Chapter 1

The TV show Treasure was in the midst of wrapping up production. Most of the cast had already finished shooting. The remaining actors still needed to film the rest of the scenes in Yantang Village, which was home to hundreds of ancient residences, including several ancestral shrines, stages, and other buildings that dated back to the Ming and Qing dynasties, all of them still in pristine condition.

The regional government had been itching to open the area for development and had now drawn in a cast and crew to film there.

The cars pulled into the parking lot at the entrance of the village, and the production team filed out.

Lan He carried his suitcase with him as he got out of the car. It was refreshingly cool up in the mountains. He wore a deep blue hoodie and dark overalls, and because his role in the show required it, he’d grown out his bangs until they were almost long enough to hide his eyes.

He might begrudgingly be considered the fifth male lead of the show, though it hardly had any male characters to begin with. But as a D-list nobody, he hadn’t been provided an assistant by either his company or the production team, and so he had to be his own assistant. 

Lan He didn’t mind, though. The team had rented some of the residences for their stay. The rest of the trek there would be on foot. He and the cameraman, Cheng Haidong, chatted idly as they walked. The two of them had met on set, and although they had different jobs, they were from the same hometown and had similar interests. Over the course of two to three months, they came to be fast friends.

The path was lined with Qing-era buildings. The production team had sent someone over to scope out the place, but the village official who arrived to receive them nevertheless gave them a practiced spiel. “Two lions were carved here, a large one and a small one. These were the great lion and the young lion—homonyms for the Grand Preceptor and the Junior Preceptor. Our village has produced a government official, you see…”

Lan He took in his surroundings. No wonder they had chosen to film here at this location. Everything was well-preserved and restored to perfection, no doubt the work of master artisans and their traditional craft. 

The village official continued boasting that his forefather, who had gone on to become a government official, had once invited a descendant of the Sage of Ghost Valley1 here to design the layouts of the ancestral homes according to the principles of feng shui. Everyone cracked perfunctory smiles—his claims were no different from the way that snacks that were sold everywhere were marketed as having some kind of association with ancient emperors or historical figures. No one took it seriously.

Though much of the cast had already left, there were still quite a few of them remaining. From up ahead came the sound of firecrackers and clamor, and the group slowed down. 

“Achoo!” Lan He rubbed his nose, listening to the murmuring traveling through the group: “Someone in the village died. They’re having a funeral…”

Out of respect for the deceased, they lowered their heads as they passed. Some even bowed. Naturally, their pace slowed. 

The crowd blocked his line of sight. When Lan He made his way forward, he saw a cleared plot of land upon which a funeral hall was erected. A coffin sat within it, along with an old-fashioned square table made of wood. On the table he spotted a photo of the deceased next to an electric altar lamp. A little boy and a little girl crafted from Taoist paper stood on either side of them. At the metal basin in front of the table, villagers burned joss paper in offering. The smoke curled skyward.

At the end of the main road to the other side, a couple of hale young men struggled to push a tall Taoist paper banner upright. 

Unable to find anything else to support it, they tried to prop it up with a wooden stick. The banner comprised four sections, which had to be assembled for it to stand upright. But for some peculiar reason, it refused to stay up despite their numerous attempts.

The villagers wondered aloud, unbridled: 

“The banner won’t even go up? The filial son’s money has gone to waste?”

“Who knows why the banner won’t stay up…”

As the commentary continued, an unpleasant expression spread across the face of the filial son of the deceased.

Cheng Haidong clapped his hands together and paid his respects, all the while muttering, “What’s with that? Why won’t it stay up even after all that fiddling around?”

He hadn’t really been to any traditional funerals before. What’s more, Yantang Village still observed very antiquated funeral ceremonies.

“It’s a gold and silver banner. It’s one of the rare pricier examples of funeral paper craft. A single one will cost you upwards of a thousand yuan. Usually they’re placed at a conspicuous fork in the road,” Lan He explained.

The head cameraman standing next to them glanced at him in surprise. “How does someone as young as you know all this? When you and Dongzi² got your fortunes told with fortune sticks, you did it all on your phone. And you refused to pay a single cent to get it interpreted³.” 

“…Well, I didn’t need to have it all repeated to me,” Lan He said.

Cheng Haidong began to grumble as well—he refused to be cheated out of a single dollar.

