Those were the feet of an old lady.
In some backward, superstitious areas, foot-binding is still practiced. These bound feet were no longer than a handspan, swollen and squeezed into handmade cloth shoes with a thousand layers of soles. The black shoe edges left marks of edema on the instep, resembling a bloated, soaked steamed bun.
The ax slipped from Zhu Zhibo’s hand. Without even uttering a scream, he rolled and crawled away in terror.
The people nearby noticed his strange behavior and quickly asked, “What’s wrong?!”
Zhu Zhibo’s throat tightened, and his scalp prickled. He couldn’t speak for a moment, his face pale as a sheet. But when he looked back at that spot again, the old lady hanging there had disappeared, leaving only the willow branches swaying in the wind.
This time, he was sure he hadn’t seen wrong—he even touched those feet!
Zhu Zhibo, a man who had won two Best Actor awards, was on the verge of tears. “I saw her again! There was an old lady hanging from the tree!”
Li Zhi frowned and immediately commanded, “Quick, chop it down, and let’s get out of here.”
Lian Qinglin stepped forward at once, picked up the ax, and delivered the final blow to the wobbling tree branch. With a crash, the branch fell to the ground. The group hastily dragged it away, not daring to look back.
It wasn’t until they reached the foot of the mountain that Zhu Zhibo, still trembling, glanced back. Among the layers of green hills, a narrow winding path was shrouded in white mist, stretching deep into the unknown like a road leading to the underworld. He shivered violently and hurried to catch up with his companions.
When they dragged the willow branch back to the courtyard, someone was standing at the gate under a paper umbrella in the drizzle.
Upon hearing the noise, he lifted the oil-paper umbrella slightly. His face, shrouded in misty rain, turned toward them. Lian Qinglin, standing behind, clicked his tongue in envy, “That guy always looks like he wandered into the wrong movie.”
Li Zhi glanced at the handsome, delicate yet boyish face and nodded in agreement.
She walked over, smiling brightly. “Mr. Li, we’ve brought the willow branch. Now, we’ll need your help in making the soul-guiding banner and the mourning staff.”
Li Jianxi looked at her, raindrops hanging from her eyelashes, glittering in her eyes as they reflected the light. He remained silent for a moment, then slowly nodded and turned to walk back into the courtyard, umbrella in hand.
With his professional guidance, the soul-guiding banner and mourning staff were soon completed. The white cloth hanging from the banner bore the village chief’s name, birthplace, and dates of birth and death. Li Zhi watched Li Jianxi writing and was surprised to find that this NPC had rather beautiful handwriting.
Digging the grave was hard physical labor. It was still raining, and the clay soil was even more difficult to dig through. After a quick lunch, everyone grabbed their tools and prepared to head out.
The grave site had been chosen by a ying-yang master, and naturally, Li Jianxi accompanied them throughout the process. He stood at the courtyard gate with his slightly damaged oil-paper umbrella, watching as Li Zhi approached, shovel in hand. His gaze swept over her face before he suddenly asked, “Do you need an umbrella?”
Li Zhi was slightly surprised and glanced at him before breaking into a smile. “No, thank you. I’m already soaked anyway.”
Li Jianxi silently lowered his gaze and turned to lead the way.
In a village like Guanping, where clan systems were still in place, members were always buried in the ancestral cemetery, and the village chief was no exception. The cemetery wasn’t far from the ancestral hall, and as they passed through a field, they saw the burial ground filled with mounds of graves.
The closer they got, the newer the mounds appeared, with traces of incense and burnt paper still visible. But as they moved further back, the wild grass grew thicker, covering the older graves of the ancestors. It was clear that with the village’s declining population, no one had been maintaining the ancestral tombs, and the entire cemetery looked particularly desolate.
Li Jianxi led them to the grave site selected for the village chief. When the time was right, they burned paper, and the eldest player, Gao Shijun, acted as the eldest son, ceremonially digging the first shovel of earth.
A red paper was placed on the ground to the northeast, and with trembling hands, Gao Shijun dropped the first shovelful of dirt onto it, officially starting the grave digging.
It wasn’t an easy task. Everyone struggled through the mud, sinking in with each step, and yellow clay stuck to their shovels, requiring them to use all their strength for each scoop. The grave couldn’t be shallow—according to the ying-yang master’s requirements, they needed to dig at least two meters deep.
But compared to washing a corpse or dressing it in burial clothes, this kind of physical labor was much easier on the players—at least there was no psychological burden.
While the players dug, Li Jianxi quietly stood beneath a cypress tree. At first, he held his umbrella, but once the rain stopped, he folded it up and stepped forward a few paces, avoiding the dripping branches.
At one point, when he turned, Li Zhi noticed him watching her. From a distance, she nodded and smiled at him.
Li Jianxi quickly looked away, a little uneasy.
Li Zhi raised her eyebrows, finding this NPC quite intriguing. He was so clean, pure, and almost devoid of any malice toward the players. It made her wonder what the purpose of his existence was in this instance.
As evening approached, the grave was finally dug. The players set up the tarp they had brought to prevent water from pooling in the grave if it rained overnight.
They thought the day’s tasks were over, just waiting for the burial tomorrow, but the ying-yang master spoke again: “The burial will be tomorrow. Tonight, we must perform the ‘Calling the Night.’ Go and prepare.”
The term “Calling the Night” didn’t sound simple.
The group was a bit flustered, and Xu Shu hurriedly asked, “Excuse me, sir, what do we need to prepare for the night calling? What do we have to do?”
