Chapter 1: Bewildered Soul Crossing (1)

A thunderous crash resounded.

I hadn't seen what fell, but my head spun with dizziness. Instinctively, I thought it was over—would I survive this? My body swayed and toppled to the ground.

In a daze, I arrived at a dark place, not knowing where I was. My mind was a chaos of thoughts, searching in vain for any clue to my circumstances...

Suddenly—a heavy blow landed on my back with a loud smack. My body, already at its limit, trembled violently. A strange terror seized my heart; a chill surged from his body through mine, leaving me haunted by a ghastly cold. Goosebumps prickled across my skin. I turned to look—a young man, clad in gray-black clothes, lay sprawled across my back, about twenty-something years old. Who was he? I furrowed my brows, unable to recognize him. At that moment, his body felt weightless, like a scrap of paper. What was happening? Why was he on my back? His close physical proximity infuriated me, and I was about to ask when his eyes glinted with malice. Twisting his head from my back, he stared at my face for a moment and demanded, "I heard you bully others all the time?"

"What do you mean?" I replied, already disgruntled and confused by this sudden trouble.

"Playing dumb?" He pointed with his finger. "There!"

His words drew my gaze. All I could see was a gray, barren slope—nothing of note where he pointed.

Yet, in my memory, there was a man who looked just like him, though his name escaped me.

He said nothing further, but rolled halfway over on my back, pressing his abdomen tight against me, his left arm hooking my shoulder, his right arm around my waist, a faint smile on his lips as he watched the slope below...

Suddenly, a little girl appeared, wearing a red top, a floral skirt, her hair tied in a ponytail, about seven or eight years old. She darted down the gray path, and at once a cry rang out, "Brother, come save me!"

At that instant, I understood—his accusation of bullying referred to this little girl.

Hearing her cry for help, he had no time to trouble me further. He rolled off my back, bounced up from the ground, and chased after the voice, a swirl of dust trailing behind him. In a blink, he vanished.

Who was he? I asked myself, feeling stifled. How deep was the slope below? I furrowed my brow, pondering without answer. After a long daze, I climbed upwards. By the edge of the slope yawned a misshapen earthen cave, inside which squatted four or five people. One tended a black iron cauldron, feeding wood to the fire amid clouds of smoke. Their eyes barely open, coughing incessantly, their faces ashen as they struggled to catch their breath. Another, wielding a five-meter-long buffalo horn, stabbed it at the cave’s ceiling—dirt rained down with a crash, leaving him covered. Above, a hole opened; he shook out his clothes and hung the horn high, blowing a mournful, bugling note.

At that moment, a dark-faced man passed by, a head shorter than me, around forty, his face etched with the hardships of life. He shouted, "Someone's dead again!"

Everyone inside the cave understood the horn’s meaning—it summoned those far away. But they paid no heed. One shot him a look and retorted, "Isn't that normal? Why make a fuss?"

I recognized none of these people; I didn’t even know how I’d come to be here. My mind was a flurry of confusion, lost and directionless.

What was this place? It felt somehow connected to me...

The dark-faced man soon disappeared ahead. Unconsciously, I climbed up. Along the way, people hurried about their work. I came to a level ground where tile-roofed houses stood, arranged like a courtyard, with a long corridor exposed.

A woman in her forties, whom I vaguely recalled as my elder sister, moved something into a basin and called out, "Qu Shilai, go change your clothes and come help!"

Turning my head, I saw a modest courtyard, different basins scattered about, people busy at their tasks.

I went over and found a small, dark room that I felt must be my own. Clothes were piled on the bed—I grabbed something to wear and hurried to my sister’s side, anxiously asking, "What do you need me to do?"

My sister bustled about, glancing at me as she asked, "What are you wearing? You put your underwear over your trousers—didn't you notice?"

I looked down—how ridiculous! The dark room was too dim to see, so I returned, rummaged through the pile for some time, but couldn’t find my clothes.

From outside, my sister’s voice rang out, "Hurry up! What’s taking so long?"

Flustered, I went out, calling as I walked, "I can’t find anything to wear!"

"Go look over there!" my sister replied, impatience clear in her voice.