Lan He cast another glance at the paper crafts and said, rather wistfully, “My grandpa used to make these paper crafts. Not every family is willing to splurge on a big purchase like this one. He only got to make a couple of them each year.”

Ah, so that’s how he knows so much, the head cameraman thought, nodding. “Yes, that’s a custom of the older generation. The banner’s meant to accumulate merit and good fortune for the deceased. If it refuses to go up, tongues will wag…Well, it’s got nothing to do with us. Who knows what’s wrong with it? Let’s go, let’s go.”

Their rental accommodation was an old, traditional residence, but was lived in year-round. It was a decent place, if you didn’t mind the poor lighting. Lan He put his bags away and spotted Cheng Haidong going into the room next to his.

Cheng Haidong munched on a braised chicken foot—Lan He had no idea where he’d gotten it from. Between bites, he said, “You know how we were supposed to film among the residences tonight? Looks like the location was going to be right across the path from the funeral hall. I just overheard the director discussing the issue…”

“Is he going to move it?” Lan He asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

After dinner, they received a last-minute notice that that night’s shoot was canceled.

“I guess the director doesn’t want to disturb the dead,” Cheng Haidong mused. “He postponed all nighttime filming until after the funeral. They’re updating the breakdown sheets now. Filming will start back up tomorrow in the daytime.”

The man had passed away the day before, and the funeral hall was set up near one of the filming sites. They couldn’t have predicted such a thing would happen, but there were a lot of superstitious people in the industry who would rather delay filming because of it. That didn’t come as much of a surprise.   

“Come with me while I buy some cigarettes.” Cheng Haidong waved at Lan He, struck with the craving for a smoke. The village had one little shop situated at the fork in the main road. 

Lan He complained, “Did you make your classmates go to the bathroom with you when you were in elementary school? You’ve really matured.”

But there was no heat behind it, and he still tagged along with Cheng Haidong.

They ended up back at the funeral hall. It had just gotten dark out. Customs dictated that the family of the deceased must keep vigil all night, and this was just the beginning. Several members of the family, dressed in mourning garb, stood at the fork in the road, where they once again tried to push the banner upright, evidently unwilling to let this thousand-yuan purchase go to waste.

Cheng Haidong muttered, as if to himself, “How come they still haven’t managed to get it up?”

It is going to be difficult getting it up if it’s being pushed back down from the opposite side, Lan He thought.

Cheng Haidong strolled into the little shop to buy his cigarettes. At some point when he wasn’t paying attention, Lan He disappeared. When he exited the shop, he caught sight of Lan He walking out of the funeral hall. Startled, he asked, “What were you doing?”

Lan He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, nothing. I felt awkward just standing here, so I went and lit some incense for the old man.”

Only, the incense wasn’t very good quality. The powder wasn’t evenly distributed, and he thought he’d even smelled mold.

“Yeah?” Cheng Haidong wasn’t sure what to do now. He scratched his head. “…Then should I go, too?”

“Haha, no, it’s fine. Let’s go.”

When they got to the door, Cheng Haidong piped up again. “Wait, let me go next door to grab some chicken feet. They’re really tasty.”

The production team had hired the women of the village to cook for them. Most of the cooking took place next door, since there was a well outside where they could wash produce.

At the door, Cheng Haidong began winking meaningfully at Lan He, urging him to say something. He’d asked for food earlier that day, and the experience taught him that they would be given premium treatment when Lan He was the one talking.

Presently, several women were in the yard preparing for tomorrow’s breakfast. Lan He gently rapped on the door and asked politely, “Jiejie, could I buy two braised chicken feet?”

The women didn’t recognize Lan He, but he was handsome and bright-eyed, and he had sweet dimples when he smiled. People couldn’t help but melt at the sight.

“Buy? Don’t be silly. My family made a big batch, and it’s much more flavorful than a fresh batch would be. Wait here, big sis will grab some for you…” Immediately, one of the women wiped off her hands and set off to get him some chicken feet.

Lan He went up to the women to pay, but several of them had already begun chattering, asking how old he was, and he was definitely an actor wasn’t he, and what shows has he been in, and did he have a girlfriend?

Cheng Haidong sighed morosely. Indeed, just three minutes after seeing Lan He, women were bound to open up their hearts wide. 

Lan He answered their questions absent-mindedly. His eyes were glued to the chicken feet.

