Few people would believe it if I told them. Ever since I could remember, I had never slept in a bed, but rather in a very old coffin. The coffin’s interior measured 57 centimeters wide at the bottom front, 42 centimeters wide at the top opening, and 60 centimeters high—standard dimensions for a coffin. Every night before I went to sleep, Grandpa would light three sticks of Gongxiang incense in the western corner of the coffin. This incense was made of agarwood, and it smelled very pleasant, just enough to mask the faint odor of decay inside the coffin. Before I turned five, it was fine, because I didn’t know what a coffin was, and the coffin was covered with a white quilt, and it was wide enough to sleep in, so I didn’t think much of it—it was just a place to sleep. But after I turned five, the coffin began to feel a bit narrow, so much so that I couldn’t even turn over. I couldn’t help but ask Grandpa if I could sleep in the big bed like he did. Not only did Grandpa refuse my request, but he also gave me a severe beating and demanded that whenever I slept, I had to sleep in the coffin. In the countryside, superstition was common, and Grandpa was famously superstitious in the village. He often presided over funerals and grave relocations, and he also practiced feng shui, whether for yin houses or yang houses, always muttering mysteriously. Before I turned five, I had no playmates. Apart from Grandpa, there was no one else in the house, and the villagers didn’t even know I existed. I was sensible from a young age—when Grandpa forbade me from going out, I didn’t cry or make a fuss. Sometimes, I could spend an entire afternoon playing with Grandpa’s old tobacco pipe. I didn’t know why this was, after all, I was still young then. After being beaten by Grandpa, I became even more afraid to bring up the matter of sleeping in the big bed. When I turned six and had to start school, I finally came into contact with people other than Grandpa. But Grandpa never allowed me to bring other kids home to play, and when they came to find me, he absolutely wouldn’t let them into my room. In fact, there was nothing in my room except for the coffin placed right in the center. At six years old, I was just entering my first rebellious phase. The more Grandpa forbade me from bringing people home, the more I wanted to do it. Taking advantage of Grandpa’s absence, I brought a little friend into my room. That friend was very chubby, and everyone called him Pangzi. As soon as he entered my room, the first thing he saw was the coffin. He let out a startled cry and said, “Zhao Mo, why is there a coffin in your room? Where’s your bed?” I pointed at the coffin and said, “This is my bed.” After hearing that, Pangzi turned and ran, shouting, “You’re a dead person! Only dead people sleep in coffins.” This incident quickly spread throughout the entire village. The adults in the village didn’t say much about it, since they all knew what kind of person Grandpa was, but the kids were in an uproar. Pangzi’s grandfather ran a coffin shop in town, and everyone said that was a very inauspicious thing. As for me, I became a “person of ill omen.” From then on, I had no friends at all. When I went to school, my classmates kept their distance from me, calling me “Guangui.” The adults also told their children not to play with me. After this incident, Grandpa hung me up and gave me a severe beating. At the time, I vaguely understood why Grandpa didn’t want me to bring people into my room, but I still couldn’t understand why he insisted that I sleep in the coffin.
Children have short memories when it comes to punishment but long ones for food. After learning that coffins were for dead people to sleep in, I began to resist sleeping inside mine. Once, in the middle of the night, I snuck into my grandfather’s room and got caught. That time, he starved me for a full three days before I finally gave in, never daring to defy him again. My grandfather often left early and returned late, and my personality grew increasingly withdrawn because I had no friends. Other families kept dogs, pigs, and chickens, but we had nothing—except for the occasional rats I could spot. They became my playmates, and when bored, I’d talk to them. That lonely life continued until one summer night when I was six. It was scorching hot, and every dog in the village was barking. The adults all rushed out with flashlights, carrying shoulder poles and hoes, as if chasing a thief. Kids love a commotion, and I was no exception, but my grandfather had said I couldn’t leave the house after sunset, or he’d starve me for another three days. So I could only open the window and lean out to watch. Before the villagers reached my place, I spotted a dark shadow slithering over, slipping through the window into my room. I saw it clearly—a snake as thick as my arm, blue in color. Not long after it slipped in, dozens of villagers arrived at my doorstep. I quickly shut the window because everyone in the village looked down on me, and if they saw me, I’d face nothing but scorn. Turning to look inside the room, the blue snake was gone. My room had no other exit besides that window—could it have crawled into my coffin? I walked slowly to the coffin and sure enough, saw the snake inside. It coiled itself into a spiral shape, lifting its head to stare at me. Its eyes were blue too, like sapphires, stunningly beautiful. It had six wounds, with crimson blood seeping out, staining the blue scales purple. It looked pitiful. “Are you okay?” I quickly climbed into the coffin, lying down to ask with concern. Just as I finished speaking, my grandfather pushed open my door with a few others. He asked, “Mozi, have you seen a big blue snake?” The moment it heard his voice, the snake burrowed into the bedding, seeming terrified. My heart softened—I felt sorry for it. Besides, I had no toys, and I was tired of the rats. Now a beautiful snake had come to keep me company, so why would I tell? In my heart, these animals were far friendlier than people. I pretended to have been asleep, sat up from the coffin, rubbed my eyes, and said, “Grandpa, I haven’t seen any snake.” He nodded, turned, and shut the door, muttering, “Let’s search elsewhere. Mozi, stay inside and don’t come out.” After he left, I sighed in relief, lifted the bedding, and said to the snake, “It’s okay, they’re gone.” The snake seemed to have a spirit—it poked its head out, nodded at me, as if in gratitude. “Sleep now. Once your wounds heal, I’ll secretly take you outside,” I whispered, covering it with the bedding again.
