Cui Guiying stepped forward to help Liu Jinxia out of the vehicle. Liu Jinxia patted the back of Cui Guiying’s hand and said, “Aiyo, how can I let you help me like this? Your man Hanhou is my benefactor, after all.”
“Granny, please, come see the child—he still hasn’t woken up.”
Liu Jinxia asked, “I heard from Lei Hou he ran into something in the water?”
Cui Guiying replied, “His grandpa’s already gone to fetch Uncle Sanjiang.”
That made Liu Jinxia’s heart lurch. She grabbed Cui Guiying’s hand tightly and urged, “Quick, take me to see the child.”
When Lei’er came to call her earlier, he’d mentioned a few things, but she’d dismissed them as the boy’s usual exaggerations. But now that Li Weihan had gone looking for Li Sanjiang himself, this was definitely serious!
Liu Jinxia still remembered how good Li Weihan had been to her back in the day.
Inside the house, a gaggle of children chirped noisily like ducks. Liu Jinxia, whose eyesight wasn’t great, waved her hand and barked, “All you little brats, get out! Quiet down, or you’ll disturb the Stove God!”
Cui Guiying quickly instructed the older kids to take the younger ones outside and shut the door.
“Where is he?” Liu Jinxia asked.“In the back room,” Cui Guiying said, ready to lead her in.
“Bring him into the kitchen. There’s a stove here.”
“Alright, I’ll go carry him out.”
With help from Li Juxiang, Li Zhuiyuan was laid on the dining table in the kitchen.
Liu Jinxia’s old hands touched his legs first, then moved up along his body to his face, lingering finally at his shoulders with a light press.
Her fingers, stained from smoking and soaked in white vinegar as part of her eccentric self-care routine, carried a pungent, acrid smell. You could smell it just standing beside her—close enough and it could wake a person from a faint.
After a moment, Liu Jinxia asked, “Guiying Hou, did you call him yet?”
“I did, I did,” Cui Guiying said, fetching the water-and-needle bowl. When she saw what was inside, she let out a cry, “Ah!”
The needle had rusted—and not just rusted, but was covered in red rust, which had spread in a halo around it at the bottom of the bowl.
Li Juxiang leaned over to describe the sight in her mother’s ear.
After hearing it, Liu Jinxia inhaled deeply. Her expression turned grave. “Sister, the child’s been haunted.”
“What?” Cui Guiying was startled again. She pleaded, “Please save him, please! He’s my daughter’s only child, and she left him with me. I can’t let anything happen to him!”
As she spoke, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and handed it over.
Liu Jinxia waved it away and sighed.
Cui Guiying said, “At least have a smoke. We’ll sort the money after—”
Liu Jinxia interrupted, “I can’t take anything from your family. It’s hot to the touch.”
“Sister, don’t say that. This child…”
Liu Jinxia turned to her daughter and said with a bitter smile, “You heard that? It’s Han Shushu’s favorite little girl’s son.”
“He’s Lan Hou’s son,” Li Juxiang added after a pause. “Lan Hou and I used to be very close.”
Lan Hou—Li Lan—was Li Zhuiyuan’s mother.
Back then, the villagers thought Liu Jinxia’s family was cursed. Parents told their children to stay away from Li Juxiang. Her childhood had been lonely—she couldn’t run wild like the others. If she entered someone’s home, the adults would give her dirty looks.
But Li Lan didn’t care. She always invited her to play. That bond lasted until Li Lan left the village for college.
Liu Jinxia closed her eyes and fell silent.
Li Juxiang looked at Li Zhuiyuan and said, “He’s such a beautiful child. Looks just like Lan Hou.”
Cui Guiying murmured in agreement, her eyes still on Liu Jinxia, uncertain if she was dodging the request or just putting on airs.
Li Juxiang continued, “Little Cui Hou was just saying the other day that there’s a big brother named Little Yuanhou who gave her chocolate and played with her by the stream.”
Li Juxiang’s own childhood had been one of isolation. Her daughter, Li Cuicui, had it no better. Most days she just stood off to the side, watching other kids play.
She never dared go near—if she did, the kids would say their parents told them not to play with her and scatter.
But that day Cuicui came home beaming. She said a very handsome big brother had played with her all afternoon. Even when the other kids told him not to, he didn’t mind and gave her chocolate.
Liu Jinxia opened her eyes and looked at her daughter, a mix of helplessness and heartache in her gaze. Then she turned to Cui Guiying:
“Sister, let me speak frankly.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“Usually, out of twenty cases, fifteen turn out to be nothing. People just want peace of mind, and I go through the motions.
“Out of the rest, maybe four look like something’s off—but in the end, they’re nothing, too.
“So at most, there’s one case where things are really messy. But even that can still be cleaned up.
“I won’t take your money. First, because your man truly helped the two of us back then—I can’t take a cent from your family. Second, the usual hush money’s not worth it in a case like this.”
“But, this child—please, sister—help him.”
“I’ll help him,” Liu Jinxia smiled. “Bring me some ash from the stove altar.”
“Alright.”
Traditional stoves in the region often had several grooves, one of which sat behind the stove beneath a pasted image of the Stove God. A small incense burner usually rested in the groove.
Cui Guiying brought the burner over and set it before Liu Jinxia.
Liu Jinxia grabbed a handful of the ash and began muttering under her breath as she held it.
The chant was unintelligible, but she recited for a long while.
“Cover him.”
Before Cui Guiying could react, Li Juxiang stepped forward and covered Li Zhuiyuan’s nose and mouth with her hand.
Liu Jinxia smeared the ash on the boy’s neck and shoulders, rubbing it in like talcum powder.
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
But soon, something horrifying happened—Cui Guiying clapped a hand over her mouth.
She could see, clear as day, two purple handprints forming on her grandson’s shoulders.
“So vicious…” muttered Liu Jinxia. “Daughter, begin.”
“Okay.”
Li Juxiang stepped outside to retrieve some items from the tricycle. She handed an empty bowl and a calligraphy brush to her mother, poured in some ink, then pulled out a ball of red thread from her pocket. It looked like knitting yarn, but as she unraveled it, a rank, bloody scent filled the air. Her palm was smeared with red.
She tied one end of the thread around her own wrist, the other around Li Zhuiyuan’s. Then she stood at a distance.
Liu Jinxia dipped the brush in ink and began drawing circles on Li Zhuiyuan’s forehead, chanting as she went.
At first, nothing happened.
But as her pace quickened, the red thread began to tremble.
Cui Guiying instinctively looked toward the other end to see if Li Juxiang was pulling it—but when she raised her eyes, she saw Li Juxiang with her mouth open in agony. With a thud, she dropped to her knees, upper body leaning forward as if something was forcing her to kowtow.
Liu Jinxia glanced at her daughter with pain in her eyes, but didn’t slow her pace.
“Ah… ah… ah…”
Li Juxiang collapsed sideways, clutching her arms, rolling, kicking, drooling. Her eyes bulged, face turning blue.
Cui Guiying stood aside, torn between fear for her grandson and concern for Li Juxiang.
At last, the pain reached its peak—and then subsided. Li Juxiang sprawled on the floor, gasping for air.
Liu Jinxia finally stopped, her body swaying. Cui Guiying rushed to steady her.
“Fetch a basin of hot water. Wipe the child down.”
“Okay.”
Cui Guiying lifted the small stove lid and ladled out hot water. She soaked a cloth and began wiping the ash from Li Zhuiyuan.
Not only did the ash come away—but so did the purple handprints, smearing like ink.
She checked the cloth. No purple residue.
“Sister… is he better now?”
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