Chapter Fourteen: The Legend of the Wooden Cabin

Li Village had a unique tradition: every household with elderly members would prepare a coffin for themselves before passing, and not only was the coffin made of superior material, it would also be stored in a separate wooden house, commonly referred to as the Ancestral House.

The villagers were not wealthy, and the ancestral house was usually an old, abandoned dwelling, one formerly inhabited by previous generations and left standing, unused and undemolished.

These wooden houses were unique to Li Village; no one quite knew when the custom had begun, for the other three villages around Luoshui Lake had nothing of the sort. Every outsider who came to Li Village found the wooden houses mysterious, and the locals themselves regarded them with awe.

Part of this was because the wooden houses were dark, damp, kept shut all year, and held coffins—enough to deter anyone from approaching. The other reason lay in the abundance of chilling ghost stories passed down through generations, tales that circulated among old folk and children alike. Most adults did not actually believe these tales, but for certain tacit reasons, they never openly debunked them. Perhaps this too was a way of protecting their most valuable family property—many elders spent their life savings to prepare a coffin—against thieves.

Among all the ghost stories, one legend stood out for its longevity and wide reach, to the point that most people could no longer distinguish fact from fiction. Gradually, it became a vivid prophecy in Li Village, grand and supernatural:

It was said that every sixty years—a full cycle of the Chinese zodiac—a forebear with the gift of Second Sight would descend upon the wooden houses. In the dead of night, this ancestor would inspect every house, investigating whether any descendants had committed grave acts of impiety, and would mete out punishment according to the severity of their misdeeds.

For minor offenses, there would be warnings, urging timely correction or compensation; for greater but not mortal wrongs, strange occurrences would befall the family as a sign of retribution. For the gravest sins, however, the head of the household would be cursed, suffering the wrath of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. The luckier might survive, but the unworthy would often pay with their lives.

Though minor warnings and punishments were said to have happened, calamities involving the five elements had never actually been witnessed, and no one could specify any details.

Remarkably, this absurd legend had been preserved in its entirety in the Li family genealogy, as an appendix. No one knew which ancestor had been so mischievous as to record it, but it specifically mentioned one unforgivable offense: disrespecting the ancestral hall.

The ancestral hall referred specifically to that of the Li family, not to all ancestral halls.

It was for this reason that the person in charge of the ancestral hall naturally became the highest authority in Li Village. In modern times, an official position of village party secretary existed, but this did not diminish Li Qisi’s weighty role as the custodian of the ancestral hall. First, the secretary’s post covered all of Luoshui Village, while Li Village itself was only a natural village with a group leader. Second, every party secretary had been a native of Luoshui, familiar with Li Village’s customs, and as long as overall administration was unaffected, there was no need to undermine the clan chief’s authority. Third, every secretary was a junior to the clan chief, and in this remote, tradition-bound mountain village, no one dared challenge the natural order of seniority.

With the passage of time, the legend had become a subject of ridicule among the young, though the older generation still believed it steadfastly.

Better to believe than to doubt, they said; to avoid calamity for one's descendants, it was best to accumulate hidden virtue and never challenge the wrath of heaven.

---

Li Yiting did not believe in the legend, though he had grown up hearing it. When he recounted the story to his friends from Beiting, everyone burst out laughing.

Liu Zichen managed to stifle her laughter with a hand, but Shen Mingyue let herself go, her laughter ringing through the house and out into the yard.

Yiting cleared his throat awkwardly and shot Shen Mingyue a look of annoyance, but she seemed not to notice, continuing to giggle foolishly.

“Laugh all you want, but I’m warning you, when my dad gets home you’d better show some respect…” Yiting said helplessly. Along their journey, Beiting had debunked many local legends, so he himself was not easily convinced. Yet back home, everyone inevitably made certain mistakes without realizing it.

Just as he finished speaking, his mother walked in, smiling gently. “What are you young people so happy about?”

No one answered; even Shen Mingyue pressed her lips together to hold it in.

Yiting forced a smile. “Just chatting, that’s all. They don’t know our ways here.”

His mother looked at them kindly. “Don’t try to fool me, I heard everything… The things you’re talking about are all just tales to scare children, nothing more.”

Liu Zichen chimed in, “Don’t worry, Auntie. We’re just listening for fun, nobody really believes it.”

