Chapter 4: The Ghost of the Family

What happened afterward? After my grandfather died, did my father hang him up?

In truth, I do not know. Whenever my father spoke of my grandfather, and I asked about this, he would refuse to continue.

Time passed quickly, and before I knew it, I was eighteen. The story of my grandfather’s Madman Kingdom was told to me by my father. Yet for as long as I can remember, I never lived in a mountain village but in a small county town.

I never knew if the story my father told was true; from a young age, I was skeptical.

However, when I was six, something strange did happen.

Though I didn’t live in the mountain village, every Qingming Festival my father would take me back to our old home to sweep the graves. I had seen my grandfather’s grave—it was exactly as described in the story, without a tombstone, just a mound of yellow earth.

That year during Qingming, when we arrived at the old home, it had rained for several days straight, turning the roads into mud. At my grandfather’s grave, a large section had been washed away by water, revealing several white bones.

I was the first to notice the bones and, out of curiosity, reached out to touch them. Unexpectedly, a snake suddenly emerged from the grave. Its head was flat and dark green, with a blood-red tongue flicking out. The glistening sheen on its head gave it an eerie appearance.

I was so frightened that I burst into tears. The snake was no more than ten centimeters from me. Strangely, it only stared at me and did not attack.

At that moment, my father heard my crying and hurried over. The snake’s head suddenly retracted, and it disappeared into the grave mound.

I fell into my father’s arms, pointing at the hole beside the bones, telling him there was a snake. He replied, “Don’t talk nonsense. That’s your grandfather.”

After burning incense paper for my grandfather and hanging a soul-calling paper on the grave, I was moved by the fact there was no tombstone.

By then, I was attending school and could read a few characters, so I asked my father my grandfather’s name, hoping to make a tombstone for him.

My father answered casually, “Li Guozheng.”

I quickly found a bamboo stick, carved my grandfather’s name on it, and placed it at the head of the grave. No one noticed this small act. After paying respects at my grandfather’s grave, my father took me to my grandmother’s grave.

I must mention my grandmother. In all the stories my father told me, he never mentioned her. Once, when I asked, he answered vaguely, saying that my grandmother died before my father was born, so my father never saw her.

Though I was young, I found it strange. Why did a death always accompany a birth? When my father was born, my grandmother died. When I was born, my grandfather died. It felt like a curse, as if our family was doomed never to prosper.

After visiting my grandmother’s grave, my father quickly left the mountain village, unwilling to stay even a minute longer. It felt as if some taboo hung over the place.

Back home in the county town, it was already evening. I was exhausted from the day and went straight to bed after dinner. Of course, I had long forgotten about making a tombstone for my grandfather.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened—not naturally, but by someone calling me. Half asleep, I saw a figure outside the window, pressing their face against the glass, pounding hard, and calling my name.

Though not fully awake, I recognized the voice—it was Er Lengzi, my childhood playmate.

Awakened in the dead of night, I was annoyed and shouted, “Stop it, I want to sleep!”

Er Lengzi said, “Li Xi, come play with me, I don’t have much time left.”

Just then, a cold wind blew into the room, fully waking me. I turned toward the window and saw it was open—but Er Lengzi was gone.

I got out of bed to close the window, paid it no mind, and returned to sleep.

But the moment I closed my eyes, I heard Er Lengzi’s voice again, “Li Xi, come play with me.”

I snapped my eyes open, scanning the room but found no sign of him. A chill ran over me, and goosebumps broke out.

I went back to the window and looked outside—still no one.

Terrified, I returned to bed, covering myself with the blanket before daring to close my eyes again.

Then suddenly, I felt a cold hand grasp mine—icy cold enough to make me shiver.

I screamed loudly and threw off the blanket, but the room was empty.

Hearing my scream, my parents rushed into my room. Crying, I recounted what had happened. Their faces changed completely.

My father took my hand and asked, “Did you do anything at your grandfather’s grave today?”

I thought for a moment and told him about placing the bamboo tombstone.

His face darkened instantly, and he slapped me.

That night, I fell gravely ill. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Er Lengzi’s voice again. I felt someone climbing onto my bed, tugging and playing with me.

I was too scared to close my eyes or even blink. When I did blink, I could faintly see Er Lengzi standing in a corner of my room.

Fortunately, morning came, and I survived the night. My parents stayed awake as well. My father sat smoking endlessly, looking suddenly aged by several years.

Before dawn, my father left early for the old home alone. At the same time, we received terrible news.

Er Lengzi had died the previous night—he slipped on a bar of soap in his own bathroom and fell to his death.

My father arrived at the old home by noon. Meanwhile, my mother had taken me to the hospital. After thorough examination, the doctors could find nothing wrong.

At that moment, my father pulled out the bamboo stick I had placed at my grandfather’s grave.

Suddenly, a cold wind swept over me, and I instantly felt fully awake. My illness vanished completely, and I was able to get out of bed and move about.

The doctors examined me again and were utterly stunned.

After this incident, I fully believed the story of my grandfather’s Madman Kingdom was true.

When I turned eighteen, I graduated from high school. Shortly after the college entrance exam came my eighteenth birthday.

That day, my parents wore unusually solemn expressions. After dinner, just as I was about to return to my room, they pulled me back to the dining table.

There on the table lay a cloth-wrapped bundle, about the size of a book. Written on the cloth was a line: “To be left to my grandson.” Signed: Li Guozheng.

My parents glanced at me and softly said, “Open it yourself.”

I took a knife and cut open the cloth bundle. Inside lay a letter and a yellowed book.

The book’s title was “The Art of Ghosts.”