Performing for Ghosts and Gods

Rain washed Guan Village a muddy yellow.

The unceasing rain hammered every black roof tile and every mud wall in Zhou Yang's sight. Yellow mudwater like thin brown soup streamed down the grooves and gullies in the walls.

Zhou Yang waded through the muddy water, picking his way unevenly along the gloomy lane.

Each time he lifted a foot, his straw sandal came up coated in mud.

Each time he put it down, it sank back into the slick muck, making it harder and harder to pull free—exactly like Zhou Yang’s predicament in Guan Village.

He had suddenly transmigrated from another world of abundant goods and convenient living to this remote village that resembled the old society. He had been trapped here for over three months, mired deep.

In those three months, Zhou Yang had not managed to take a single step outside Guan Village.

The village was strange.

The utterly abnormal, even extraordinarily bizarre ways the villagers interacted, and the various "last words" Zhou Yang often heard when passing certain places in the village, only deepened his impression of Guan Village's eeriness.

He was certain he could not simply leave the village.

If he tried to leave Guan Village, something terrifying would surely happen.

Now, as Zhou Yang passed the corner of the lane, he once again heard someone's "last words."

A man's voice, full of fear and despair, sounded intermittently amid the rain.

Zhou Yang caught the voice. Without changing expression, he pulled a rolled-up, battered book from the back of his waistband, then staggered back to the corner of the lane.

The man's voice grew clearer. "Save me... Please, save me!

"I don't want to be bricked into the wall. I don't want to be trapped in Guan Village forever-

"I only wanted to go out and have a look. Why do I have to be bricked into the wall..."

Zhou Yang stared at the yellow mud wall that kept speaking.

The earthen wall, built from mud mixed with straw, had been soaked a dark yellow by the rain.

Against its dark yellow surface, a human outline, darker than its surroundings, was gradually taking shape.

Everything below its neck remained motionless, as though restrained.

Only the head on its neck kept trembling and shaking.

Although Zhou Yang clearly could not see its features, he could still picture its two lips trembling and knocking violently together.

It was crying for help.

But anyone bricked into a wall was bound to be dead.

Zhou Yang often heard these dead people's various last words and saw their lingering images.

The figure on the wall now was naturally someone's lingering image from the moment of death.

Zhou Yang opened the battered book he had rolled into a tube to its second page.

Rows of text were printed on the second page:

"Title: Performing for Ghosts and Gods.

"On the second day of the second month, when the dragon raises its head, ... Village invited an opera troupe called ... to perform three days of grand opera. Unexpectedly, while the troupe was preparing, strange things happened one after another, and everyone in ... Village...

"The troupe leader ... had traveled the jianghu for many years. Seeing this, he knew they had encountered...

"And so he gathered the troupe's disciples to perform a play for ghosts and gods, hoping to frighten the evil spirits and allow everyone to escape with their lives.

"Not long before, ... who was responsible for the troupe's daily meals, had been suffering from a cold for many days. At this critical moment, the troupe leader ... began thinking of sacrificing ...'s life to save the others."

The page contained a story about an opera troupe encountering ghosts while putting on a performance, but most of the names, places, and key details were missing, making the entire story extremely disjointed and greatly detracting from the reading experience.

But the moment Zhou Yang opened the page, the figure on the wall suddenly grew agitated, and a wisp of black smoke abruptly drifted from between its brows.

The wisp of black smoke drifted down from the wall and darted into the page.

It split into several strands, which fit neatly into the blanks in the story titled "Performing for Ghosts and Gods."

In those blanks, spots of ink shifted constantly, seeming on the verge of forming distinct strokes and characters one moment, only to draw together into wriggling dots of ink the next.

The words in the blanks never fully appeared.

Seeing this, Zhou Yang rolled up the battered book and tucked it back into his waistband.

He had experienced situations like this many times before, so he was not at a loss.

Before he first collected a dead person's lingering image and last words, every page of the Knife Credit Ledger had been completely blank.

