Chapter 54: The Auspicious Hour (2 / 2)

One winter, right before the Lunar New Year, Hua Niang planned to slaughter a pig, just like every household did before the festivities. But none of the village men dared help her — their wives were too controlling. With no choice, Hua Niang went to a neighboring village to find someone willing to lend a hand.

Unfortunately, word of this got out, and Madam Zhao, the biggest gossip in the village, caught wind of it. Before the New Year even arrived, she was already spreading wild rumors — claiming she knew exactly who helped, what he looked like, and even fabricated lurid details that sounded all too convincing.

At first, people thought it was just another round of juicy gossip. But things escalated when someone actually recognized the man who had helped Hua Niang — and he matched Madam Zhao's description exactly. His height, his appearance — everything lined up. In a conservative rural village, that turned into a massive scandal overnight.

With this "evidence" in hand, Madam Zhao grew bolder. She rallied a group of village women and started a public "morality crusade," targeting Hua Niang for "education."

But what no one expected was that Hua Niang had a fierce temper. She flatly refused to admit to anything. The situation quickly turned into a shouting match and eventually a physical fight. Backed into a corner, Hua Niang lashed out furiously, grabbing a kitchen knife and chasing the mob out of her house.

Madam Zhao, of course, wasn't the type to back down. That night, she and her brother-in-law came back and dumped a bucket of sewage at Hua Niang's door, then piled a heap of worn-out shoes outside her home — a cruel insult implying promiscuity.

That night, Hua Niang cried herself unconscious. She fainted multiple times. But in that village, a woman accused of such things had no sympathy, no allies. The gossip spread, her young son became the target of bullying at school, and after nearly a month of being publicly humiliated and mentally tormented, Hua Niang finally hanged herself from her roof beam.

By the time anyone discovered her, it was too late. She had dressed herself in a bright red wedding dress, worn flowered cloth shoes, and her tongue was sticking out almost half a foot long. The body was already starting to rot. Her son — barely in primary school — also died that day, after eating poisoned food laced with rat poison.

When the older villagers saw this, they immediately recognized the signs. Hua Niang had died full of resentment — in red — and had become a vengeful spirit.

People advised Madam Zhao to seek spiritual guidance — maybe go to a temple or find a Taoist to help. But she arrogantly dismissed them, saying, "I walk in righteousness. Why should I fear a dead whore?"

That night, she had a terrible nightmare. In it, Hua Niang appeared in her red wedding gown, her tongue hanging grotesquely, and said coldly, "I will kill your whole family. I'll cut out your tongue and send you all to hell."

Hua Niang's eyes were round and lifeless — just like when she was found dead. Madam Zhao woke up drenched in cold sweat. She nudged her husband and checked on her child — both were sleeping peacefully. She shrugged it off.

But for six consecutive nights, she had the same nightmare.

On the seventh day, her son was playing in the yard with other children when he suddenly looked up at the roof and pointed. "Isn't that Sun Weibao?" he said innocently.

The other kids gasped. Sun Weibao was Hua Niang's son.

The spot he pointed to was where they kept a sickle. At the exact moment he spoke, the sickle fell — and sliced into his neck, killing him instantly.

Now, the rooftop was over five or six meters away from where he stood. How could a vertically falling tool strike at such an angle unless it was being aimed?

After that, both Madam Zhao and her husband started having the same nightmare again. They realized something sinister had happened. After mourning their son through the "Five-Seven" death ritual (held 35 days after death), they didn't wait to grieve further. Instead, they traveled ten kilometers to consult a famous Taoist priest.

The priest told them to burn talismans inscribed with their birth dates, and invite a local earth spirit (a "Di Xian") into their home for protection. However, he warned: for the rest of their lives, they could not curse or eat meat.

Terrified, the couple agreed immediately. They invited a "White Spirit" (a hedgehog deity) into their home. And indeed, Hua Niang never haunted them again.

Madam Zhao became a completely different person. She stopped gossiping and lived quietly. Ten years passed. She had another child. Her in-laws aged, and her mother-in-law developed dementia.

One summer day, the old woman wandered off and got lost. Madam Zhao went out to search for her late at night. The next morning, villagers found Madam Zhao's corpse in the cornfield.

Here's the strange part: her body had no wounds at all — except her tongue had been torn out by wild dogs.

Why would she still suffer retribution after ten years of vegetarianism and prayer? Later, a traveler passing through claimed to have overheard her muttering the night she died:

"This old fool's brain is fried. Why go wandering in the heat like this?"

That single sentence, spoken with contempt, was all it took.

Hua Niang had waited ten years for revenge.

So let this be a lesson — living a good life is not just about doing good deeds, but also about keeping your mouth in check. A careless word can take someone's life. As for Madam Zhao, I'll say no more. As the saying goes:

"When the heart gives rise to a single thought, Heaven and Earth are aware.If good and evil bring no consequence, then the universe must be partial."

…Apologies for the digression. Back to the story.

The timing I was waiting for had been carefully calculated. What the exact sign would be, I didn't know — I could only proceed with the burial once the omen appeared. Otherwise, it would be the wrong hour.

Just as the time reached Si Shi (around 9–11 a.m.), a little girl came running through the crowd, shouting:

"Mom! I accidentally knocked over the flower basket in the garden! All the petals scattered — come look!"

Behind her was a chubby toddler, about three years old, waddling unsteadily — he fell every few steps, which looked eerily like kneeling.

At that moment, I understood.

"The fairy scattering flowers" — that was the little girl dropping flower petals.

"The child bowing in worship" — that was the toddler's unsteady walk.

The sign had arrived.

I walked over to the burial pit that Da Biao and I had covered earlier. Bending down, I removed the wooden planks. Peering into the dark opening, I saw that it was glowing with a colorless light, and it seemed like water was flowing inside. But on closer inspection, it wasn't water at all — it was simply the moist soil reflecting light, creating the illusion of a shimmering pool.