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Chapter 8

The old woman cautiously peered out to look. What she saw was like a shock of electricity; the sickle in her hand clattered to the ground.

She saw that the charred young wife was gnawing on the corpse of the second brother. The upper part of the second brother’s chest had already been eaten away, and his arms and legs, dangling on the ground, were twitching occasionally due to the natural reflex of the nerves.

Hearing the noise, the young wife turned her head, grinning at the old woman. Her face was blackened, her lips burned away almost entirely, revealing her white, blood-stained teeth, with flesh and blood between the gaps. Her eyes were gleaming, and her hair hung down like withered grass—after the fire, her hair had been burned off, and the old woman hadn’t noticed when she had started growing new hair like an old tree sprouting new branches.

The old woman could not withstand this sight. Without making a sound, she fell straight to the ground and fainted. Before closing her eyes, she vaguely saw the young wife carrying the remains of the second brother, disappearing into the pitch-black night.

Old Qian paused the story here.

It was getting dark, and there were fewer cars on the road. It was autumn, and the vegetation nearby had begun to thin out, making the world seem cold and desolate.

For about ten seconds, neither of them spoke. Nie Jiuluo was digesting the story, while Old Qian was contemplating the topic.

“Miss Nie, when I heard this story as a child, I was just scared. Looking back now, I find that it doesn’t make logical sense,” Old Qian said.

Nie Jiuluo had the same feeling: “Go on.”

Old Qian, like a bamboo tube pouring out beans, expressed his doubts: “You say this spirit was patient, waiting a year or two to eat the second brother. Why didn’t she act earlier? Why wait and then insist on leaving an heir for the family? Isn’t that too much of a conscience? Also, a couple’s bond is strong after living together for a while. People develop feelings. She could have just picked someone else from the village. If she wanted a child, she could have taken a child from elsewhere. Why did she have to harm her own family?”

His feelings were quite genuine, and Nie Jiuluo laughed: “Well, many folk tales are like that; they don’t stand up to scrutiny.”

Old Qian sighed: “My great-aunt said the same thing. When I discussed it with her, she would get upset. The older she got, the more impatient she became, shouting at me that she only heard the story as it was. How would she know what spirits think?”

Indeed, people can’t even know what another person is thinking, let alone understand what a spirit might be thinking.

Nie Jiuluo asked, “What happened next?”

The rest of the story is simple.

When the old woman woke up, both the young wife and the second brother were gone. Only a pool of frozen blood under the old locust tree remained, reminding her that it was not a hallucination.

Her wailing attracted nearby villagers. With hoes, hatchets, and torches, they followed the blood trail into the great marsh. The weather was bitterly cold, with howling winds like ghostly cries. No one dared to go any further, and they had to turn back.

The next day, heavy snow fell, covering the land in silver-white, erasing all traces.

The great marsh had become a place of fear. The elder brother went to the market, taking the route through the great marsh, and never returned. The second brother went searching for his elder brother and encountered the young wife in the marsh. The young wife, coming from the great marsh, wearing the elder brother’s black cloth pants and carrying the remains of the second brother, disappeared into the marsh.

The great marsh had truly become a source of dread for the old woman.

Not just her—everyone in the village started to fear the great marsh, and this fear spread to neighboring towns and villages. The Qinba Mountains were vast, and who knew if that thing wouldn’t come to their homes?

Various rumors spread like wildfire: Li Dazhuang from Li Village saw the young wife at the village entrance, saying she was so strong she dragged a pig away with one hand. Wang Qiyi from Wang Village went to chop wood in the mountains and saw a wolf with its belly cut open, and the charred young wife was feasting on the wolf’s heart and lungs, with her hair grown even longer, almost reaching her waist. When she walked, it looked like a thick spider web draped over an old tree stump…

People were terrified, and many fled their homes, rolling up their bedding and leaving. The county magistrate was alarmed, but the matter involved supernatural forces, so he dared not report it. In the mid-Qing period, the “Call Soul Case” in Jiangnan had caused widespread panic about witchcraft in China, leading to severe punishments for officials.