The bowl holding all the chicken feet looked old. Each foot had been chopped in two and marinated, rosy and tantalizing. They were finished off with a scallion-ginger paste, which had also taken on a dark color from marinating, as well as peppers and bay leaves. The rich, savory, alluring aroma hit him right in the face.

Suddenly, a hand shot out and wrapped around Lan He’s wrist as he reached for the chicken feet. The woman who was prepping the vegetables said enigmatically, “Young man, you’d better be careful at night. The house next door is where Old Song used to live before he died yesterday.”

The cigarette between Cheng Haidong’s lips suddenly tasted like ash. He cursed. This woman’s heart sure was open, all right. “How can your village do this to us? How can you rent the house to us, despite that? Which room did he live in?”

“Old Song’s son is the one who rented it out. The east side room.”

“Don’t scare them. Young people like them don’t believe in all that, anyway. The house was vacated days ago. He died in his son’s house.”

“We couldn’t really say anything…The village had already decided…”

The women traded comments back and forth, explaining that while it was the dead man’s former home, he did not in fact die there. Only, it was the place he used to live, and he hadn’t been dead very long.

The eastern room was the one Cheng Haidong was staying in. Could the items in that room have been used and left behind by the old man? He unconsciously bit down hard on the butt of the cigarette and glanced at Lan He. Lan He was still staring at the chicken feet. “Hello? You there??”

“I’m here.” Lan He still wouldn’t look away. “Ask the production assistant if there are any other rooms. If not, I’ll swap rooms with you.”

He sounded so nonchalant that Cheng Haidong wondered briefly if he was making a fuss over nothing, if the women had managed to scare him. But he mulled it over and decided it was better to be safe than sorry, so he went off in search of the production assistant. Unfortunately, they were too swamped to do anything more than dodge his request to change rooms.

Lan He didn’t go back on his word. He insisted on switching rooms with Cheng Haidong, but Cheng Haidong was mortified by the possibility that word might spread that his 180-centimeter-tall self was more timid than Lan He. “That wouldn’t be good…”

“Achoo!” Lan He sneezed. “It’s alright, let’s switch.”

It’s said that if you don’t startle at strange phenomena, they lose their fearsomeness. Lan He’s offer to switch rooms made him seem rather braver than Chen Haidong. Chen Haidong bashfully mimicked the fans he’d seen on set. “Thanks, gege. Are you sick? Take care of yourself!”

Cheng Haidong settled into Lan He’s room. It hadn’t been a bedroom originally, but he wasn’t sure what else it might have been used for. Presently, it was filled with tea leaves planted and harvested by the family; much of Yantang Village consisted of tea farmers.

Because the room was rented out to the crew, it was furnished with a simple metal-framed cot. Cheng Haidong had long since gotten used to traveling for work and didn’t mind in the least. 

The real inconvenience was the fact that he had to leave the house in order to use the restroom.

There were virtually no lights in the village at night. The only light source in the courtyard was a single dim yellow bulb, and he couldn’t tell if the people staying in the other homes attached to the courtyard were asleep yet. It was utterly quiet. But then, he heard the faint, faraway beat of a drum…

It was the funeral dirge from the mourning hall. All else was quiet.

Cheng Haidong was covered in goosebumps. He comforted himself with the thought that people couldn’t scare themselves to death with their imaginations. When he turned and saw that the light was still on in Lan He’s room, he suddenly sagged in relief and quickly finished his business so he could return to bed.

Time to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day of hard labor. 

As he drifted between sleep and consciousness, Cheng Haidong felt a chill creeping through his body. He felt around blindly in search of the thermostat, hoping to turn the temperature up. Just then, he heard the sound of an old man’s wheezing, hacking coughs.

All at once, he was wide awake. But before he could even open his eyes, his entire face started to grow numb. Where did the sound come from? Had he dreamed it? Or were the walls so thin that he was hearing passing villagers?

Cheng Haidong remembered then that there was no AC in the room at all. The room was chilly in the daytime, but surely it wouldn’t get this cold. A chill from below was seeping right into his bones, and he grew colder and colder.

Though his eyes were shut, the darkness and oppressiveness gave him the inexplicable feeling that something was smothering his head.

Ding. That was the clinking of the tea set. Splash. The sound of tea being poured. Creak. The sound of the bamboo chair groaning under a weight.

The noises were all coming from close by. Mundane as they seemed, they made his skin crawl. He wanted to push himself up and call for help, but he felt so heavy he that could not get up, and he found he’d completely forgotten the names of the cast and crew…Try as he might, he couldn’t remember a single name, nor could he utter a single word.