Calling the Night was another part of traditional funeral rituals. Li Jianxi explained the process, and when he mentioned that after dark, they would need to carry the village chief’s spirit tablet and, at every crossroad, burn paper and call out to summon his soul, all the way to the village’s temple at the far end, the players’ faces turned pale.
This kind of thing would be terrifying enough in the real world, let alone in an instance filled with ghosts and supernatural occurrences.
Would the souls they summoned during Calling the Night really only be that of the village chief?
The entire walk back to the courtyard was heavy with tension. One torturous task followed another, seemingly without end. The physical and mental strain weighed heavily on everyone, leaving them in a dreadful state. Even during dinner, not a word was spoken.
They ate in silence, watching as night fell. After the rain, thick clouds roiled overhead, not a star in sight, and even the half-moon was obscured by heavy clouds, leaving the sky pitch dark.
Li Zhi stood up. “Let’s go.”
Xu Shu added, “We’ve made it through all the challenges so far. As long as we follow the NPC’s instructions, we’ll be fine.”
They drew lots to determine the order of the group. Xu Shu drew first and was responsible for carrying the tray with offerings. Chi Yi went second, tasked with holding the village chief’s spirit tablet. Li Zhi was third, holding the lantern to light the way. Behind them were Gao Shijun, Lian Qinglin, and Zhu Zhibo.
The six of them lined up and stepped out of the courtyard. At the gate, Li Jianxi stood like a sentinel, warning them, “When calling the night, do not turn back. Do not look back along the road.”
They shuddered and nodded repeatedly.
They set out from the courtyard, heading toward the temple at the edge of the village. At each crossroads, they had to burn paper and call out for the soul, crying out the names of their loved ones. Residents along the road, if there were any, would light a guiding lantern at their door as the group passed, both to guide the spirit and to remind the players that this was a path they had already taken—on the return, they must avoid it.
The group instinctively quickened their pace, hoping to complete the task as soon as possible. Soon, they arrived at the first crossroads. Remembering the warning not to turn back, they squatted in a line and lit the paper money with matches.
The fire rose, and the ash floated into the air like ghostly flames. At first, only low sobbing could be heard, but suddenly, someone let out a wail—a cry of utter terror, breaking down under the psychological pressure. Though it was a scream of fear, it sounded heartbreakingly genuine, and soon the others joined in, sobbing loudly.
Amidst the crying, Li Zhi’s clear, commanding voice stood out: “Dad! Come back home, it’s time!”
Her voice was so firm it sounded like a political pledge.
The crying paused, and Chi Yi, caught between fear and amusement, asked, “What are you doing?”
Li Zhi replied, “You can’t just cry without calling out. You guys handle the crying, I’ll handle the shouting. Keep going.”
Everyone: “…”
Her interruption made it suddenly difficult to keep crying.
After burning the paper, they continued forward. Not far from them, under the eaves of a nearby house, a villager slowly lit a lantern.
Thanks to Li Zhi loudly shouting “Dad, come home!” at every stop, what should have been a terrifying task of Calling the Night became somewhat comical. The players, who had initially been crying out of fear, ended up fake-crying loudly, the tension noticeably lightened.
Gradually, more and more villagers lit guiding lanterns, and the village was no longer pitch black. With the lanterns lighting their path, the players didn’t lose their way and were soon nearing the temple at the village’s end.
Few people lived at the village’s far edge. The guiding lanterns behind them grew fewer and dimmer, and darkness once again enveloped them. The only source of light left was the lantern in Li Zhi’s hand, casting shadows of the group as it illuminated the narrow path beneath their feet.
Zhu Zhibo muttered from the back, “Why haven’t we reached the end yet? I’m exhausted.”
Lian Qinglin let out a hiss and teased, “Brother Zhu, your stamina’s really lacking! Once we get out of here, come hit the gym with me.”
Chi Yi added, “If we make it out alive, I need to work out more too! It’d be awful if something dangerous happens and I can’t run fast enough.” Talking about the outside world lifted everyone’s spirits a bit. The mood became lighter. “Zhi Zhi, let’s hit the gym together when we’re out, okay?”
Li Zhi laughed, “Sure!”
Zhu Zhibo sighed, mocking himself, “Seems like I’m getting old. Can’t believe I’m already feeling sore after walking for a bit. Once we’re out, I definitely need to get back into shape.”
Li Zhi was still listening to Chi Yi whisper, but when she heard Zhu Zhibo repeat, “sore and aching,” something started to feel off.
As a man in his early thirties, Zhu Zhibo was in his prime, and he kept himself in good shape. He clearly worked out regularly, so a short walk like this shouldn’t have been anything strenuous for him. Even Chi Yi, who had the weakest stamina, wasn’t struggling. Why was he feeling so tired all of a sudden?
At that moment, a sudden urge to turn around washed over Li Zhi.
They had been walking without ever turning back. No one knew whether the group of six performing the Calling the Night ritual had grown by an extra person at some point.
But Li Jianxi’s warning still echoed in her ears. She hesitated, then discreetly extended her lantern behind her.
The lantern’s glow cast the shadows of the six of them onto the overgrown village path.
One, two, three, four, five—the five shadows ahead swayed naturally on the ground. Everything seemed normal. But at the very back, Zhu Zhibo’s shadow looked strange. It was bloated and distorted, as if another shadow were stacked on top of his.
There was… someone clinging to his back.
—
Translator’s Note: This reminds me of the movie ‘Shutter.’