The villagers searched for that snake for a full three days, and no one knew it was with me. From the adults’ discussions, I learned that the snake had bitten Er Ya’s dog to death and also killed Pangzi’s cow. It was highly venomous, an ill-omened thing, and they insisted it had to be killed. Some even said that after seven years, the snake would become a spirit and then bring death to everyone in the village. When I heard the words ‘ill-omened thing,’ my resolve to protect that snake was strengthened even more, because I too had been called an ill-omened thing. Three days later, the snake’s wounds had completely healed, but when I told it I was going to send it away, it burrowed into the bedding, seemingly unwilling to leave. Over those three days, I had grown accustomed to its presence, and since it didn’t want to go, I was naturally very happy. It was beautiful and had no smell at all. To keep Grandpa from discovering it, I used a saw to make a small hole in the bottom of the coffin when Grandpa wasn’t around. There was a gap of about five centimeters between the bottom of the coffin and the ground, so when I wasn’t there, it could hide beneath the coffin. Even if Grandpa changed my bedding, he wouldn’t find it. And every day when I came home from school, I would catch some frogs or mice to feed it. It ate very little—only needing to eat once a week. And so, I slept with a snake for a full six years. Every day after school, after eating dinner and finishing my homework, I would climb into the coffin as fast as I could. Every time I climbed in, it would slither out and wrap itself around me to play. Its body felt wonderful—cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Every night, I fell asleep pillowed on its body, feeling very peaceful. That year I turned twelve. I remember it was the night before my birthday. Grandpa came in as usual to offer incense, but this time, he wasn’t holding just three sticks—he had a whole bundle. Besides the Gongxiang, he was also carrying a large bag of spirit money. I followed behind Grandpa, wondering why he was acting so unusually tonight. Grandpa came in without saying a word, lit the spirit money, and then said, “Mozi, burn the paper money here. The next seven nights are critical. If you get through them safely, you’ll live. If not, then it’s fate.” “Grandpa, what do you mean?” I asked, confused. Grandpa let out a sigh and said, “You’re old enough now that there are some things I can tell you. Do you know why I’ve had you sleep in that coffin all this time?” I looked at Grandpa while burning the paper money, waiting for him to continue. I had asked many times when I was younger, and every time I got a beating for it. This time, I didn’t dare ask again. Grandpa said, “Your Eight Characters and destiny are of the Jiyin Mingge—the extreme yin fate. This kind of fate is one in ten thousand.” “Grandpa, what is Jiyin Mingge?” I asked, blinking. Grandpa lit the incense as he spoke, “Fate is divided into yin and yang. Yang gathers people, yin attracts ghosts. Extreme yin and extreme yang fates are the two extremes of destiny. Extreme yang is the fate of emperors, while extreme yin…” Grandpa stopped there. I looked at him in confusion and asked, “Grandpa, what about extreme yin?” Grandpa sighed and said, “Extreme yin is the ‘Guiduo Zhiming’—a fate stolen by ghosts. And twelve is the number of manifestation. After midnight tonight, you’ll be twelve. Seven is the number of the returning soul. Your extreme yin fate will gradually manifest, reaching a peak after seven days. At that point, all the lonely spirits and wild ghosts within a hundred li will come to fight over your body.”