Shen Congwen's "Border Town" and the ancient city of Phoenix, some think of Huaihua, a transportation hub connecting the north and south, and of course, some think of the Xiangxi corpse walkers, witchcraft, and bandits.

In terms of region, our area is also part of the cultural and folkloric sphere of Xiangxi.

For example, bandits. Those who have seen "The Bandits of Xiangxi" might imagine our area: poor mountains, harsh waters, and unruly people. Mainly, the mountains are high and the roads are dangerous, with poor transportation and a large population but little land, making it very poor. Before liberation, many mountain dwellers would work the land and tend to livestock during the day with hoes and sickles, and at night, they would sharpen their knives and go out to rob.

They were farmers who dug for a living and couldn't be provoked into a fight, but when robbing, they were little devils of the underworld.

This was a profession and a habit.

This was a profession and a habit.

Another example is witchcraft. Some say it's feudal superstition. Fine, let's call it that. Before I was 22, like many comrades who received education from the party and state, I was a materialist and didn't believe in ghosts, zombies, or other strange and bizarre things.

Although there were many such legends in my family, and although my grandmother was a witch.

In the ignorant old China, especially in remote areas, many people were uneducated, and the controllers and disseminators of knowledge were often religious figures, such as Daoists, Buddhists, shamans, and many other primitive religions of minority groups. My grandmother was a shaman in the Miao village.

Miao witchcraft combines many elements of magic, traditional Chinese medicine, and witch medicine, with both practical and mysterious aspects. The most criticized aspect is the drinking of talisman water, where a special yellow paper is used to write with a mixture of chicken blood, cinnabar, rice water, and other substances, then burned, and the remaining ash is mixed with water to drink.

In my memory, my grandmother was a thin, small old lady, not given to smiling, with a nose like a hawk's beak, no teeth, and a sunken face. She is now over 80 years old and has lived in the Miao village all her life, specializing in fortune-telling, healing, exorcism, and geomancy. The neighbors in the surrounding areas respect her greatly.

My mother told me that my grandmother had cancer, late-stage stomach cancer, and there was no cure.

The sleeper bus arrived in the county at 7 PM. In this remote small county, there are no buses, and the last minibus from the town to the county leaves at 5:30 PM. I urgently found a dilapidated taxi, and after haggling with the driver, I finally arrived at the town where my home is located two hours later.

No one came to pick me up, so I went home by myself. The last time I came home was in early 2005 when I had just escaped from a pyramid scheme in Hefei. Two years had passed, and I had gone from a penniless young man to someone with a modest fortune.

My mother took my luggage and told me that my grandmother wasn't there; she had returned to Dunzhai.

She said she wanted to die in Dunzhai, the land where she had lived for 86 years, where the well water is sweet, the rice is fragrant, and even the wind carries the scent of rapeseed flowers.

My mother has two younger sisters and a younger brother; she is the eldest. My grandfather died early, during the Cultural Revolution. My grandmother wasn't good at household management, so my older mother had to work harder. Later, when my two aunts got married and my younger uncle grew up, they moved to the town with my father and started a small business.

In recent years, my younger uncle struck gold and moved to the city.

My grandmother refused to leave and lived alone in the Miao village called Dunzhai. She was always in good health, and the villagers helped take care of her, so there was no need to worry. I didn't expect her to fall ill, and with stomach cancer, it was a terminal illness.

The next morning, my mother and I went to Dunzhai.

The road used to be a muddy mountain path, but a road was built in 2004. I hired a minivan, and after a bumpy ride of about half an hour, we finally arrived at Dunzhai. Before entering the village, I saw the huge old locust tree, the drum tower, the rice drying field, and the temple at the end of the village.

I carried some gifts and followed my mother into the village. The road was muddy, and the dry weather made dust rise. People kept greeting my mother, who responded with a worried face, her mind heavy with thoughts.

I saw my grandmother again, and at that moment, her life was in its final stages.