The magistrate had to consult with the county clerk and make various efforts to find someone capable of “subduing demons.”

Another year passed, and in the depth of winter, a traveling Taoist priest passed through. After various calculations and divinations, he declared that the root of the demon was in the great marsh. To eliminate the plague, they first needed to manage the great marsh.

Hearing this, Nie Jiuluo couldn’t help but laugh. The story’s twists and turns were quite dramatic. At first, she thought it was a rural oddity, then a story of repayable kindness, and later, it turned into bloody horror. Now, the story has shifted to promoting environmental protection.

Old Qian was puzzled by her laughter. Nie Jiuluo managed to compose herself and encouraged him to continue.

“My great-aunt said that the Taoist’s ritual was quite a spectacle, with thousands of people coming to watch—back then, China had fewer people, and thousands gathered was like a grand market.”

Nie Jiuluo imagined the scene: in the late Qing period, with a low population density in a mountain village, thousands of people attending was indeed a “grand event.”

“The Taoist had many mysterious operations. My great-aunt couldn’t describe them all, but she said that in the end, over a hundred people set up a furnace and bellows in an open area, and molten iron was burned on-site.”

Nie Jiuluo asked directly, “What was the molten iron for? Were they forging iron?”

Old Qian explained, “It was winter, and the great marsh was frozen solid. Not only was it frozen, but the expansion and contraction caused by the heat had also created thousands of cracks. The Taoist had calculated that the demon was beneath the marsh, so by pouring molten iron into it, they were sealing the ‘door’ to trap her inside and prevent her from coming out.”

Nie Jiuluo understood; though the method was crude, it sounded effective.

Old Qian clicked his tongue in admiration: “It was a big project and required many people. In China, there were always a lot of people. They said the molten iron was poured for three days and nights. At night, the molten iron was dazzlingly beautiful. Have you ever seen molten iron splashes? It’s a specialty from our region, worth seeing.”

True to his profession in tourism, even telling a horror story, Old Qian managed to circle back to his field. Nie Jiuluo returned to the topic: “What happened after the molten iron was poured?”

“That was it. The Taoists left, and life returned to normal in the surrounding areas. The great marsh—whether it was the effect of the molten iron or not—was less dreadful by summer. Later, the villagers thought the bare land was unsightly and frightening, so they brought yellow soil and stones from elsewhere to cover it up.”

With the soil, the annual rainwater, and seeds brought by the wind or animals, the land gradually became overgrown with wild grasses and crops, turning into a common type of uncultivated wasteland.

At this point, he suddenly remembered something: “When I was young, my friends and I, after hearing this story, even took shovels to dig, trying to see if we could find the iron shell. We dug over a meter deep but found nothing, and it was exhausting.”

This wasn’t surprising, given the cyclical nature of rock formation and human activities that gradually build up the soil layers.

Nie Jiuluo asked, “And the temple? What about the temple?”

“After the Taoist left, saying that the demon had been subdued, the villagers still felt uneasy. Rural people are superstitious, so they thought they should build a temple for worship.”

No wonder, Nie Jiuluo thought of that statue with a demonic appearance.

In China, temples are usually built to worship one of two types: either gods and deities that bring various benefits, like the Buddha, Bodhisattvas, or the God of Wealth, or demons and spirits that are feared, in hopes of preventing them from causing harm.

“They built a temple but didn’t dare say it was for the demon. It would be inappropriate if it spread, so they vaguely said it was for ‘Guanyin.’ But since it was a demon, they feared that the real Guanyin might get angry and bring disaster, so they named it ‘Earth Guanyin,’ meaning one that comes from the earth.”

At this point, Nie Jiuluo understood most of the story: “Later, when the town was reorganized into East and West Xingba, the temple happened to be in the West. The villagers avoided going to the West because it was considered unclean?”

That’s about right, but not entirely. Old Qian thought for a moment and added, “It’s a kind of… vicious cycle. Because people avoided the West, incidents like robbery and violence happened more frequently there. Because so many things happened there, people avoided it even more. Over time, it became a habit. It’s not directly related to the temple. Besides, not many people know the story of ‘Earth Guanyin’ now.”

