Chapter Three: Grandparent and Grandchild Endure Tribulation

My grandfather approached from behind and slapped the paper figure hard on the back. I felt my body lurch forward, only to be grabbed by the shoulders and pulled back. Once I regained my balance, I saw that the paper figure had been left burning in the distance.

I was about to speak when my grandfather yanked me up and sprinted home as if his life depended on it. I had never known he could run so fast; in the blink of an eye, we were at the back door of our house.

I was still lying between two willow trees when he grasped my soul and pushed it back into my body, shouting, “Return!” I woke up.

Suppressing the soreness coursing through my body, I followed closely behind him and whispered, “Grandfather, did I cause trouble?”

My grandfather sighed deeply, took my hand, and led me inside to change me into clean clothes. “It’s not exactly trouble,” he said. “This is fate—something destined to happen sooner or later.”

I cautiously asked, “Grandfather, what exactly is going on?”

I braced myself for a scolding, as he usually never answered my questions and would get angry if pushed. But this time, he held my hand and said, “Yuan Zheng, let me explain.”

“Our ancestors made a mistake. Heaven decreed that our family line must end, and the underworld forbids any spirit to be reborn in our household. Your father and I used special means to steal a child from the netherworld.”

“That child is you.”

“You escaped prematurely, and the underworld will send agents to capture you once they realize a spirit is missing. I have been using your clothes to craft paper figures to deceive the ghostly enforcers into believing you remain in the underworld.”

“But every twelve years, the underworld recounts its spirits. When you turn twelve, your great trial will come.”

“The tree in front of the house is the Spirit-Blocking Staff, and the one behind is the Ghost-Beating Whip. Front blocks spirits, back strikes ghosts—they’re there to help you survive your twelve-year ordeal.”

“Even if you hadn’t touched that paper figure, you and I would still have to face the trial next year. Now, it seems it’s coming early... It’s just a matter of time, nothing to worry about.”

I knew he was trying to comfort me, but my eyes welled up. He laughed heartily, “Silly boy, why cry? It’s no big deal.”

I forced back tears and asked, “Grandfather, who is that woman in red?”

He said, “That woman came out of the netherworld with you. She’s been clinging to you since birth.”

“I kept her suppressed with the paper figures, but the grave robbers accidentally set her free.”

I wanted to ask more, but he counted on his fingers and said, “In three days, we both must face the trial. Once we get through it, I’ll tell you everything.”

I had no choice but to trust him.

That night, my grandfather brought all the materials for making paper figures inside and began crafting them one after another. I crouched beside him, watching helplessly. Feeling useless, I brought him a cup of hot tea to rest.

He smiled and said, “You can’t help, and that’s okay. I never taught you these secret family arts because learning them is like lighting a beacon on your body—it attracts all sorts of malicious spirits. More trouble than help.”

“Go play outside. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

But how could I think of playing? I just sat there watching him work.

When he ran out of materials, he pricked my finger, dropped a few drops of blood into a cinnabar bowl, and painted the eyes on the paper figures.

He said there was still time and spent the entire day playing with me. He seemed happy, but I couldn’t feel joy at all.

On the third night, he brought me back inside, handed me a seven-inch dagger engraved with snowflake patterns, and said, “This is our family heirloom weapon, called ‘Snow Drift.’ From now on, it’s yours.”

“Tonight, stay inside the house. Until dawn, no matter what noises you hear, don’t go out.”

“If someone comes in, don’t look at who it is. If they come close, stab them with the dagger—even if it’s me.”

“This time, you must obey me. Otherwise, neither of us will survive.”

The more I listened, the more uneasy I felt. Giving me the heirloom felt like preparing for the worst.

My grandfather probably saw my worry. He handed me a bottle of wine and said, “Here, pour me a cup. You don’t fight on an empty stomach.”

“There must be some left in the bottle. Don’t finish it all. Save some for when I return.”

“Having wine means you believe I’ll come back—understand?”

He drank his cup in one gulp, arranged the paper figures around the room, threw one onto the kang bed, covered it with a quilt, and let me sit among them before locking the door and stepping out.

Soon, I heard the faint sound of three copper gongs outside. The sound was soft but lingered long in the night sky.

When the gongs ceased, my eyelids grew heavy, and I felt an irresistible urge to lie down and sleep.

My grandfather’s voice came from the roof, “Don’t sleep. Those are the underworld spirits’ gongs—they’re coming.”

When spirits from the underworld appear in the human realm, they rarely let themselves be seen.

If they must manifest where there are many people, they ring the gongs to lull everyone nearby to sleep. Once their task is done, they sound the gongs again to awaken the people.

After the gongs stopped, a chilling wind swept through, rustling the willow branches wildly as if trying to block something. The wind swirled around the courtyard, then blew steadily from all directions, causing the temperature inside to drop suddenly.

At the same time, the poplars in front of our house burst into flames, the fire climbing rapidly from roots to treetops. In moments, six blazing pillars illuminated half the village.

Peeking outside, I saw a row of dark silhouettes hovering in midair, poised to charge the fiery barricade before our door.

Though they had not yet attacked, their oppressive presence was suffocating. Even from a distance, my heart trembled.

Clutching the dagger, I stepped toward the window, when suddenly the sound of a whip slicing through the air came from the backyard. The willow branches writhed fiercely, as if holding back some force.

My grandfather’s voice warned again, “Don’t look. Stay inside quietly.”

I ducked under the kang bed’s edge. Just then, I heard a voice say, “Yuan Kaishan, you have used forbidden arts to summon a soul from the netherworld to reincarnate, violating the underworld’s iron laws. Remove the protective array and come with me to the underworld for judgment.”

“Considering the merits of your Yuan family, the King of Hell will show leniency.”