“That’s good,” his mother nodded, saying no more as she busied herself with chores.

She had just returned from Uncle San’s house, where she had helped prepare food for the funeral. She was now back to feed their guests. Suddenly, she remembered something. “Ting, your dad can’t get away—keep an eye on things here…”

“I wanted to help out at Uncle San’s, but Dad wouldn’t let me,” Yiting replied.

His mother supported this. “Best listen to your father. It’s almost New Year’s, and you have guests. If you really want to go, wait until we leave the mountains to see your uncle off.”

She seemed to sigh, her voice barely audible. “People, after all, will grow old.”

They had been here for some time, yet this was the first time Yiting’s mother had spoken so wistfully, and the group felt an inexplicable ache in their hearts.

Birth, aging, sickness, and death—these were nothing unusual in a poor rural village.

Yiting took out a cigarette and smoked in silence for a long time before asking, “Mom, is Futang back?” Futang, of course, was Uncle San’s adopted son.

His mother nodded, her hands never pausing. Seeing this, Liu Zichen and Shen Mingyue stood up to help, and she smiled at them in thanks.

“These past years, Futang has done quite well for himself… I heard he’s bought a house and a car, and his child is seven or eight already.” Her tone was calm, betraying no particular emotion.

Yiting hesitated; if Futang was so successful, why had he paid so little attention to his own father? But reflecting on himself, he realized he was no better, and said nothing.

Chen Tianyu glanced at Yiting, seeming to understand his concern, then signaled with his eyes for Yiting to follow him out. The two left the kitchen and stood at the entrance to the living room.

Wan Yongkun stayed behind to feed the firewood, Kuang Suo tended the flames, both silent and unobtrusive. When they had nothing to do, they seemed even more ordinary than ordinary people.

Before Chen Tianyu could speak, Yiting asked, “Fourth Brother, was there something you wanted to say to me?”

Chen Tianyu nodded. “It’s nothing much, really. I just feel that since you came back this time, something seems off about you.”

“Really?... So that’s why you stopped me from investigating yesterday?” Yiting asked in surprise.

Chen Tianyu shook his head and sighed. “I stopped you because the scene had already been cleaned up, and then tampered with again. There was no point in wasting energy…”

Yiting was taken aback, then quickly caught on. “Is that so?”

“I’m not entirely certain. But the fact that you didn’t notice the inconsistencies worried me,” Chen said meaningfully.

He went on, “I just felt that guest room was far too clean, not at all like a place someone had been living in.”

Yiting instinctively stroked his chin, then said after a pause, “Perhaps those were just the conditions available at the temple…”

Chen Tianyu neither agreed nor disagreed, laughing lightly. “You’re right, I’ve never actually been in a temple guest room, so it’s only an impression.”

Yiting replied calmly, “If I recall, your instincts are usually quite accurate. I trust that this time—”

To his surprise, Chen shook his head. “I’m not familiar with things here. My intuition could be off, or just a case of habitual thinking.”

Yiting nodded and fell silent, clearly lost in thought. After a long while, he spoke: “Over thirty years ago, Uncle San became a temple caretaker. When I was little, I visited his guest room—though my memory is fuzzy, I recall it was extremely bare, almost empty…”

Chen nodded in understanding. “Let’s hope that’s all it is. We shouldn’t speculate blindly—guesswork is the worst mistake. If there’s a chance, we can ask about it privately.”

Yiting nodded. “I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

Chen sighed inexplicably. “We’re all a bit obsessive. Don’t let it bother you.”

Yiting smiled. “In this line of work, if even we stop questioning, who else will pay attention?”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Chen said, suddenly recalling something. “Does mercury poisoning from cinnabar cause the body to turn red?”

“Cinnabar is mostly mercury sulfide, with traces of other heavy metals. Overdosing is certainly toxic, but as for turning the skin red…” Yiting was unsure.

Chen did not pursue it. “I’ll ask Jingnan about it later.”

Yiting couldn’t help but ask, “If there really is a murderer, what’s the motive?” He had struck at the heart of the matter.

“Exactly,” Chen replied. “I urged you to wait and watch precisely because of that. It would be best if there was no culprit. But if there is, we can’t reveal our identities too soon, or the killer only needs to wait until we leave before acting again, with unimaginable consequences.”

After all, Beiting were merely temporary visitors in Luoshui Village; no matter how skilled, their reach was limited.

