Chapter Twenty-Five: The Barn (VI) Nightmares

Xiao Shao raised his hand, swung his arm, gathered all his strength, and tossed the "Kangxi Tongbao" coin into the air.

Swish.

Just as the old copper coin hit the ground, the distant sky suddenly opened as if a curtain had been drawn back, and a burst of light appeared before him. Dawn had already broken.

Xiao Shao glanced around and cried out in fright. The van he had ridden in, his cousin, and the driver with dead fish eyes were all gone. Only he, his suitcase, and the three granaries from the old eccentric’s house remained.

“What’s going on?... What on earth is happening?” Xiao Shao was so bewildered by this bizarre “dream” that he didn’t know what to do.

Beep beep, beep beep.

Suddenly, the sound of a car horn blared beside him. He turned his head—right next to him was a straight main road, and cars were speeding by one after another.

“Damn, is this kid out of his mind? He’s been wandering back and forth here for hours,” mocked an elderly man sitting on a nearby bench.

Xiao Shao looked down and saw that the sandy ground beneath his feet was already marked with deep footprints left by his pacing.

Without another word, Xiao Shao set his suitcase down and rushed toward the old man on the bench.

The old man, startled to see Xiao Shao running toward him, scrambled to his feet. “Wh-what do you want? I’ll have you know, I’ve trained in Bajiquan!” he exclaimed, hopping around and punching the air with exaggerated cries, like a performer at a spirit-calling ceremony.

Xiao Shao, still badly shaken, couldn’t help but laugh at the old man’s bizarre Bajiquan display. Trying to stifle his laughter, he waved his hand.

“Master Swordsman,” Xiao Shao teased. “Please, don’t be angry. I just want to ask where I am. I’ve gotten lost.”

The old man struck a pose called “Concealing Flowers in Leaves,” a stance that looked just like the Monkey King in a cartoon. Xiao Shao snickered again. Didn’t you say you practiced Bajiquan? This isn’t Bajiquan—it’s more like Baguazhang! What a character, Xiao Shao thought to himself.

The old man lowered his hands, eyed Xiao Shao, and pointed toward a distant square. “There—you’re at Hangzhou South Railway Station.”

Hangzhou South Railway Station? Wasn’t that where I got off yesterday? Overjoyed, Xiao Shao glanced at the eccentric old man, thanked him profusely, grabbed his suitcase and the three Han dynasty granaries, and jogged toward the station. The old man watched him go, shook his head, and muttered, “He really does seem to have mental problems.”

At the station, Xiao Shao took out several plastic bags, carefully wrapped the three granaries, and placed them in his suitcase. But as he tilted them, gray incense ash spilled out from one.

Just as he was about to shake the ash off the plastic and dump it into a trash bin, a strong sense of unease stopped him.

No, in the antiques trade, discarding incense ash is considered extremely unlucky. Especially when selling a used incense burner—if you let the customer take the ash along, that’s a major taboo.

Incense burners are essential offering vessels in Chinese folk customs, religious ceremonies, and rituals. The earliest burners date back to the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, with forms like the Boshanlu of the Warring States, hand warmers, incense cups, reclining burners, and incense tubes in the Tang dynasty. Materials range from bronze and ceramics to gold, silver, bamboo, wood, enamel, and jade. In feng shui, the incense burner symbolizes a rice bowl, and the ash inside is especially significant. The antiques trade holds feng shui in high regard.

Xiao Shao carefully poured the incense ash back into the granaries, stuffed their mouths with cloth, wrapped them in several layers of plastic, and placed them back in his suitcase.

“Hello, I’d like to check this bag,” Xiao Shao said, setting the suitcase on the security scanner. The conveyor belt slowly carried it away.

He boarded the train and lay down on his bunk, his mind a mess. Had he encountered a fox spirit? Impossible! In a communist society, all those superstitions are forbidden. Wait—what if that creature comes again tonight? With a sigh, he resolved not to sleep at all.

Xiao Shao stayed up the entire night. Strangely, nothing happened until dawn, when the attendant announced their arrival. Xiao Shao cursed under his breath—what’s going on? I stayed awake all night for nothing.

He picked up his checked suitcase, hailed a cab, and returned home. As soon as Mrs. Shao saw him, she asked, “Why do you look so haggard?”

Sighing, Xiao Shao recounted the whole ordeal to his wife. She was so frightened she broke out in a cold sweat, stammering, “Th-this… it makes no sense!”

“I know it’s not rational, but it really happened.”

As they fell silent, an elderly woman entered the room.

“My son, that’s a fox spirit. You need to find a master to send it away.”

Xiao Shao sighed. “Mom, nobody believes in that superstitious stuff anymore.”

Hearing this, his mother waved her hand and left the room.

Xiao Shao opened his suitcase and carefully took out the three Warring States granaries, placing them on the table.

“What are these?” his wife asked, staring at the granaries with wide eyes.

“These are the three Warring States granaries my cousin mentioned.”

His wife squinted, her expression strange as she fixed her gaze on the granaries. Xiao Shao broke out in a cold sweat. “Wh-what’s wrong?” he asked nervously.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “These give me a really ominous feeling.”

A chill ran down Xiao Shao’s spine. He forced a laugh and waved his hand. “Impossible, impossible.”

Seeing his denial, she didn’t press the issue.

Exhausted from days without sleep, Xiao Shao went to bed at eight.

In the dead of night—

“Brother, help me, save me.” A mournful voice echoed in Xiao Shao’s ears.

He rubbed his eyes groggily. “Who’s there?”

Suddenly, he froze. Wait, my son is sleeping with his grandparents—why would he come here? And why would he call me “brother”?

His eyes flew open. Beneath his bed stood a boy, deathly pale, completely bloodless. The child’s eye sockets were empty, with streams of red-black blood running down his cheeks, still dripping. His face was twisted in resentment and malice, as terrifying as the boy from The Grudge.

Xiao Shao was so frightened he nearly suffocated, his head spinning. Clutching the bed, he steadied himself slightly.

Slap, slap!

Xiao Shao smacked himself hard across the face, sparks bursting before his eyes. But when he looked again, the ghastly child was still there.

“Grandpa, please, have mercy. I don’t deceive, I don’t trick anyone. Let me go,” Xiao Shao begged.

The boy under the bed remained silent.

Helpless, Xiao Shao didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, the ghost child let out a blood-curdling scream. Xiao Shao gasped and fainted on the spot.

At dawn, Xiao Shao slowly opened his eyes. Remembering the terror of the previous night, he sat up abruptly—only to find the ghost child was gone.

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Damn it, if this keeps up, these things are going to kill me. I haven’t done anything wrong—why won’t they leave me alone? He sighed deeply, shook his head, and got out of bed.

For the next three nights, the ghost boy appeared every night at dawn. Unable to endure the supernatural torment any longer, Xiao Shao finally came to me for help.

After listening to his account, I nodded. “This is truly beyond my understanding.”

“Hey, Shao, did you bring the granaries?” Mengya asked.

Xiao Shao nodded, took the three Warring States granaries from his suitcase, and placed them on the table.

I examined them carefully, but saw nothing unusual at first. But when I looked inside, a cold sweat broke out all over my body.