Ritual

The kitchen smelled faintly of smoke and old wood.

Yue Meixue stood near the stove, her hands reached into the incense burner that Mo Ring had just handed her. The small clay pot was warm to the touch, its base blackened from years of sitting over fire.

There were many grooves built into the old earthen stove, one of which tucked at the back was meant for placing offerings and incense during the year's turning points. From that groove, the incense burner had been taken.

Yue Meixue pulled out a handful of gray-white incense ash, holding it gently in her palm like something sacred. She closed her eyes and began to chant in a low murmur.

The words were inaudible to Mo Ring, an old dialect, or perhaps something older. The rhythm was steady, like a lullaby humming just below breath.

She chanted for a long time.

Finally, she opened her eyes and said, without looking up, "Cover his mouth and nose."

"Eh?" Mo Ring blinked, confused, but before she could react, Gu Suqing stepped forward and gently placed both hands over Gu Chen's nose and mouth, holding them there firmly.

Yue Meixue stepped in. She began rubbing the incense ash across the boy's neck and shoulders. Her movements were slow at first like applying powder to a baby in summer but the pressure increased with each motion.

And then—

Mo Ring gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Two dark purple handprints bloomed beneath Meixue's fingertips, one on each of Gu Chen's shoulders. As if someone had clutched him from front with burning, bruising fingers.

The shape was unmistakable: palm-sized, with long, claw-like fingers.

"So fierce…" Yue Meixue muttered, her tone grim. Then she looked to her daughter. "Girl, let's begin."

Gu Suqing nodded and turned to go outside.

Moments later, she returned with a bundle of items pulled from the tricycle. First, she handed her mother a small empty bowl and a brush. Then she uncorked a small bottle of thick black ink, poured it into the bowl, and handed it over. From her pocket, she pulled out a ball of red thread, the kind used to knit sweaters.

But when she untied it, the thread gave off a strange, faintly fishy smell. A wet, organic odor that clung to the skin. As she unraveled it, her hands came away slick and red, the thread soaked with something that was not dye.

Without speaking, Gu Suqing tied one end of the red thread around her own wrist, and the other end around Gu Chen's. Then she stepped back, keeping just enough distance for the line to stretch straight and tight between them.

Yue Meixue dipped the brush into the ink, its bristles soaking the dark liquid. She placed the tip against Gu Chen's forehead and began drawing small circles, one after another, never lifting the brush.

All the while, she muttered.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of her breath, her chanting, and the soft strokes of the brush.

At first, nothing happened.

But then, the red thread twitched.

It trembled as though caught by wind… though there was no wind in the room.

Mo Ring leaned forward slightly, heart pounding. Her eyes trailed down the line of thread to Gu Suqing, half-expecting to see her daughter moving it.

But Gu Suqing wasn't moving.

In fact, she was starting to look… distressed.

Her face twitched. Her lips parted.

Then suddenly—

"Ah!" she cried out.

With a loud thud, she collapsed to her knees, her body bowing forward as if something had grabbed her spine and pulled her down.

Yue Meixue glanced at her, pain flashing in her eyes, but her hand didn't slow. Her brush strokes grew faster, her voice louder and firmer.

Gu Suqing gritted her teeth, her fingers curling inward. Her back arched, and she fell sideways to the floor. She twisted in pain, saliva spilling from the corner of her mouth. Her face was flushed and blue, her eyes wide open in terror.

"Ah… ah… ah…"

Her limbs jerked as if fighting something invisible. Her feet kicked out blindly. Her arms flailed and then clamped around her body as though shielding herself from an unseen attacker.

Mo Ring stood frozen. She didn't know whether to reach for her grandson or run to Gu Suqing.

The entire room seemed to shrink.

But just as suddenly as it began… it started to end.

Gu Suqing's limbs loosened. Her breathing slowed. Her body dropped into stillness, lying flat on the ground with arms spread out like a fallen bird. Her chest rose and fell in deep, shuddering gasps.

At the same time, Yue Meixue's hand stopped moving.

She swayed slightly, pale and breathless, her fingers stained with ash and ink. She looked ready to collapse.

Mo Ring rushed forward and caught her by the arm.

"Hot water. Wipe the child." Yue Meixue whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Right, right!"

Mo Ring turned quickly. She pulled the wooden cover off the small stove, revealing a simmering clay pot, and scooped steaming water into a basin.

She dipped a cloth into the basin and began wiping Gu Chen's body. The incense ash came off easily, smearing into gray streaks across his pale skin. But more startling, the two purple handprints dissolved, melting away like paint in the rain.

Mo Ring stared at the handkerchief. Despite the vanishing marks, there was no purple stain left on the cloth.

As she turned back to Yue Meixue, she asked, "Sister… is the child okay now?"

Yue Meixue sat on the small wooden bench beside the stove. She pulled out a cigarette with shaking fingers, lit it, and took a long drag.

The smoke hit her throat too hard. She coughed violently, tears and mucus streaming down her wrinkled face.

Still, she said nothing.

Because she didn't have to.

Gu Chen stirred.

His lips moved.

Then his eyes, those familiar, dark eyes fluttered open.

"Little Chen!" Mo Ring dropped the cloth and ran to the table. "Little Chen, you're awake! Thank the heavens, thank the Buddha, thank all the ancestors!"

Gu Chen blinked up at her in confusion. His brows furrowed. He looked around, at the walls, the stove, the women in the room. Something felt wrong. It was as if he'd just woken from a dream... no, a memory... but one that belonged to someone else.

High walls… lights… machines.

A woman with red hair. A voice. Anrika?

His vision was hazy. His thoughts jumbled.

But one thing was real.

"Grandma…" he croaked, his voice hoarse and dry.

Mo Ring burst into tears. She gathered him into her arms as he leaned weakly against her.

"My child… my little Chen… my good boy…" she whispered, rocking him gently.

From the floor, Gu Suqing slowly sat up, still dazed. She reached for a cup, poured herself a small bowl of water from the stove basin, and drank it in slow sips.

Yue Meixue exhaled. "Let the child rest. He's fine now."

"Thank you, thank you," Mo Ring said tearfully.

Gu Suqing came forward to support her mother. Yue Meixue nodded but waved a hand.

"Let's not talk too much now. Let him wake fully first. We're going home. Don't bother seeing us off."

Mo Ring didn't argue. She simply held Gu Chen close, unwilling to let go.

The boy's breathing had slowed, and this time, as his eyes drifted shut again, there was no fear in his face. His features were calm. His lips relaxed. The crease in his forehead faded.

For the first time since the nightmare began. he looked like a child at peace.

---

On the way home…

The tricycle jolted along the bumpy road, the hills behind them bathed in twilight.

In the back, Yue Meixue half-squatted and gently tugged at her daughter's collar. A deep, circular bruise had formed around her shoulder, dark and tender to the touch.

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.

Gu Suqing flinched. "Mom, sit down. Don't fall off the cart."

Yue Meixue let go and eased back onto the bench.

The road stretched ahead. Dust rose behind them.

Neither of them spoke.