Chapter 13: Journeying Up the Mountain to the Appointment

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I don’t know whether the dead can come back to life. At that time, I didn’t understand anything about love between men and women. Even if I were a prodigy, I was still pitifully young—at best, seven or eight years old with a decent intellect. I only remember that woman saying the book beneath her could help me survive the ordeal.

Believe it or not, after my mind became sharper, my movements became much more agile. After breaking free from my grandfather’s arms, I fell back into the coffin. Then I began to explore the female corpse. Her body was soft and resilient, nothing like a corpse that had been dead for long.

Later, I realized why the part I touched wasn’t soft. Fortunately, beneath her, I truly found a book—an ancient text woven from bamboo strips. I was curious, lying like that, wouldn’t it be uncomfortable for her?

Eventually, I was taken home. When my family saw me, they checked me thoroughly and were all moved to tears of joy. After all, my survival was entirely thanks to Zhao the Madman and that mysterious female corpse. Without their help, I would have died long ago.

After returning home, I stopped eating snot and spoke clearly, with a memory far better than my peers. While others needed a whole morning to memorize a poem, I only needed one glance. My memory was truly unforgettable. But aside from this miraculous ability, what annoyed me most was how the village dogs would bark wildly at me whenever they saw me—barking desperately, yet never daring to attack.

My grandfather noticed this and asked Zhao the Madman if there was something unclean about me. But Zhao shook his head and said he couldn’t say for sure. Overall, it didn’t affect my life. During those fifteen years, in my spare time, I read books.

The book the female corpse gave me was titled "The Twelve Heavenly Gang Water Mirrors of Divine Physiognomy." At first, it seemed like reading a celestial scripture. As I grew older and gradually understood its meaning, I became deeply absorbed. It was about fortune-telling.

Fortune-telling was divided into many types: face reading, divination by hexagrams, character analysis, mental calculation, and celestial calculation. I only learned character analysis. The deeper parts were more profound. I only had a half understanding of character analysis, and the mental and celestial calculations had no content because the mysterious woman’s book was only the first volume—there was no second.

Sometimes, I would try simple predictions. When I was ten, I saw the village chief’s son with a rosy complexion and a flourishing peach blossom fortune, but a dark spot between his eyebrows. I deduced he was having an affair with the village widow. I only told my father.

At first, my father didn’t believe me, saying the widow was charming—how could she be interested in a face full of scars? Soon after, their scandal was exposed. They were caught fooling around in the village committee office, with the loudspeakers still on. The whole village heard the widow calling the chief’s son’s name and urging him on.

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My father thought it was a coincidence. Then when the family’s chickens went missing, I told him they were at the lazy man’s house to the east of the village.

Later, the village’s first small store owner, who drove a car, had his window smashed. I told my father it was the chief’s son because the store owner also liked the widow.

And so on—many such incidents.

My father gradually realized that whatever I said was 100% accurate. He eagerly asked when he would get rich. I just said two words: “No chance.”

I predicted several disasters in advance and found ways to deal with them. I gradually understood that the female corpse awakened my spirit so I could learn the book’s first volume.

For fifteen years, I studied, always pondering one question: who exactly was that woman? Why did so many noble daughters and rich young ladies refuse to help me, yet she dared? Why was her grave not inside the village but on the cliff’s edge?

No matter what, she truly saved me. I must repay her kindness.

When I come of age, I will definitely go meet her—no matter who she is. We have never met, and I still don’t know what she looks like. With such a figure, could she be beautiful? Or a stunning blossom?

As for her talk of resurrection, though I think it’s nonsense—after all, in this vast world, only the dead cannot come back to life—unless she never really died. That might be possible. But since she needs my help, no matter how difficult it is to wake her, I will repay her lifesaving grace. I will meet her in person on my eighteenth birthday…

Whether she is beautiful or ugly, I will accept her.

Finally, after days turning into years, my long-awaited eighteenth birthday arrived. Early in the morning, before dawn, I got up, dressed, and headed toward the mountain behind the village.

There were many legends about Qingqiu Cemetery—thousand-year-old fox spirits, the yellow-skinned bride, an old woman who feasted on corpses. Such stories circulated in villages beneath the Changbai Mountains, but I felt no fear toward them. Instead, they felt familiar.

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As dawn broke faintly, I trod the stone path and finally arrived at the foot of Qingqiu Mountain. My heart was filled with anxiety: what would my promised bride be like?

I slowly ascended the mountain. Along the way, I sensed something following me. I trusted my feelings—it couldn’t be wrong. Of course, this had nothing to do with a woman’s intuition. Though I had been a fool before, I was a man—there was no doubt.

I had been a great fool before, which is why I was called the village guardian, or in local terms, the spiritual protector. In some places, they call it the “Earth Immortal.” I don’t know if your villages have such a person—someone who looks like a simpleton but is always the first to know when there’s a wedding or a funeral.

According to village elders, the guardian protects the village from evil spirits and grants peace. Without such a guardian, a village would suffer endless misfortunes. So when you see a guardian, do not beat, scold, or mock them. They may seem dull, but they are protecting your safety.

As the saying goes: The village guardian guards the district, suppresses evil from all directions. At death, enlightened, one soul returns to the next life, three souls go elsewhere, seven souls remain to guard the land, repaying past sins and enjoying heavenly blessings in the next.

Because I had been a guardian for three years, I was sensitive to everything happening around me. Since the moment I started climbing the mountain, I felt something was following.

But when I turned to look, despite the dim light and gentle breeze, there was nothing unusual.

I quickened my pace toward the mountainside. When I reached halfway up, I heard the sound of flowing water. I was startled—Qingqiu Mountain wasn’t known to have streams or rivers. The sound was nearby, right along the path upward.

I approached cautiously. With each step, the sensation of being watched grew heavier, as if whatever was behind me was pressing against my back.

Ahead was a bamboo grove, shrouded in thick mist. Unsure of what lay beyond, I walked slowly—but the slower I went, the more intense that feeling became. I even felt as if that presence was about to touch my back.

I suddenly turned around! A cold wind blew past… but there was nothing.

I exhaled in relief and continued forward. Yet when I turned again, the sensation was as if something had pressed right against me, suffocating me.

I turned once more. Still, nothing.

Swallowing nervously, I quickened my pace. The bamboo grove gradually faded, and ahead lay a clear pool of water. In the pool, a woman of extraordinary fairness was bathing…