Chapter 159: The Wooden Carved Head

I quickly got dressed and hurried out, heading straight for the western end of the village. A large crowd had gathered outside Wang Kai’s house, and a police car was parked nearby. Pushing my way through the throng, I stepped inside. The scene before my eyes was utterly brutal.

A family of three lay side by side. The woman’s head was gone; strangely, the cut was completely even and clean, with no trace of blood, as if it had been scorched by intense heat.

The child was quite young, around four or five years old, with a pale little face. His stomach had been ripped open, his intestines spilled all over the ground, and his heart was missing. The adult was Wang Kai, and his manner of death was much like his son’s. It seemed the murderer was extremely vicious.

Four police officers were taking photos and conducting an autopsy, eventually concluding that it was a murder for money. However, I felt it was nothing of the sort. Even if the motive was robbery, murder was not strictly necessary, and even if it had been discovered, the killer wouldn't have been so savage as to take the human head and dig out the heart. Most importantly, the female homeowner’s head had been severed in a single, perfectly level stroke—executed with unimaginable speed, fatal the moment blood was drawn. This was definitely not something a human being could do.

Off to one side, a woman was wailing loudly. She was none other than Village Chief Wang Feng’s wife, who was the sister of Wang Kai’s wife—Wang Kai’s sister-in-law. Sobbing uncontrollably, she grabbed a policeman’s hand and cried, "Officers! My sister’s family has been murdered for their money! You simply must help solve this case!"

The police merely offered vague, perfunctory responses. Countless people are killed across the country every year; how many cases are actually solved and the perpetrators brought to justice? Wang Feng smoked his cigarette in silence nearby, and one could tell he was deeply anxious.

The police announced that the autopsy was complete and the photographs had been archived for the record, so preparations for the funeral could begin. They claimed the case would be solved gradually and could not be rushed, and with that, they left.

As the crowd dispersed, I walked back home. Pondering the scene of Wang Kai’s family’s demise, I felt a deep sense of beworthment and mystery. Exactly who could have murdered them?

Wan'er was helping Wang Ying comb her hair. Watching Wan'er care for Wang Ying so devotedly touched my heart. I couldn't help recalling my trip to Mount Jiuxian in Wulian last night—should I accept Mo Shaobai's offer or not?

The more I thought about it, the more distressed and conflicted I became. Finally, I walked out of the house and headed into the fields. Walking and walking, my subconscious led me straight to the Murder Ravine. In the back of my mind, I felt that the deaths of Wang Kai’s family must be connected to the Japanese ghosts I had seen that night.

In broad daylight, the Murder Ravine bore no trace of that night. The ravine was filled with cornstalks; the corn had already been harvested, leaving only the stalks shivering in the wind.

I was actually quite familiar with this ravine. When I was a little, I often came here to play with my childhood friends—playing house, catching grasshoppers, digging for field mice, and the like. It had never been dangerous, and the name "Murder Ravine" was just something passed down by the elders. How on earth had Qingting been captured by that group of Japanese ghosts that night? Those Japanese ghosts had been hiding here for so many years without making a single move. It seemed they were finally preparing to act!

With these thoughts in mind, I walked down into the ravine. Descending the earthen slope, a draft swept in from the south, carrying a chilling, eerie breeze. Walking through the ravine, I felt more than a little frightened. Most of the ravine had been planted with corn, but now that the harvest was over, there was not a soul around. Everything was dead silent, save for the sound of the wind rustling through the corn leaves. I searched the ravine for a while but found nothing, so I hurriedly started climbing back up. Right as I was about to reach the top of the slope, I noticed scattered patches of blood on the grassy bank. I quickly crouched down to examine them closely. The blood had already turned dark red and dried out, making it impossible to tell whether it was human or animal blood.

On my way back, that bloodstain lingered constantly in my mind. I had a persistent feeling that it belonged to Wang Kai’s family. A vivid image flashed through my head: several Japanese ghosts, holding the hearts of Wang Kai’s family and his wife’s head, walking away from here in grim satisfaction.

***

I was merely overthinking things. This was a homicide case; the extermination of a family of three in a rural village was a heaven-shaking catastrophe, not something for a country boy like me to ponder—it was the police department's responsibility. Furthermore, I had already quit the Yin-Yang underworld; these matters had nothing to do with me. What I needed to care about was Wang Ying, and I had to hurry up and find a way to cure her.

Remembering Wang Kai’s wife’s soul, I thought perhaps her spirit could help repair Wang Ying’s damaged soul. But that hope vanished in an instant. Her family of three had been dead for a night; their souls would have long since been taken away by the Ghost King’s minions. There was no point in even thinking about it.