“I see what you mean…” Yiting said. “Let’s hope it was just an accident.”

The two said nothing more. After finishing their cigarettes, it was time to eat.

---

Li Qihuai returned home in silence.

He had led the group in changing Third Brother’s burial clothes, and even after the change, the body remained bright red, showing no sign of fading.

He lacked much medical knowledge; what circled in his mind were the rumors of heavenly fire consuming the body.

Since returning to the village, these stories seemed to multiply, for Li Village was the true birthplace of the legend, and the six Li brothers, across two or three generations, had all been affected to some degree.

The only exception was Li Fuqi, who had lost his father early. With his education and experience, he was a staunch atheist, and it was already generous of him not to openly refute these customs.

In Luoshui Village, earth burials were still the norm; the government’s cremation policy remained at the stage of public advocacy. When Li Qiwen passed away, not a single person in the village requested cremation.

So, after discussion, they decided that Li Qiwen would be buried on the eve of the New Year, with the date set for the day before Lunar New Year’s Eve.

Eldest brother Li Qisi had said nothing definitive, but given his grave expression, he was clearly troubled in the same way as Li Qihuai.

Among the brothers, the legend of the five-element curse was more readily believed, and as head of the clan and keeper of the ancestral hall and genealogy, Li Qisi’s concerns were only magnified.

But the thing that Li Qihuai could not understand was this: Third Brother had worshipped the gods all his life. Would merely failing to guard a sacred statue, allowing a petty thief to take advantage, really warrant the ultimate punishment of heavenly fire?

And what about the thief? What fate awaited them?

Li Qihuai truly could not comprehend.

Thus, upon returning home that night, he remained lost in thought, barely communicating with his son or the Beiting guests.

Chen Tianyu caught Yiting’s eye, and Yiting, understanding, took the initiative to strike up a conversation with his father. His father was, after all, the last person to have seen Li Qiwen alive.

“Dad, please don’t be too upset…” Yiting did not know how to broach the subject, afraid of stirring up other emotions.

“We brothers are all getting old. Sooner or later, we must go,” Li Qihuai said, echoing his wife’s earlier sentiment. “But your third uncle never got a peaceful end… it leaves a bitter taste.”

Seeing Yiting remain silent, he continued, “Life and death are fated, really. Now that times are better, you all can develop in the city, and we’re content. The countryside is simply too backward.”

Yiting hesitated, unsure whether to mention his and Fourth Brother’s suspicions, but in the end, he asked obliquely, “Dad, has Uncle San always lived in the temple all these years?”

Li Qihuai replied without thinking, “Futang and your third uncle were never close. Futang went to the city as a child—it’s been over twenty years now. Your third uncle treated the Guanyin Temple as his own home… The Li family house hasn’t had a fire for a long time.”

“But Uncle San lived so simply at the temple—how did he manage?” Yiting asked in surprise.

“He never liked fuss. He was solitary by nature, spent most of his time practicing calligraphy. When I visited, he often said that the fewer worldly possessions, the better—preferably none at all,” Li Qihuai sighed. “I can’t understand it myself.”

A thought occurred to Yiting. “If that’s so, Uncle San must have saved quite a bit over the years, since he had no expenses. Did Futang still need his support?”

Li Qihuai shook his head. “Years ago, perhaps, but Futang is nearly forty, with a family of his own. He hasn’t needed your third uncle’s help in a long time.”

“With so much incense at the temple…” Yiting mused, “Uncle San must have left something behind.”

Li Qihuai sighed. “Your uncle thought the same and asked me to help clear out Third Brother’s belongings, to hand them to Futang—after all, he’s his only nominal heir.”

“Was there much?” Yiting asked with interest.

Li Qihuai shook his head again. “Only about ten thousand yuan. I have no idea where all his money went over the years. I just don’t get him.”

“Oh?” Yiting was genuinely surprised. “Perhaps he kept his money in the bank…”

His father chuckled. “Your third uncle had a peculiar habit—he never put money in the bank. He said cash in hand was the only security.”

“I see,” Yiting muttered. He had already formed an idea.

It seemed necessary to have a good talk with Uncle San’s disciple, Luo Ming. That would be much easier than probing his father.

So he dropped the matter, handed his father a cigarette, and the two of them smoked quietly at the door until his mother called them to dinner.