Nie Jiuluo leaned back, realizing she had been engrossed in the story and had sat up straight without noticing.

After a pause, she still felt the story was intriguing: “This story is quite interesting, much more engaging than just visiting a temple.”

Tonight, while writing her notes, she planned to include this story. The day had been rather dull, but this story had suddenly added some color to it.

Old Qian was pleased to receive her praise.

Nie Jiuluo suddenly thought of something: “Is there any basis for the claim that if the temple is damaged, ‘Earth Guanyin will be unhappy and come out to harm people’?”

Old Qian sighed, “That’s pure superstition. After the late Qing period, our country was not doing well—backward, frequently beaten, with internal turmoil, like the Taiping Rebellion, White Lotus Society, bandits, and military mutinies. Every time there was trouble, villages suffered. If a village was in trouble, the temple would be damaged too. What you see now is a temple built before liberation, but it’s not the original version. My great-aunt was just making excuses, thinking that disasters were caused by the demon, blaming the demon for the temple’s damage. In reality, it was man-made disasters causing the damage…”

As he reached the end of his explanation, Old Qian suddenly inhaled sharply, and the car slowed down.

Ahead, the road was empty, with no vehicles or pedestrians, and no cats or dogs crossing. Nie Jiuluo found it strange: “What’s wrong?”

Old Qian pointed in a diagonal direction and said, “Miss Nie, look at that guardrail!”

Following his indication, Nie Jiuluo noticed a section of the guardrail had been knocked down, the broken segment precariously leaning at a sharp angle, looking quite severe.

However, she was used to seeing such scenes from frequent fieldwork: “It must have been a car accident.”

She glanced down at the roadside. There were no vehicles, so the area had likely been cleared. Beyond the guardrail was a downward slope, covered with wild hemp. These tall crops could grow to two or three meters high. Years ago, many farmers grew them, but they were gradually replaced by other economic crops, and now they were mostly wild.

Old Qian sighed, “This accident happened today. The guardrail was intact when we passed this section of the road in the morning.”

As a driver, Old Qian paid special attention to accidents involving other vehicles. He pulled over to the side and kept looking outside. As he examined the scene, he suddenly hit the brakes: “Wait a minute, Miss Nie, look at those tire tracks.”

The car was now close to the broken guardrail. The headlights illuminated the scene clearly: on the slope, there were only two tire tracks going down. If the area had been cleared, the tracks would have been messy, and there would be footprints from rescuers.

Following the direction of the tire tracks, they extended into the wild hemp area, where many stalks were broken. The hemp stems had some resilience; even if broken, they would still partially recover. So, further in, the tracks became less visible.

Drivers fall into two categories: those indifferent to accidents because they’ve seen too many, and those who are particularly concerned, hoping for help if they face trouble one day.

Old Qian belonged to the latter.

He quickly unfastened his seatbelt: “Oh no, did the driver fail to stop and drive straight into the area? The people and vehicles might still be in the field. I need to check, maybe I can save someone.”

Nie Jiuluo looked at the wild hemp field.

Tall crops again reminded her of the cornfield in Xingba Village.

She now felt uneasy in such places: tall, dense stalks blocking the view, leaving one unaware of what might be hidden in the field.

She wanted to remind Old Qian to be careful or bring a stick or something, but Old Qian was already running quickly, and within moments, he had gone far.


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An Owl Rising From The Green Soil

An Owl Rising From The Green Soil

Love On The Turquoise Land (Drama)
Score 8.0
Status: Ongoing Type: , Author: , Artist: Released: 2020 Native Language: Chinese
Over two thousand years ago on a deep night, Xu Fu* set sail to the eastern seas in a treasure ship to search for immortality, but few people knew that at the same time, a group of black-turban soldiers secretly entered the vast and dense Nanbao forest… A millennium later, the dark legend continues to slowly grow in the shadows. Xú Fú: Qin dynasty court necromancer and was tasked by Qin Shi Huang to look for the elixir of life between 219 BC and 210 BC. He never returned after departing on his second mission in 210 BC.

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