Knock knock.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

The world rushed back to him with full clarity. As if he had finally pulled himself out of water and onto land, Cheng Haidong’s five senses returned to him. He opened his eyes and woke up for real.

Sweat soaked his tank top. All he could hear was the frantic pounding of his heart. He was gripped by lingering terror.

Just now…

“Lao Cheng⁴?” 

That was Lan He’s voice.

Cheng Haidong forced his 180-catty body into motion, scrambling off the bed and to the door. He nearly burst into tears when he saw Lan He. “Bro, this room is so…”

So demonic!

But he didn’t repeat the thought aloud. They say you have to be careful what you say at night—and after what he had just experienced, he feared he really would provoke something terrible.

He had told many a ghost story in the past, but this was his first time experiencing one for real.

The way he hadn’t been able to wake up no matter how hard he tried didn’t feel like just any old nightmare. It reminded him of sleep paralysis, even though he hadn’t even been sleeping in the old man’s room⁵.

Wait, hadn’t he heard that the old man hardly slept and preferred to drink tea in the room next to his bedroom?

…That was embarrassing. Cheng Haidong was so unlucky he was sure he could even manage to get water stuck in his teeth!

“Did you have a bad dream? I heard you talking in your sleep. Loudly,” said Lan He. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

“No thanks!” What if the old man, having drunk his fill of tea, wanted to retire to bed?

“You’d best not stay in that room. You should crash with someone else for now, really. Just a moment ago, I…you know what I mean?” Cheng Haidong said, white-faced. He felt weak even just standing at the door. “I’m going to go stay with Lao Chen tonight.”

Lao Chen was another one of the cameramen in their crew. He was staying in the same courtyard and had worked for the same length of time as them. But more importantly, he used to do martial arts. Cheng Haidong had heard that people like him were full of huo qi⁶ and weren’t afraid of the strange and supernatural.

“Alright, go ahead then…achoo!” Lan He took a step back.

“Be careful. Don’t catch a cold.” Lan He really was fearless, Cheng Haidong thought. He got the feeling Lan He wasn’t taking him seriously. Maybe he thought it was only a nightmare. Once Cheng Haidong finished rattling off anxious warnings, he went knocking on Lao Chen’s door, where he received an angry tongue-lashing but was let inside.

Lan He watched him leave, fanning a hand in front of his nose.

When he was very little, his grandpa had taken him to a distant aunt’s funeral. He’d asked his grandpa if his aunt would come back, and his grandpa had told him that the spirit of the dead would return for the first seven days after their passing. His aunt would come back to visit him.

He’d asked, What if I fall asleep? How will I know if Auntie came back?

His grandpa told him, Then take a good whiff. If you smell the ash of burnt paper, then your aunt has been here.

---

Footnotes:

1. A philosopher in the Warring States Period. Known as the father of fortune telling. Creator of the philosophy of yin-yang! (Back)
2. A diminutive for Cheng Haidong’s name. (Back)
3. Also known as Kau Chim or Lottery poetry, fortune sticks are used at Taoist and Buddhist temples to tell fortunes. You pray, then ask a question and shake a cup of fortune sticks in your hand. A fortune stick will be shaken loose, and the number on the stick will correspond to one of 100 written oracle outcomes. Generally, you’ll get an idea of what the answer to your question is from reading the oracle outcome, but if you want a more in-depth interpretation of your fortune, you can pay an interpreter to read it for you. It’s kind of like paying a tarot reader to give you a detailed reading. (Back)
4. Another diminutive for Cheng Haidong. (Back)
5. In Chinese, the colloquial term for sleep paralysis literally means “ghost weighing down on the bed.” (Back)
6. This is a concept in TCM meaning “internal heat.” It repels ghosts, possession, etc. (Back)

---

Translated by beansprout. Edited by opal.

---

Note from the translator: hi! i decided to pick this baby up because it’s one of my fav danmei, and i love the mythology and folklore. i’m starting from chapter 1 just for consistency’s sake. tiandi will still be my priority until it’s finished, but this baby will be updated sporadically 🙂 hope you like it as much as i did! (if this is giving you deja vu, that’s because i posted this to google drive before, but i decided i prefer to just post it straight to wordpress!)

---

Table of Contents | Next