Many people were gathered in the old house. Except for my younger aunt who was far away in Karamay, Xinjiang, most of the relatives had returned. I saw my second aunt, my younger uncle, and several cousins, as well as other relatives. My grandmother was lying in a bedroom away from the sun. When I entered, I smelled a musty odor. My heart ached; my grandmother was a clean person, but she was old.

My mother said, "Mom, Lu Zuo has come to see you!"

In the yellowed bed, an old lady lay, her hair snow-white, her skin like aged tree bark, her face covered in dark yellow age spots, her eyes lifeless, and saliva drooling from her crooked mouth. Her mind was completely unclear. This was my grandmother, an old woman nearing death.

I held her hand, which was like a chicken claw, and she had no reaction. After a while, she glanced at me and fell asleep again.

My mother said, "She can't recognize people anymore." She shook her head and sighed.

I stayed in Dunzhai for two days, and my grandmother remained in a daze, never waking up. The relatives were discussing whether to send her to the city hospital for treatment, but they couldn't reach a consensus. My younger uncle said we should respect her wishes and not move her, as his family's financial situation was not good, and they had already spent a lot of money on her illness.

At this moment, my cousin, who was taking care of my grandmother, ran to the hall and said that my grandmother was awake and wanted us to come over.

"Are you Lu Zuo?" my grandmother asked, her eyes dim as she lay in bed. I nodded, and she asked, "When were you born?" My mother interjected, "A Zuo was born in 1986, he's 21 now." My grandmother shook her head with difficulty and asked, "When were you born... the month?"

"August 20, the 15th day of the seventh month in the lunar calendar," I said.

Suddenly, my grandmother's eyes brightened. She started coughing loudly, and it seemed she had phlegm in her chest. I helped her pat her back, and after a few minutes, she finally spat out a thick, black phlegm. Then she raised her head and said, "Master, you have finally come."

My grandmother suddenly became much more energetic and could even get out of bed. She instructed my younger uncle to dig up a small clay jar from behind the house. The jar's mouth was sealed with thick oiled paper used for umbrellas. Along with the jar, a wooden box was unearthed, containing a thick, yellowed, bound book.

My grandmother pushed away her daughter, who was supporting her, and shakily walked to the low coffee table where the clay jar was placed. She mumbled in Miao, her hands trembling. After about ten minutes, she suddenly lifted the oiled paper.

Inside, it was dark, and after a while, a golden silkworm pupa crawled out.

The silkworm pupa was fat and fleshy, about the size of an adult's thumb, with eyes that had degenerated into black dots. Its plump body had dozens of legs, and two pairs of paper-thin wings were attached. I stared at the black dots on its head, feeling no sense of cuteness but rather a strange, eerie glow.

My grandmother continued to mumble in Miao, which I couldn't understand.

Suddenly, her hand pointed at me.

The silkworm pupa turned into a golden thread and, amidst the gasps of those around, suddenly entered my mouth.

My throat felt cold, and I felt something slide down my throat and into my stomach.

Then a foul smell rose in my esophagus, and I suddenly found it very difficult to breathe, as if my lungs were being devoured. It felt like a part of my heart was missing, and my body had gained a new organ. As the foul smell intensified, a wave of nausea overwhelmed my thoughts, and I felt a tingling sensation on my scalp before fainting.

My grandmother died the day after she woke up.

She passed away peacefully, holding my hand and telling me many things. She said that what she had given me was called the Golden Silkworm Gu, the king of gu, which could extend life and strengthen the body, with many other uses. However, because it had stayed in the gu box for too long, it was toxic. On the first and 15th day of each month, at midnight, the toxins would cause excruciating pain. To detoxify, I needed to eat the hat grass of the dwarf horse.

My grandmother also told me that the Golden Silkworm Gu was alive, and if I couldn't subdue it within a year, I would surely die. "If you don't have the fate to enjoy the Golden Silkworm Gu, come down and keep me company." Besides the Golden Silkworm Gu, my grandmother left me a book called "The Twelve Methods of Suppressing the Mountains," a tattered handwritten book.