She kept switching from one task to another, and I couldn’t tell what she was so busy with. I followed her directions, climbed a five-meter-high stone stair, and found a road flanked by houses. Crossing over, I entered a house on the left but still couldn’t find my trousers. I returned to my sister.

She glanced at me—still the same, shaking her head with annoyance. "Forget it, there’s no time. This place is a mess. Just carry this over!"

Without looking, I took the plate she handed me and walked through the corridor, where strangers asked, "Where’s the second dish? What about the two fish for plating?" One of them took the plate from me enthusiastically.

Only then did I see I’d brought over a bowl of chopped chili. I retraced my steps to my sister and told her what the people had asked. She pointed ahead.

I followed her gaze. Many people were busy, and before I realized it, I’d passed into a small courtyard with paths leading in all directions—any exit would take you where you needed to go.

A young woman in her twenties, whom I remembered as my daughter, was with a group of unsavory young men. One was especially brazen—right in front of me... then a second, a third, each behaving the same.

Cold sweat broke out on me from shock. How could she act this way, performing such games in front of so many? I was troubled, searching for a good reason to put a stop to this.

The young men stood in a row, dark-faced, mouths agape in anticipation...

My daughter, lips bright red, blew kisses with the flair of a goddess—confident and bold.

I was thoroughly revolted! Never had I imagined my daughter could turn out like this. Waves of frustration washed over me, only to be stunned by what followed.

A dozen or more young men in black clothes lined up, mouths shut, waiting.

My daughter, unfazed, repeated the same act...

On the stage before a side room, five dark-clothed youths stood. The two-meter-tall one in the middle mocked derisively, his laughter booming, "Ha ha ha, this is the 'Lingering Fragrance' game!"

On either side, two others whooped and whistled, one putting his finger in his mouth to sound a crude note...

I couldn’t watch any longer, my mood plunged to the depths! She was grown; I couldn’t control her—what was I to do?

Lost in troubled thought, I wandered into a small room—empty, and still no sign of my clothes. I returned to my sister, shrugging helplessly.

She turned on me with a dark, thunderous face, putting down her work, eyes bulging in anger as she roared, "You put your pants on backwards and can’t even find your things. What are you good for? Do you think this is a funeral?"

"A funeral?" The words cast a shadow over my heart. I had no idea what she meant, and dared not ask, sinking further into gloom.

Suddenly, firecrackers exploded, deafening me, my ears ringing as I fled aside.

The sound of suona horns rose, playing funeral dirges. A crowd, dressed in motley attire, ran wildly, their footsteps chaotic as they gathered in a circle to watch...

Curious, I followed, standing on tiptoe to peer inside. A coffin was brought out, set flat on two long benches, surrounded by wreaths adorned with strange, long inscriptions—none of which I could read.

The coffin’s head faced forward. On a square table stood incense and candles, trailing smoke—black crepe draped the glass frame, inside which was a sketch that looked exactly like me: a man in his forties, with black hair.

I was utterly bewildered. What was happening? Wasn’t I alive and well? Why a funeral?

An old man approached, about seventy, tears streaming down his face. Beside him, a woman of about sixty-five knelt on a black rug, hands covering her face as she wailed, her cries muffled through her fingers.

"My son! The white-haired sending off the black-haired! How could a mother’s heart not ache? You never had a single day of happiness alive—may you find peace on the other side, my son..."

The old man did not kneel, but stood by, trembling with grief, his expression indescribably sorrowful.

The old woman stood, gazing longingly at the incense and candles on the table, sobbing as she lit nine sticks and placed them in the censer; the old man did the same...

Who were these two to the one in the coffin? The more I watched, the more confused I became, unable to describe my feelings.

From the crowd, a young woman of about twenty—my daughter, I recalled—pushed her way in, knelt and wept without a word.

These people were so strange; I recognized none of them, yet all seemed connected to the portrait before the coffin—and somehow, to me. I watched on, puzzled, unable to make sense of it.

From afar, my sister’s voice called, "What are you staring at? Never seen a dead person before? Get over here and help!"

No one would tell me what was going on, leaving me to rack my brains in vain. Reluctantly, I went over...

My sister, holding a white plate with fish roe, impatiently ordered, "Take this over, now!"