The story "Performing for Ghosts and Gods" had only revealed this much after he collected the last words of several dead people.

Zhou Yang called this method of recording the last words and lingering images of the dying in the Knife Credit Ledger "charging."

The charging was still underway.

He needed to do some work to complete it.

Zhou Yang waded away through the muddy water, his steps uneven.

The lingering human figure had vanished from the mud wall.

The sky was overcast, and rain fell in tangled sheets.

Yet on this rainy day beneath dense clouds, a black shadow was growing inch by inch across the muddy ground behind Zhou Yang.

Only its head trembled constantly. Everything below its neck remained motionless, just like the dead person's lingering image on the mud wall.

Zhou Yang turned to glance at the dead person's lingering image on the ground.

Until the Knife Credit Ledger fully absorbed it, it would keep following Zhou Yang, and he alone could see it.

Turning back, Zhou Yang looked around. The dilapidated, desolate sight made him sigh in discouragement.

He continued along the muddy road and, after turning through several intersections, saw an old locust tree.

A low earthen-walled courtyard stood beneath it.

The courtyard gate was half open. Through the falling rain, the inside looked pitch-black, its details impossible to make out.

At the sight of the yellow earthen courtyard, Zhou Yang grew a little nervous. He took a deep breath and quietly raised his eyes to the old locust tree's crown.

It was the depths of winter, and not a leaf remained on the tree. Its branches reached straight into the sky like a bony claw.

Zhou Yang's gaze searched the crown cautiously, as though looking for something, yet also afraid he might actually find it and see something. When he saw a yellowish object hanging from a fork in the branches, his face stiffened and his pupils quaked-

The yellowish object hanging from the fork looked like a rain-soaked, earth-yellow garment.

But a closer look revealed that the "earth-yellow garment" also had a head of tangled hair like seaweed!

Below the hair, seven holes corresponding to the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose marked a deeply wrinkled face.

Farther down, Zhou Yang saw the yellow skin's hands and feet flapping wildly in the rain like the tassels of a scarf.

The thing hanging in the old locust tree was unmistakably a human skin!

That's a human skin, isn't it?!

Zhou Yang could scarcely believe his eyes.

For in that brief moment, the human skin had vanished from the tree.

He had been staring straight at it, yet it had slipped silently away right under his nose.

Creak-

Just then, the sound of a turning hinge drew Zhou Yang's gaze away. He saw the courtyard gate open a little wider, and a short, yellow-faced man emerged from behind it. His yellow face bore some pale wrinkles, as though his skin had been soaked in water too long.

The yellow-faced man grinned at Zhou Yang. His mouth was pitch-black too, with no teeth visible.

The wrinkles on his face piled up even more, making Zhou Yang's skin crawl.

The yellow-faced man said, "You're early today, half an incense stick earlier than usual."

"The rain's too heavy. My house is leaking everywhere, and the dripping kept me from sleeping, so I just got up and came to work." Zhou Yang smiled awkwardly, walked up to the gate, and answered the man.

The yellow-faced man was called A Fu. He had never mentioned his surname, and the villagers did not know it either.

Although the people of Guan Village all lived in the same village, most knew nothing of one another's backgrounds. It was even common for them not to know the names of people they met face-to-face.

A Fu nodded and led Zhou Yang into the courtyard.

Zhou Yang saw dirty yellow oil seeping from A Fu's tangled hair, running down his neck onto the apron strings against it and staining them yellow. A smell like old lard wafted from A Fu.

Even the rain could not wash away the cloying smell.

Recalling the human skin he had seen in the old locust tree and looking at A Fu's utterly abnormal appearance now, Zhou Yang grew more certain of a suspicion.

This A Fu was probably a human skin in disguise.

The oil seeping from him was likely corpse oil!

Zhou Yang had finally waited until it rained a second time and hurried to work early at A Fu's smithy to confirm that what he had seen before was no hallucination!

