Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Village of the Dead

The fury of the bus uncle clearly startled Professor Liu, who stammered for a moment, unsure of what to say. At that moment, hearing the commotion, Professor Liu’s subordinates rushed over. When they saw the bus uncle about to hit Professor Liu, anger flashed across their faces. They shouted for the bus uncle to let go of Professor Liu at once, or else they wouldn’t hold back.

I lost my temper as well and shouted at them, “What do you think you’re doing? We just helped you, and now you’re threatening us?”

The air between us instantly crackled with tension. Seeing this, the bus uncle released his grip on Professor Liu’s collar and gave him a rough shove. Almost simultaneously, Professor Liu’s subordinates lunged at the bus uncle.

Professor Liu quickly called them off, then shot the bus uncle an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But we can’t agree to your request. I’m over sixty now, already at retirement age. I truly wish to solve the mystery beneath this reservoir before I die, so that my career as a surveyor will have no regrets.”

“Do you realize that your so-called career fulfillment could cost everyone here their lives?” I couldn’t hold back anymore and roared at Professor Liu. “Twenty years ago, over three hundred people from Dongmen Village drowned themselves in this reservoir. Do you want to repeat their fate? Whatever’s in that water is not something you can handle.”

Professor Liu shook his head. “Are you saying there are ghosts under the reservoir? Or that Dongmen Village is haunted?”

“Everywhere is haunted,” I answered. “If you don’t leave now, the ghosts will kill you.”

This made not only Professor Liu but all his people burst out laughing. They looked at us as if we were fools. One of them even said, “If this place is haunted, why haven’t we seen anything after two months here?”

Professor Liu quickly suppressed his smile, as though realizing it was in poor taste to mock us. He took a deep breath. “Before I came, I read the files on Dongmen Village. Twenty years ago, the villagers did leave, but I suspect it was because the government planned to redevelop this area, so they all relocated. It wasn’t some mass suicide like you claim.”

“Then how do you explain those fourteen deaths? Or why, after two months of pumping, the reservoir’s water never runs dry?” I pressed.

The professor hesitated, apparently unable to explain. “In geological surveys, people do die. As for why the water can’t be drained, my guess is there’s probably an underground river beneath the reservoir. I’ve already requested a professional survey team from above...”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the professionals?” I scoffed, wanting to argue further, but the bus uncle pulled me back.

He looked grim and said nothing, just dragged me away from the tents toward Dongmen Village.

“That Professor Liu is impossibly stubborn,” I muttered angrily as we walked.

“If they’re hell-bent on courting death, no one can save them.” The bus uncle stopped, glanced coldly back at the tents, and said in a chilling tone, “Every one of them has a black aura around their foreheads. They won’t live much longer.”

After those words, we walked side by side toward Dongmen Village. The moment we reached the entrance and saw the silent village inside, my heart leapt into my throat.

Clutching the black-and-white photograph in my hand, I took a deep breath and asked, “How do you know what happened in Dongmen Village twenty years ago? There’s no record of it, not even in the village archives.”

The bus uncle didn’t answer, just stared at the overgrown, desolate village ahead.

“Why did the villagers of Dongmen Village all drown themselves in the reservoir overnight twenty years ago? Was it a curse?”

“Don’t ask. I’ve told you everything I know. Now, like you, I’m taking things one step at a time.” At this, the bus uncle’s expression turned serious. He asked if I remembered the talisman technique he’d taught me earlier.

I nodded quickly. “I remember.”

“Good. Once we’re inside Dongmen Village, keep this in mind: no matter what you see or hear, remember it’s all an illusion. If anyone tries to force you to do something against your will, use the palm-thunder talisman on them.”

I nodded, then asked how we would find Wang Feiyang.

The bus uncle glanced at the sky. “It’s almost dark. Even though there’s no sun during the day, that female ghost shouldn’t appear in daylight. So if we go in now, we might see her.”

A sudden thought struck me, and I asked, “Ordinary people can’t see ghosts—so how can we both see that woman?”

The bus uncle replied, “After you opened the coffin on the back hill of Bai Street, she reclaimed her Dao body. At the very least, she’s now a powerful ghost. If she doesn’t want to show herself, normal people wouldn’t see her. But you were born with the Nine Yin fate, and now that Yang Li is dead, your suppressed fate has returned and opened your Yin-Yang eyes. That’s why you can see her.”

I was stunned. “What did you just say? She reclaimed what on the back hill?”

Realizing he’d slipped, the bus uncle quickly dodged, “I didn’t say anything—you must have misheard!”

Though I was puzzled, I didn’t press. By now I understood his character: if he wanted to tell me something, he would. If he didn’t, nothing I asked would make a difference.

“What about you? You can see ghosts too—does that mean you’ve opened your Yin-Yang eyes?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I have other ways.” With that, he pulled out a small bottle of ox tears and dabbed some on his eyes, then proceeded cautiously into Dongmen Village.

The village was eerily silent. Walking through it felt like traversing a strange and haunted graveyard. My nerves were stretched taut, afraid something might suddenly leap out at us.

Once inside, the bus uncle signaled me to stay quiet and not to call out Wang Feiyang’s name, lest we disturb the wandering souls nearby. If the Daoist woman had really hidden Wang Feiyang in Dongmen Village, we would have to search every house to find him.

It was a clumsy method, but given the circumstances, we had no better option.

I couldn’t help but wonder why the female ghost hadn’t appeared yet. Wasn’t her goal to lure us here? Now that we’d come, why was she hiding?

Despite my doubts, I didn’t dare slack off. I began searching the village with the bus uncle for any sign of Wang Feiyang.

According to the bus uncle, after the mass suicide of Dongmen Village’s residents twenty years ago, the local government sealed off all information about the incident. Someone even suggested burning the village to the ground, but the idea was rejected by the authorities. In the end, they simply surrounded the village, forbidding anyone from entering or leaving until the matter faded from memory.

After those people withdrew, Dongmen Village was gradually forgotten. Not a brick or tile was touched; aside from the ravages of sun and rain, everything inside remained just as it was twenty years ago.

I pushed open the door of one house and was startled by two rats that scurried out. The courtyard was overgrown with weeds. In the middle stood a plastic basin riddled with holes, filled with scraps of cloth shredded by rats. I could almost picture the owner washing clothes in the yard, suddenly summoned away mid-chore, thinking they’d be back shortly—never imagining they’d never return.

We found no trace of Wang Feiyang in that house and moved on to the next. By about seven in the evening, the bus uncle and I had searched most of the village, yet Wang Feiyang was still nowhere to be found.

Many of the houses had collapsed; others were on the verge. Some doors were tightly shut, others wide open—all signs that the owners had only meant to step out briefly, never suspecting they would never return.

A full moon now hung high in the sky. In the depths of winter, such a moon was rare. Its pale light made the deserted village seem even more eerie.

We entered a two-story brick house—the kind that marked a wealthy family in rural areas twenty years ago. In the main room stood a table with several porcelain bowls on it, each filled with some dark, unidentifiable substance.

In front of the table, a black-and-white television set, thick with dust and cobwebs, sat against the wall.

Seeing this, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow. I turned to the bus uncle and said, “Just as you said, twenty years ago, this family must have been eating dinner and watching ‘Legend of the White Snake’ on this TV. Then, halfway through, they were called outside and never came back.”

There was no reply from behind me. The silence was absolute. I frowned and instinctively turned around—my heart skipped a beat. The space behind me was empty. The bus uncle had vanished without a trace!