Chapter Twelve: Forced into Exile

As I watched six hands reach for me at once, instead of resisting, I curled up on the ground with my hands protecting my head and face. Two icy hands had just gripped my arms when a loud explosion erupted from the direction of the Children’s Pagoda. Though my eyes were shut, I could feel a violent surge of fire sweeping past me. The gasoline I’d thrown out wasn’t much, but it blazed up instantly, flames rising higher than a man’s head.

I could clearly feel the grip on my arms weaken. Seizing the moment, I leapt to my feet and bolted. As I ran, I fumbled through my backpack and pulled out a string of firecrackers, hastily lighting the fuse and tossing them behind me. Firecrackers are said to dispel bad luck and drive away evil; many people throw a string into a new house before moving in for precisely that reason.

I didn’t look back to see what happened—just ran for my life into the mountains, stopping only when exhaustion forced me to. I finally hid behind a rock until dawn, grateful to have barely escaped with my life. My eyelids were impossibly heavy, and at last, I slipped quietly into sleep.

When I awoke, it was already daylight. I snuck back into the village, believing the villagers had searched for me all night and would now be resting. It seemed safest to return while everyone was asleep. Most importantly, I needed to check if my plan had succeeded. If burning the Children’s Pagoda truly destroyed those ghastly tumors as I’d hoped, my family should be safe.

But as I approached home, I saw from afar that white cloth had been hung at the entrance—a sign of mourning. My heart sank. Who had died?

Suppressing the urge to rush home, I crept along the village fences. In these northeastern villages, people plant vegetables around their houses and fence off the gardens to keep out livestock. The fences aren’t far from the houses, and since I was covered in mud, no one would notice me if I stayed low and moved carefully.

As I neared my family’s yard, I overheard several neighbors talking quietly by the fence. One said, “What sins did old Xie’s family commit to have a child like Xie Yun? Not only did he blind his own brother in one eye, he even killed his own grandfather. Why?”

At that, my mind went blank. My grandfather was dead? And they said I had killed him?

“That can’t be,” another replied. “We’ve all watched Xie Yun grow up. He’s clever, sure, but hardly cold-blooded.”

“Not so!” someone else insisted. “Even his own father said it—Xie Yun killed him. Would a father falsely accuse his own son?”

“They even refused to call the police, saying family shame shouldn’t be spread outside, that they’d handle it themselves. If you ask me, Xie Yun should be caught and executed—such a beast doesn’t deserve to live.”

By now, I understood the cause of my grandfather’s death. The truth about my parents’ possession must have come out before my grandfather, and they killed him to silence him. As for why they spared Xie Tianzong, I could only guess they still needed him.

My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, blood dripping down my hands as I stared at my house through the fence, eyes burning red with rage. Burning the tomb had failed to eradicate those ghostly tumors. Now, disguised as my parents and grandmother, they were putting on a grand funeral for my grandfather—just to lure me out.

Grief welled up inside me. In all the years my parents had been gone, it was my godfather Hu Sanqi and my grandfather who cared for me. And now, my grandfather was gone—just like that.

I wanted to rush out and avenge him, but reason told me that if I did, I’d face the furious villagers first, and only then those four monsters. I wouldn’t survive to take my revenge.

What I wanted was vengeance, not a meaningless death.

So, gritting my teeth, I slipped quietly out of the village and fled into the mountains. I couldn’t return for now—not until I found Hu Sanqi. Silently, I vowed that when I came back, I would avenge my grandfather, even if it cost me my life.

After I left, I wondered if my father could really keep the police away. Something so serious couldn’t be hidden for long; the police would show up eventually. Without Hu Sanqi’s help, I’d never clear my name. Until then, I had to hide.

Fortunately, back in those days there was no internet, and identity checks were lax. As long as you ran far enough and hid well, it wasn’t unusual for the police to lose track of someone for years, even decades.

Still, I didn’t dare take the main roads. I travelled mountain paths for days before reaching a place called Matang Village. Before entering, I scouted around; it was so remote that even cars couldn’t reach it. Anyone wanting to leave had to walk several miles to catch a ride.

Only then did I feel safe enough to enter. I lied to the village chief, saying I’d been separated from my uncle while tending bees and wanted to stay for a few days until he came to find me. I offered to work for the village for food, asking nothing more.

The chief was a kind man and agreed without much thought. But it was the off-season, and there wasn’t much work to do. After some thought, he sent me to the mountains with an old man named Guo to watch over the mountain fields.

At first glance, guarding the mountain seemed easy, but in truth, no one wanted the job. It meant watching over the forest and ginseng patches, making sure no one came to cut or steal them. It also meant living up on the mountain, only coming down when deep snow blocked the paths.

There was no electricity up there; even the guard’s hut was just a makeshift shelter. If the wind didn’t leak through in winter, that was considered a good house. At night, when the mountain was utterly silent, you could never tell whether the sounds outside the window were just the wind or something more sinister.

Other than a few elderly bachelors, no one in the village was willing to do this job. Old Guo himself was one such bachelor. Normally, anyone watching the mountain would have been delighted to have company, but old Guo was reluctant, grumbling for ages before finally agreeing to bring me along.

His hut by the mountain fields was sturdy enough, but far too small. Aside from the kitchen and storeroom, there was only one livable room. When he brought me there, his first words were, “Tonight, you’ll have to make do with me. Tomorrow I’ll tidy up the storeroom for you to stay in.”

But can anyone really live in a storeroom? It was just four walls without even a window, let alone a ceiling; look up and you could see the main beam. Every villager knows you shouldn’t sleep under a beam, yet old Guo insisted on putting me there. Was he doing it on purpose, or did he simply not want to share a room with a stranger? I couldn’t tell.

Old Guo wasn’t much for conversation, and since I was hiding out, I didn’t dare ask too many questions. I couldn’t afford to draw attention.

After dinner, old Guo had a couple of drinks, then, seeing that it was fully dark, told me, “Get some sleep—save the lamp oil.”

I’d been on the run in the mountains for days without a decent night’s rest. Even if he hadn’t said so, I wanted to sleep. But just as I lay down, old Guo suddenly said something utterly baffling.