Chapter Thirty: Bewitching Melody

My whole body shuddered, and my heart began to pound uncontrollably. How could this be possible? The scene before my eyes was surely what had happened on that night twenty years ago, but how could it be that the groom for the ghost marriage in this family was me? Everything was far too bizarre to comprehend.

The other "me" seemed to notice my presence; he cast a strange glance in my direction, then slowly turned his head to look at the bride in the coffin. I could distinctly see a line of tears falling from the corner of his eye. He bent down toward the coffin, bowing to the woman inside, while beside him another person holding a rooster also bowed deeply.

“Second bow to the elders!”

“Bow to each other as husband and wife!”

The entire wedding ritual lasted only a minute, but to me it felt interminable. An intense fear gripped me throughout; I didn't know who the man was, nor who the woman in the coffin was, or what kind of passionate love they might have shared, and certainly not who had been responsible for her death.

Yet beneath this terror, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a profound and ineffable sorrow. My heart felt unbearably heavy, almost to the point of agony.

Unbidden, tears welled up and began to fall. I had no idea why I was crying. While I was still tormented by this inexplicable grief, a sudden commotion erupted in the main hall—a chorus of terrified cries, and then people began to flee in panic toward the doors.

“What’s happening?” I wondered, my heart jolting. At that very moment, the sky outside seemed to change in an instant; a piercing, icy wind howled from all directions. Inside the hall, someone shouted in shock, “What’s going on? Xiao Zhou—Xiao Zhou is about to give birth!”

Even though I knew all this was a hallucination, that shout sent a chill down my spine. Xiao Zhou—wasn’t she the dead bride lying in the coffin? How could she be giving birth? She was already dead!

I hurried into the main hall and saw the corpse in the coffin—her lower abdomen was undulating grotesquely, and dark, red-black blood was streaming down her thighs. A blood-soaked infant’s head had already emerged.

The room was in utter chaos; people fled wildly toward the exits, all except the man who looked exactly like me. He was crouched before the coffin, his whole body trembling—not with fear, but with overwhelming emotion. He was weeping uncontrollably, reaching out to hold the infant as it struggled free from its mother’s corpse.

The instant the baby was born, a clear wail rang out within the hall. In that very moment, a bolt of lightning split the sky, and from somewhere in the distance, a strange, melancholy sound of a melodica drifted through the night.

The melodica was a popular instrument in the nineties. I couldn’t tell what tune was being played, but its notes were soaked in sorrow. My head buzzed and then fell into a muddled haze, until finally, a wave of desolation and despair surged up from the depths of my heart. My thoughts no longer seemed my own; flashes of memories that had once torn my heart apart flickered before my eyes.

I had been without parents since childhood. Now my grandfather was dead, Zuo Dao was dead, Luo Xiu was dead, Yang Li and old Mrs. Chen were all dead, and even my last remaining friend in White Street, Wang Feiyang, had disappeared. All their deaths were because of my cursed fate. My whole life was wretched—I was a harbinger of misfortune, someone who didn’t deserve to exist in this world.

Confused and aimless, I turned around. The image of the Dongmen Reservoir appeared vividly in my mind. I thought perhaps I should just jump from the dam and put an end to this miserable life.

In a daze, I began to walk out of the courtyard. Along the way, I saw the people around me were just like I was—faces numb, with a hint of pain and struggle beneath the blankness. I supposed they, too, believed themselves to be cursed and felt compelled to end their wretched lives.

The sound of the despairing melodica came from the direction of the reservoir outside the village. Drawn by the music, we walked step by step toward the water.

“Wu Dao!”

At that moment, a voice suddenly rang out in my mind. My heart gave a violent jolt, and the suffocating sensation vanished instantly.

“Wu Dao, wake up.”

Suddenly, I felt someone sharply pinch the spot between my nose and upper lip. Instantly, everything before my eyes disappeared. When I opened them again, I found myself lying in the overgrown weeds of a deserted courtyard, with the Bus Uncle crouched anxiously in front of me.

The abrupt change left my mind blank for two whole seconds. Then, bewildered, I looked at Bus Uncle and asked him what had happened.

He asked me the same thing, saying he’d been looking for me all night and finally found me unconscious in the weeds of this house’s yard.

My head throbbed as if it were about to explode. Only then did I realize dawn was already breaking. I was startled—after all, it had seemed like I’d only just entered the yard, so how had the whole night passed so quickly?

Quickly, I recounted everything I had just experienced to Bus Uncle and said that if he hadn’t woken me when he did, I might have learned the secret behind the mass suicide of over three hundred people in Dongmen Village twenty years ago.

Bus Uncle was just as incredulous, but his expression soon darkened. Grabbing my hand, he urged that we shouldn’t linger here any longer and insisted we leave the village at once.

Seeing how tense he was, I didn’t dare ask more and followed him out of Dongmen Village immediately.

At the village entrance, I realized I was drenched in sweat. I looked back at the lonely, desolate village, gripped by a feeling too complex and obscure to put into words.

That night, neither Bus Uncle nor I found Wang Feiyang or the ghostly woman, but we hadn’t come away empty-handed. At least, from the visions I’d witnessed, I’d gained some understanding of what happened that night two decades ago.

Though I had no idea why I was able to see those past events, I had to admit the visions were invaluable in unraveling the mysteries. Especially that final, lingering tune—it seemed to be the very cause behind the mass suicide of Dongmen Village.

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t witnessed the villagers’ ultimate fate, nor understood what happened to the child born from the corpse at the ghost wedding, nor had I seen the person playing the melodica.

I asked Bus Uncle where he’d been all night and why he’d vanished so soon after entering the village.

A strange look came over his face, and he said he wasn’t sure either. One moment I was there, then I was gone, and after that he’d searched the village alone, only finding me at dawn in that courtyard.

Both of us had the same sensation: although it felt like we’d been in the village only a short while, the entire night had passed.

Soon, we returned to the dam at Dongmen Reservoir. The tents near the bamboo grove were still there; it looked like Professor Liu’s group hadn’t left.

I shook my head, muttering that these people were truly reckless—knowing how dangerous this place was, yet stubbornly refusing to leave.

Before I finished speaking, Bus Uncle’s face suddenly darkened. Muttering that something was wrong, he broke into a run toward the tents.

I hurried after him, puzzled; under normal circumstances, Professor Liu and his team of more than twenty should have been up making breakfast by now. With so many people, there should have been voices and movement, but now everything was deathly silent.

As we drew near and saw the scene before us, I was rooted in shock.

All twenty-some members of the geological survey team, along with the fourteen bodies they had previously retrieved, were now floating in the reservoir, sprawled in grotesque positions. Each face was twisted in an expression of terror, as if they had all died in unspeakable fear.