Bai Lingmiao

Thump-thump-thump! Thump-thump-thump! “Calling the spirits now~~” A rhythmic drumbeat sounded inside a crude earthen house.

“Little drumstick, one foot three, tied with a five-colored ribbon! Thump-thump-thump!”

“Downward it bends in a curve, upward it points to a point! Thump-thump-thump!”

“One beat, three shakes; three beats, nine rattles! Thump-thump-thump!”

“When the whip strikes, the drum sings; when the drum sings, the immortals come! Thump-thump-thump!”

Inside the room, two women in red veils circled a deathly-pale child, beating their drums without pause.

Beside the child’s pillow rested a small mound of earth, and stuck into the earth were three incense sticks. The rising smoke twisted in the air, beginning to form several blurry characters.

Just as the characters were about to solidify, a sudden gust of wind burst through the tightly shut window, scattering the wisps of smoke into nothing.

In an instant, the drumming grew frantic and sharp.

The Great Spirit’s long, pitch-black nails traced through the air. The dispersing white smoke seemed to gain substance—turning into tangible white threads that she wound around her hand.

Guided by the white thread, her sharp fingers stabbed deep into the child’s palm, three inches below the base of his thumb.

Then, with a swift slash downward, she cut open the tender flesh of his palm. A wriggling mass of yellow things like fish roe tried to burrow out.

A pair of black scissors wrapped in red string stabbed into the wound, prying it open wider.

“Waaah-waaah-waaah!” The child, who moments ago had been deathly pale, sat up crying, wailing for his father.

He didn’t notice that the things crawling out of his palm were rapidly dissolving into a pool of yellow liquid, mixing with his tears to soak the bamboo mat beneath him.

“My boy! My boy!” A withered, short man rushed in anxiously and saw his nearly dead child awake.

He hurried over, scooping the sweat-soaked, crying boy into his arms, then turned to bow repeatedly to Bai Lingmiao, who had just removed her red veil.

Her face haggard, Bai Lingmiao smiled bitterly and shook her head, turning to leave.

“Spirit Lady, wait! I haven’t paid you yet.”

The man frantically rummaged through a chest. From the coins he had saved at the bottom, he picked out fifty good ones—coins whose rough edges hadn’t even been trimmed. He held them out with both hands to Bai Lingmiao.

She looked at the patches on his knees, the straw sandals on his feet, then at the nearly empty room. She shook her head again and refused.

“Forget it, Uncle. Keep it to buy the child some food. He’s so thin.”

“No, no, Spirit Lady, you have to take it! My family’s only got this one seedling. If you hadn’t saved his life, I’d have no one to bury me when I’m old!”

After several refusals, Bai Lingmiao finally had no choice but to accept the fifty coins.

When she came out of the earthen house, Chun Xiaoman, who had been practicing her sword beside the cart with one arm, quickly sheathed her blade and hurried over. “How did it go, Miao Miao? All done?”

Seeing the other girl nod, Xiaoman gave a small smile and took her hand, leading her toward the cart. The mud-caked wheels began to turn, slowly rolling towards Niuxin Mountain.

“Thank you, Sister Xiaoman, for coming all this way with me.”

Hearing Bai Lingmiao’s thanks from inside the cart, Chun Xiaoman quickly replied, “Don’t be so formal. Aren’t we sisters? If we ran into bandits on the road, I could help out.”

Lifting the cart curtain a sliver, Chun Xiaoman glanced at Bai Lingmiao inside and sighed softly.

That excuse had been a lie, of course. Bai Lingmiao didn’t need her protection. It was just that seeing the black ligature mark on her pale neck—one that never seemed to fade—she couldn’t relax without staying close.

Logically, no matter how great the calamity, time would eventually pass.

Just like when her own parents had sold her—thinking about it now didn’t hurt as much anymore.

But her sister wasn’t like that. Even after all this time since Senior Li had left, she was still this lost soul.

She hadn’t smiled once since then. Her eyes were hollow, as if something had been taken from her.

The cart kept moving, not stopping until late at night.

They hadn’t reached Niuxin Village. There were no other settlements nearby, so they’d have to spend the night in the wilderness.

After a quick meal of dry rations, the two lay down to rest in the cart.

Half-asleep, Chun Xiaoman, still worried, reached out and touched the girl’s face beside her.

When she felt that the other’s eyes were still open, she sighed. “Miao Miao, this won’t do. I know you’re hurting, but it’s been so long now. You have to move on.”

“The dead can’t come back. Torturing yourself like this won’t bring them back.”

When she got no response, Chun Xiaoman tried a different angle. “Since we’re speaking heart-to-heart, I’ll be blunt. I know Senior Li saved us, but that’s separate. He really wasn’t that great.”

“Never mind the things he did. Look at you now—if you said you were looking for a husband, half the men in the county would be lining up to marry into the Bai family.”

“You want fat ones, you want thin ones—anyone you like. None of them would be worse than Li Huowang?”

“You two splitting up was his loss, I swear. The way I see it, with how crazy he is, he’s doomed to die a lonely old bachelor. No other woman would take him.”

Chun Xiaoman knew she wasn’t being fair to Senior Li. But if bad-mouthing him could snap her sister out of this, it was worth it. A few harsh words wouldn’t cost him anything.

Bai Lingmiao curled up like a child in her arms. “Stop it, Sister Xiaoman…”

“Fine, forget the lousy man. You could do what I did—become a self-combed woman! But no matter what, you have to pull yourself together, not keep going like this! What you’re doing now is giving up on yourself!”

Getting worked up, Chun Xiaoman grabbed her shoulders and shook her. But as she did, she heard a sob, and her heart instantly softened.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop. Don’t cry. Go to sleep.” She held the other girl in her arms, stroking her waist-length hair over and over.

The night passed without another word. When they woke the next morning, it was as if the conversation had never happened. They continued their journey toward Niuxin Mountain.

Under the pull of two sturdy horses, the two arrived at the edge of Niuxin Village by the afternoon of the following day.

“Hey, Old Man Lü! Going out for opera?” Chun Xiaoman, driving the cart, called out to an oncoming carriage.

Lyu Zhuangyuan chuckled and nodded, puffing on his pipe. “Heading south to see if there are any villages. The Great Liang’s got money—one gig there is worth years of work for me back home.”

“Just this few people? Your youngest boy still hasn’t come back?”