At the thought that the greasy smell lingering around his nostrils was very likely corpse oil, waves of numbness ran across Zhou Yang's scalp.

But he could not run. He even had to pretend nothing had happened.

He had nowhere to flee.

His so-called relatives here were all the same ghastly sort as A Fu.

The village was full of people like A Fu.

Eyes in the shadows could be watching his every move at any moment.

Swish-

Just then, A Fu, walking ahead, suddenly turned his head. The skin on his neck twisted into deeper folds, layer upon layer. "Cao Qing, who works the bellows, hasn't come in yet. You work them and watch the fire. Smelt that pile of iron slag first.

"You came half an incense stick earlier than usual. I'll pay you for that time too."

At this, A Fu suddenly smiled.

He was smiling, but his eyes were chillingly cold, and his stare made Zhou Yang's skin crawl. "Save more money so you can buy enough 'grease' sooner. You'll use up quite a bit of it at the Revelation Ceremony...

"How many jin of grease have you saved enough to buy now?"

"Ten jin? Eight?" Zhou Yang answered hesitantly, trembling inside.

Hearing this, A Fu looked Zhou Yang up and down, as though gauging his exact height and build. After a while, he said, "Ten jin isn't enough. Grease weighs about the same as blood, flesh is heavier than blood, and bone is heavier than flesh... But no matter how I look at you, you'll need at least thirty jin of grease to start with.

"Save more money. The Revelation Ceremony starts in another half month. We'll see if you've saved enough to buy thirty jin of grease by then..."

"What exactly is the Revelation Ceremony for?" A Fu's words brought many unpleasant possibilities to Zhou Yang's mind, and he asked him.

A Fu had his back to Zhou Yang. The oil seeping from his pores was gradually soaking through the clothes on his back.

He laughed darkly. "Village rules say we can't tell children like you who haven't been through it outright.

"Just think of it this way: at the Revelation Ceremony, we open you children up and show everyone what you're like inside and out. Afterward, we'll truly all be people of the same village... Just think of it as a custom for everyone to be open with one another."

Zhou Yang's face paled slightly, and he said nothing more.

He followed A Fu into the house. It was dark inside.

The dim daylight through the window openings showed only the rough outlines of the furnishings.

The mingled smells of smoke, ash, and metal swirled through the room.

Once inside, A Fu picked up an iron shovel from the corner, scooped up the iron slag and ore there, and dumped them into the furnace in the center of the room. Zhou Yang also quickly went behind the furnace and worked the bellows without stopping.

The bellows hummed.

A dark red glow gradually appeared in the furnace.

A Fu stood stiffly with both hands braced on the shovel handle, watching Zhou Yang work and letting out a sinister chuckle from time to time.

When Zhou Yang saw the furnace fire turn red, he picked up another iron shovel, scooped charcoal ash from the corner, and tossed it into the furnace, stacking alternating layers of ash and iron slag.

The furnace fire gradually grew white-hot.

A Fu, who was no longer working, suddenly spoke. "It's been two incense sticks since work started, and Cao Qing still hasn't come.

"Did what I said yesterday scare him into fleeing the village?"

The heat of the furnace had smoothed the wrinkles from A Fu's face.

His facial skin looked extremely dry, and the slightest smile sent wide cracks spreading across it.

Oil seeped from the cracks, making his face look both taut and greasy, like the skin of Zhou Yang's former girlfriend just after she had applied skincare products.

Zhou Yang looked at the shovel in his hands, his thoughts unclear. Hearing A Fu, he shook his head instinctively. "Surely not..."

"Yesterday, when it was almost dark, I saw him wandering around Crooked Lane.

"Instead of going home after work, he was running around everywhere. He must have been scouting the village, looking for a way out... Little Yang, are you thinking of following his example and fleeing the village?" A bright red tongue emerged from A Fu's pitch-black mouth. He licked his lips, and his eyes glinted faintly as he looked at Zhou Yang.

