Prologue

In the old days, when families of status married off their sons, they always observed the tradition of setting rules for the new bride as she entered the household.

Other families’ rules were nothing more than the usual expectations of obedience and virtue, but my family’s rule was so unbelievable, no one would accept it if they heard it.

When my mother married in, my grandfather blocked both my parents outside the door and declared bluntly, “Our family has only one rule: you must never bear children.”

“If you agree, drink what’s in this bowl and enter the Yuan family’s doors. If you disagree, go back to where you came from—we won’t stop you.”

The matchmaker, eager to speak up, glanced into the bowl and nearly fainted with fright.

Inside floated a horse snake whose belly had been pierced by coffin nails. It wasn’t dead yet; it thrashed desperately in a bowl of blood, its two claws—like a child’s small hands—gripping the edge, trying to climb out. But the coffin nail pinned its body inside, making escape impossible.

The matchmaker trembled with rage. “Yuan, what devilry is this? If she drinks this, won’t it kill her?”

At that, everyone present was dumbstruck. The neighbors tried to intervene, but my grandfather glared and barked, “None of your business! Either sit and drink or get out of my house.”

With the matchmaker and the master of ceremonies so humiliated, who could stay? The villagers accused my grandfather of bullying an outsider girl and, upset, all left in a huff. Only three people remained at the wedding.

My father, furious and trembling, pointed at my grandfather. “Father, you’re cursing your daughter-in-law never to have children—you’ll cost her half her life! I promise, we won’t have kids, all right?”

My grandfather seized my father’s wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and forced him to his knees. “You know well enough how your wife came to be here.”

With one hand pressing my father down, he brought the bowl before my mother. “Will you drink or not?”

Expressionless, my mother took the bowl, raised it, and drank it all. Soon, she clutched her belly in agony and knelt down, her fingernails clawing into the earth, yet not making a sound.

My father tried to help her, but was held fast, unable to move. He struggled again and again, nearly breaking his wrist, but my grandfather never let go.

Only when my mother vomited a mouthful of black blood and fainted from pain did my grandfather finally release my father, letting him carry her inside.

And so, my parents were married.

For the first few years, the three of them managed to get along, but later, the issue of children almost tore them apart again.

That day, my parents had just returned home when my grandfather, face dark, dragged them into the inner room.

My father, seeing the medicinal cauldron my grandfather had thrown on the kang and the open cabinet, knew that his secret was out.

He exchanged a glance with my mother, then knelt beside her without attempting any explanation. “Father, you know everything now. I won’t hide it anymore. I want a child.”

My grandfather flung the contents of the cauldron to the floor. “Is it you who wants this, or her? Brewing medicine with coffin wood, hiding a skull, offering incense to a dead man’s crown—who taught you these things?”

He spoke to my father, but his eyes were fixed on my mother.

My father shielded her. “It doesn’t matter who taught me. I know you care for me. But I want a child!”

My grandfather laughed bitterly, eyes boring into my mother. “You’re clever indeed, to think of such tricks.”

My mother knelt in silence behind my father.

“It’s not her doing—it’s all my wish.” My father pushed my mother forward and knelt before my grandfather. “Father, please, just this once—only you can save this child.”

“To force my hand, you turn to sorcery?” My grandfather thumped the table and rose. “The Yuan family has broken the greatest taboo of the sorcerers. After three generations, our line will end. No one can change this.”

My father’s eyes reddened. “Father, didn’t we break the taboo to save lives? Why should we—”

“Silence! Is the family’s curse something you can speak of?” My grandfather slammed the table. “If you want a child, you mustn’t turn to evil arts.”

“If that child is born, the mother will die, the father will perish—two lives for one. Is it worth it?”

“What kind of woman is your wife? Is she here to repay a debt of gratitude or to claim revenge? Don’t you know?”

My father raised his head, tears streaming. “Father, it’s unfair. Our ancestors sacrificed themselves for others, with a clear conscience. Why must we end like this?”

“Enough!” my grandfather nearly smashed the table.

But my father gave a bitter laugh. “You know better than anyone what curse our family bears, but you won’t even speak of it. Father, I’m doomed to a short life. In a few years, I’ll be dead. Before I go, I’ll pit myself against Heaven—even if it costs me my life.”

“If Heaven and man are both unjust, are even the gods of the underworld unjust too? I don’t believe it! I’ll steal this child. Where has your old courage gone, Father?”

“How many years do I have left? Can you really watch the Yuan family die out?”

My grandfather was stunned by his words, tears glimmering in his eyes. Several times, he opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing. At last, he sighed and waved them away, shuffling back to his own room, never interfering again.

After that, my parents stopped hiding what they did. My mother brewed medicine every day with coffin wood, and my father took out the skull he’d hidden in the cabinet.

First, my father embedded a locked iron door in the wall. Then he set an altar before it and placed the skull on the table, burning three sticks of incense each day to the dead man’s head.

Not long after, my mother became pregnant, and my parents were overjoyed—my father even hummed as he walked.

My grandfather ignored them, but his expression grew grimmer by the day.

When my mother went into labor, my father locked all the doors, but my grandfather kicked the main door open and stood by the kang, waiting for the birth.

My father tried to stop him, but he still had to kowtow to the skull. Finally, he knelt and bowed to my grandfather. “Father, for the sake of our bond, please save your grandson. His fate rests with you.”

My grandfather did not even look at him, just stood there with his hands behind his back.

My mother’s screams echoed from the kang, my father kowtowed ceaselessly, and no one paid my grandfather any heed.

No one knew what my grandfather did during that time. He made no sound, almost as if he weren’t even there.

For hours, the three of them struggled. Suddenly, my mother’s cries ceased. My father’s forehead was bloodied from bowing, but still there was no movement from the locked iron door behind the skull.

“Please, I beg you, come out!” My father, wild with grief, kowtowed again and again. Then, from behind the iron door, there was a loud crack—the lock shattered into pieces.

The double doors burst open, and a violent, icy wind swept out. The skull on the altar slid forward a half foot, blood streaming from its seven orifices.

“It’s done!” my father shouted, leaping up. “I have a son!”

He turned, only to see a hand reach out from behind the curtain, seizing my grandfather’s wrist—five blackened fingers digging into his flesh.

That hand seemed determined to hold my grandfather fast.

My grandfather lunged forward, grabbed the bloodstained skull from the table, and dove through the curtain onto the kang.

As the curtain flew up, my father caught a glimpse of a woman in a blood-red robe, holding an infant, sitting atop my mother’s belly.

“Get out!” my grandfather bellowed, swinging the skull at the woman, driving her aside. Seizing the chance, he grabbed the infant, flung him onto the kang, and seized the woman by the throat, smashing through the window as he dragged her into the courtyard.

Cradling the newborn, my father sat beside my mother. “Wife, we have a son. Quick, look at him—his eyes are just like yours…”

My mother opened her eyes, gazing at the child, but as my father looked at her face, he froze.

Suddenly, he gave a terrible scream, set down the baby, and ran out of the house like a madman.

That night, many saw my father, crazed, running barefoot out of the village, never to return.

The villagers thought something terrible had happened and hurried to our house. When they arrived, my grandfather was already carrying me out of the house.

My mother had died in childbirth. Those who helped lift her coffin all said it was as light as paper, as if nothing was inside.

From then on, my grandfather raised me alone, making a living by performing funerary rites and crafting paper effigies for the surrounding villages. He never spoke of what happened back then, nor did he ever burn offerings at my mother’s grave.