Nestled against the cliffs of Ji Mountain, it was built along the slopes and thrived by the water. Centuries ago, the village was considered an enviable paradise. While the outside world was in turmoil, with warlords battling and neighboring villages conscripting young men, almost none of whom returned alive, leaving behind only the elderly, women, and children to struggle and raise the next generation, Shanjiao Village was different.
Perhaps due to its treacherous mountain paths and the infamous Ghost Forest nearby, known as a place from which few returned, the village remained untouched. Its poverty and remoteness spared it from the ravages of war and famine. Under the shelter of the Ghost Forest and sustained by the wild boars and rabbits from the woods, the villagers carefully cultivated their small plots of land and lived contentedly.
From that time on, the villagers grew confident. Why care about the outside world? They had their soil, their land, and they paid no taxes to some distant emperor. Other villages, situated in more accessible locations, suffered repeated upheavals from dynastic changes. Refugees who fled to this remote village, finding food, shelter, and peace, soon adopted the same confidence. No matter how appealing the outside world seemed, it couldn’t compare to the tranquility of Shanjiao Village.
The villagers were immensely proud.
But one day, that pride was shattered.
A teacher came to the village, advocating for the benefits of education. The village chief, perched on the stone doorstep, smoked his old tobacco, eyes half-closed, his pants rolled up to the ankles and stained with dried mud. The teacher pleaded tirelessly, but the chief didn’t even lift an eyelid.
Throughout this, the village women gathered behind the stone wall, whispering and pointing at the presumptuous teacher. Unlike the villagers, he was an educated youth sent to the countryside. Handsome and refined, he grew flustered under the women’s bold and curious gazes, his face flushing red before he finally retreated in embarrassment.
The old chief scoffed, “What’s the use of reading? It’s a waste of time. Better to save your energy for farming.”
The educated youth left in frustration. Yet, day after day, stubborn idealists came to persuade the chief to send the village children to school. The chief would sit on the same stone doorstep, smoking his hand-rolled tobacco, the thick smoke bringing tears to the young visitors’ eyes. Watching his grandson chase the dog in the yard, he’d sneer, “We in Shanjiao Village lack neither food nor clothing. Only those with nothing better to do would bother learning to read.”
Everyone firmly believed that literacy was useless. Only by holding fast to their small patch of land and living off nature’s bounty could they truly prosper.
But the old chief didn’t know that after that educated youth left, a few young women had already begun sneaking down the mountain, curious about the schools in the town below.
Those young women’s initial intention was simply to catch another glimpse of the handsome young educated youth. With his fair complexion and refined features, he wore round-framed glasses that gave him an elegance completely unlike the rough young men of the village when he looked at people.
Huddled together in small groups at the window, they listened to the young educated youth teaching, speaking standard Mandarin with perfect enunciation inside the low earthen house. The girls giggled quietly, burying their fluttering hearts deep within.
Later, gradually, just to see this handsome educated youth a few more times, several young girls secretly brought their younger siblings to the town’s school. By the time the village chief finally discovered this behavior in the village, his youngest grandson had already become a student at the town school, returning every day to bite his pencil and practice writing under the kerosene lamp.
The old village chief was furious and forbade his grandson from attending school. But unable to bear his grandson’s heartbroken sobbing, he reluctantly carved a desk and small stool for the boy, silently accepting the situation.
But Shanjiao Village remained poor.
From that year onward, the villagers began yearning for the world beyond. Years later, those who left the mountains spread their wings like golden phoenixes, never willing to settle again in these barren wooded hills. Countless people craved the bustling traffic that could only exist in the outside world. By the time the old village chief passed away, the village had emptied out – young men chose to seek work elsewhere, young women married outside, leaving only the elderly, weak, women and children behind. The old chief sighed deeply on his deathbed, weeping continuously, wondering if he had doomed the entire village’s future.
But his final wishes would no longer be heard by anyone.
Aunt Zhang had once been among those young women.
In her youth, she possessed pretty features. Though dark-skinned, she carried herself with natural grace, displaying the lively innocence common among rural girls. Hardworking and diligent, she was quite admired by the young men in the village.
She yearned for the city more than others, longing for that cultured, refined educated youth. Listening to his elegant speech when he talked to her, watching him take off his wristwatch to give her as a token of love, breathing in his pleasant-scented snowflake moisturizer – she willingly fell for him.
The educated youth said he would marry her.
The educated youth said he needed to return to the city first, that he had unfinished business there. Answering the Chairman’s call, they needed to spread the revolutionary spark to every mountain forest and every inch of land.
The educated youth said he would take responsibility for her.
Aunt Zhang foolishly believed him, naively seeing him off from town, crying continuously along the way – half from worry, half from reluctance to part.
But even when Aunt Zhang carried the child to full term and gave birth, the educated youth never appeared. She stubbornly refused to abort his child, firmly believing he would return for her.
She named the child Yu Mingming. Since the educated youth’s surname was Yu, but she was illiterate and didn’t know which character it was, she chose the homophone Yu with the simplest strokes.
The educated youth never returned.
Aunt Zhang endured her family’s insults and weathered the village gossip until finally, she herself believed he wouldn’t come back. She told herself that perhaps he had died while engaged in revolutionary work.
Aunt Zhang, with her six- or seven-year-old daughter Yu Mingming, married a widower from the same village. The man was a failure in every way, he didn’t farm, drank heavily, and was fiercely competitive. He often beat and scolded Aunt Zhang and Yu Mingming, spending his days in a drunken haze, cursing her as a “worn-out shoe.”
Aunt Zhang had always endured it quietly, working diligently, and life had carried on in a semblance of peace. The village gossip made it hard for her to hold her head up, but at least she could survive. However, a few years later, when Yu Mingming had grown a little older, Aunt Zhang accidentally witnessed the widower making inappropriate advances toward the girl. Yu Mingming had grown up in the village hearing herself called a “bastard,” enduring endless rumors and cold stares until her mind was somewhat affected. Seeing this scene, Aunt Zhang was overcome with grief and rage and confronted the widower. He grabbed a broom and beat her until she was covered in bruises, while onlookers could only watch with pity.
Aunt Zhang had no family to turn to and nowhere else to go, so she had no choice but to endure the abuse like a beast of burden. After being beaten beyond recognition, she hardened her heart. When no one was watching, she lured the drunken widower into the woods at night.
Aunt Zhang knew that anyone who entered the Ghost Forest never came out. It was a man-eating forest, once you went in, not even your bones would remain.
And so, the widower vanished.
Aunt Zhang wandered the village for a day, pretending nothing had happened, and returned home. But then a neighbor came to her with news: Yu Mingming had entered the Ghost Forest. Someone had seen her and tried to stop her, but Yu Mingming, as if possessed, struggled and muttered incessantly, saying she was going to find her father. She had finally stopped being a “bastard” and couldn’t lose her father now.
Then Yu Mingming entered the forest and, like her so-called “father,” never reappeared.
When Aunt Zhang heard the news, she felt numb, as if a heavy stone had finally dropped in her heart. Dazed and dreamlike, she didn’t feel any sorrow at the time.
But today, that long-buried, numbing grief suddenly surged forth.
Those who entered the Ghost Forest never returned. So why were these two young women, Jiang Zhongxue and Qin Changsheng, able to emerge from the forest again and again, calm and unflinching?
If they had truly been in the Ghost Forest…
Had they seen Yu Mingming?