Zhou Yang had passed through the "Crooked Lane" he mentioned just that morning.

On the wall at the corner of the lane, he had collected a dead person's lingering image.

That image was now at his feet.

He had often passed through Crooked Lane before, but had never seen a dead person's lingering image there.

Could this lingering image have been left by Cao Qing?

Zhou Yang looked at the shadow only he could see, his heart sinking slightly.

Of all the villagers Zhou Yang had met in Guan Village, Cao Qing had been the most like a normal person-could he really be dead?

Could A Fu have killed Cao Qing?

Thinking about it, Zhou Yang felt it was quite possible.

Looking at A Fu opposite him, licking his lips with an eager look on his face, he suddenly felt that everything A Fu was saying might actually be an attempt to bluff him into panicking and fleeing.

Then A Fu could take the opportunity to harm him.

As long as I try to escape this strange village, something terrible is bound to happen!

Zhou Yang silently warned himself and stopped talking to A Fu.

A Fu tried to strike up a conversation with Zhou Yang several more times afterward, but seeing that he only gave a few casual replies, A Fu lost interest too.

A long time later, A Fu, who had stayed in the room, shook his head in some boredom. "Another three incense sticks have passed. Looks like Cao Qing really isn't coming-he really is dead..."

He dropped the shovel, lifted the door curtain, and walked out.

He coldly tossed two sentences back at Zhou Yang. "It's break time. You can do your own work now."

Zhou Yang watched A Fu leave, then waited behind the door curtain, listening to the very faint footsteps outside recede, return, and recede again. Only after they had completely disappeared did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

He pulled over the long bench from the corner and sat down, his back already soaked with sweat.

He rummaged among the pieces of iron on the wooden table until he found a thin strip with a pointed end. Then he went to the water bucket at the side, took out a whetstone, and rubbed the iron's edge against it, stroke by stroke.

The rasp of sharpening repeated again and again, without stopping for a long time.

As Zhou Yang slowly ground a shallow edge onto the strip of iron, the pitch-black shadow at his feet shrank inch by inch.

By the time Zhou Yang had finished grinding the edge, the strip could barely be called a small knife-and the human figure on the ground had vanished completely, replaced by illusory scenes constantly flickering before his eyes.

At last, they froze into a clear face and the outline of a person's upper body-

The man had short hair, and the features on his broad, short face were scrunched together in extreme terror. Red veins had appeared in his eyes.

Although those features were horribly distorted, Zhou Yang still recognized him.

He was Cao Qing!

The dead person's lingering image collected from Crooked Lane was Cao Qing's!

Cao Qing screamed shrilly, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Help me-A Fu, please save me!

"Don't wall me up!

"I don't want to go to the revelation ceremony. I don't want to be trapped in Guan Village forever-

"I just wanted to go outside and have a look. Why do I have to be walled up..."

Amid Cao Qing's piercing screams of terror, Zhou Yang lowered his gaze and saw a vertical wound running down Cao Qing's chest from the base of his neck, extending beyond where Zhou Yang could see.

Blood streamed from the wound.

Cao Qing's body from the chest down had shriveled.

As though his heart, liver, stomach, and intestines had been scooped out.

The lingering image of Cao Qing before him scattered in the wind.

Zhou Yang stared blankly for a while, then drew the Knife Credit Ledger from where it was tucked into the back of his waistband and opened its worn cover.

The first page recorded Zhou Yang's personal details:

Name: Zhou Yang.

Mindfulness: 5.

"Identity: Blade-Credit Merchant.

Abilities: blacksmithing... (Imprinting).

Good karma: none.

Apart from the gray-black "Imprinting" ability, which had never lit up and drew his attention, Zhou Yang's personal details in the Knife Credit Ledger looked utterly ordinary.

He turned to the second page.

The story recorded on the second page, titled "Performing for Ghosts and Gods," was now complete.