When I returned home, I saw Wan'er and Wang Ying sitting together and chatting. Seeing me return, Wan'er pulled me down to sit and said with a smile to Wang Ying, "Sister Ying, he really is your husband."

Wang Ying blinked her innocent, wide eyes. "I don't believe it. I don't even know him."

I forced a wry smile and said, "Wife, you've got amnesia. After I give you a few more therapeutic treatments, you'll be fine."

"Don't call me wife, I am not your wife! Just call me Ying'er. Why do you call her Wan'er and me Wang Ying?" Wang Ying’s eyes were as pure as autumn water, leaving me utterly helpless.

"Fine, Ying'er, how about I give you a treatment?" It had been several days since I last purged the Yin toxins from her body.

Wang Ying shook her head. "No, absolutely not! My body is fine. Men and women should not touch hands when handing things over—no need, thank you. Sister Wan'er, let's stop playing with him and go chat over there." With that, she took Wan'er's hand and walked away.

Wan'er gave me a helpless, bitter smile. "Brother, don't lose heart. She'll get better slowly."

With nothing to say, I lay down on the bed to rest for a while. As I lay there letting my imagination run wild, someone pushed the door open and called out, "Dachuan! Is Dachuan home?"

I quickly scrambled to my feet and saw Fifth Uncle Zhao walking in. Fifth Uncle Zhao was our village’s mortuary attendant. A modern mortuary attendant was completely different from the ancient one; in ancient times, the *wuzuo* was a forensic coroner who examined corpses. Today’s mortuary attendant was a different concept—someone who hosted and managed funeral affairs when someone died.

"Fifth Uncle, what brings you here?" I hurried forward to welcome him. Fifth Uncle Zhao had a good relationship with my second uncle, probably because they both dealt with funeral rites. Aside from helping people manage funerals, he lived a secluded life and rarely went out. Back when my second uncle was alive, they often drank together until they were thoroughly drunk, claiming that alcohol could drive away the Yin energy clinging to the body.

"Hasn't someone passed away at Wang Kai's house? Theoretically, every family must send someone to keep watch over the corpse and help out. You came back just at the right time; you need to send someone too," Fifth Uncle Zhao said.

In the countryside, there was this unwritten rule: when someone died, pallbearers had to be found, usually one representative from each clan in the village. Because funerals were inauspicious compared to weddings, nobody was ever eager to volunteer. Therefore, the mortuary attendant usually had to invite them in person. His visit today was to ask our branch of the Wang family to send a representative. Since I was the only one left in my household, going was mandatory.

***

For a matter like this, I didn't say another word and immediately followed Fifth Uncle Zhao out.

As we walked down the street, Fifth Uncle Zhao spoke to me again, "Dachuan, there's something you need to help handle. Didn't Wang Kai's wife lose her head? I'm old and my eyes are dim, so I can't do it anymore. Can you carve a wooden head to attach to her? We can't just bury her like that. Deal?"

"This... Fifth Uncle! I forgot to tell you, ever since that business at Huangjia River last time, I washed my hands and quit. I don't handle these funeral matters anymore."

Fifth Uncle Zhao was a man of the world with plenty of life experience, so naturally, he wouldn't force others or make things difficult. He said, "You don't need to worry, Dachuan. All you have to do is guide the carpenters. As for walking the Yin realm and performing the rituals, I'll take care of it. How about that?"

Since it had come to this, what else could I say? We were fellow villagers; if I didn't even help out with this favor, how could I possibly continue living in the village? So I replied, "Alright, that's a deal."

In Wang Kai’s courtyard, a mourning shed had already been set up, with two large and one small coffins placed inside. Country folk didn't use flower wreaths; instead, white paper streamers were hung everywhere, looking quite eerie. Wang Kai’s relatives were all dressed in white mourning clothes. Several carpenters were working on a piece of jujube wood nearby.

I used a photograph of Wang Kai's wife to instruct them on how to carve her head. An entire afternoon passed, and the wooden head was finally finished. And to give credit where it's due, the carpenters possessed genuine skill; the finished head bore an uncanny resemblance to her.

Fifth Uncle Zhao burned incense and paper money, and finally carried the carved wooden head himself to place it inside the coffin. Anyone who lacked experience wouldn't dare meddle in such matters, so I stepped forward to assist him.

Just as Wang Kai’s wife’s head was being fitted onto her neck, I had a vague feeling that her body seemed to twitch slightly. Upon looking closer, however, I realized my eyes must have been playing tricks on me. She had been dead for over ten hours—how could she possibly move? Her soul had long since drunk Meng Po’s soup and crossed the Bridge of Helplessness.

With the head attached, under Fifth Uncle Zhao's guidance, the carpenters began sealing the coffin.