Chapter Two: Clouds Gathering

When Zhang Chuyang lifted his head, the child before him had vanished! Sweeping his gaze across the wide, deserted open space, he realized that from the moment he had left home and given chase to this very spot, the boy had never once left his sight—yet now, he had disappeared without a trace.

Suddenly, a muffled rumble issued from beneath Zhang Chuyang’s feet. His heart skipped a beat as he spun around and ran back toward his home.

By the time Zhang Chuyang returned, the earthquake had already abated. The tremors had lasted nearly an hour, but the aftershocks were mild, and their village was not at the epicenter, so there was little damage.

As he entered the house, he saw Shen Yanxi rise from her stool, tears streaking her cheeks. “What’s gotten into you? You left our son behind! The whole family was terrified.”

Zhang Chuyang was momentarily stunned. He rushed into the east room to see his son, Zhang Qinglin, sleeping soundly in his grandmother’s arms.

His grandparents, startled by Zhang Chuyang’s frantic entrance, stared at him in baffled silence.

After a night of turmoil, dawn was breaking. Zhang Chuyang recounted everything he had seen and experienced to Shen Yanxi, leaving nothing out. Shen Yanxi felt a chill in her heart, wondering if Chuyang had become possessed by something.

Earlier, after seeing his son, Zhang Chuyang had rushed out; at that moment, their son had been lying quietly on the kang. After his father left, he suddenly began to wail, waking both his grandparents, who managed, after much effort, to soothe him back to sleep.

But Zhang Chuyang insisted he had seen his son stand up from the kang, sit by the edge, then leap off and run out the door, giggling as he went, always just out of reach.

When the earthquake ended, his son had vanished, only to be found peacefully asleep in the family’s arms. Whatever the truth, they could only be grateful the child was unharmed.

As dawn broke, someone outside the wall shouted loudly, “Brother Zhang! Brother Zhang!”

Zhang Chuyang turned his head at the sound and got up to go outside, with Shen Yanxi following behind.

There, at the door, stood a burly man—Gouye’s son, Gou An.

Gou An addressed Zhang Chuyang, “Brother Zhang, come with me to the Six Company—something terrible has happened!”

Zhang Chuyang was completely bewildered.

“Xiao Gou, did your family fare well in last night’s earthquake? Chuyang was planning to pick up medicine from your father,” Shen Yanxi interjected.

“Oh, sister-in-law, what are you talking about? What earthquake? My father left the village early this morning and didn’t mention a thing. Don’t worry, when he returns, I’ll have him bring the medicine to you. Brother Zhang, let’s go—quickly.” As Gou An spoke, he pulled Zhang Chuyang along, and soon, the two disappeared down the road.

Shen Yanxi watched Gou An with curiosity, glanced about, shook her head, and returned to the yard.

Gou An led Zhang Chuyang to the western edge of the Six Company village, where a crowd had already gathered. Forcing his way to the front, Gou An revealed a wide trench, half a man’s length, yawning black and deep.

Long ago, people had whispered of a great tomb beneath the Six Company. Now, it had appeared.

The first to discover the tomb was Aunt Li’s son, who, while taking out trash early in the morning, spotted something glinting ahead. He ran to pick it up, but before he could reach it, he stepped into a shallow pit—which turned out to be the opening of a great black hole.

Zhang Chuyang squatted by the pit and peered in; nothing was visible in the inky darkness.

The mystery only heightened the sense of danger, and many villagers crowded forward to look.

Gou An pushed some people back. “Give my Brother Zhang some room! He’s traveled to many sites with archaeology professors. If there’s treasure down there, we all—”

“Xiao Gou! Enough nonsense,” Zhang Chuyang interrupted, frowning uncomfortably.

At that moment, a figure burst from the rear of the crowd.

With a thud, the man dove into the hole. Two terrified screams echoed from within.

At the mouth of the pit, the man’s head slowly emerged, his face pressed against the black wall, blood trickling from a patch of missing scalp.

A muffled voice came from him: “Pull… me… up…”

Someone nearby shouted, “He’s bleeding…”

“Quick, help him! Get him out of there,” Zhang Chuyang ordered.

Gou An rushed forward, squatted down, and called, “Brother, you’re too reckless. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. Come on out!”

But there was no response.

Zhang Chuyang joined him. “Xiao Gou, pull him up. Take him to your father for stitches.” Together, one held a cloth to the man’s bleeding head while the other grabbed his outstretched arm.

“This is too heavy, Brother Zhang. I can’t move him. Someone help.”

With great effort, three men finally dragged the villager out of the black hole.

Gou An stumbled and fell, and suddenly everyone was struck with terror. The old, the women, and the children fled, leaving only a few brave souls, staring in horror at what they had pulled from the pit.

The man had been torn in two by something unknown. Only a bloodied head, an arm, and a leg—his right side—remained, all stuck together. As they had pulled him out, his internal organs had spilled onto the ground, and at the entrance to the hole, a heart still beat feebly, vivid and red.

Gou An, now upright, stood dumbstruck before the gruesome sight. Moments ago, he had been joking with the man.

Zhang Chuyang had already sensed the strange, sinister energy at the site, but before he could speak, a man had died in full view.

A death at the edge of Six Company’s west village brought officials to investigate, but after several days, there were no answers.

No one dared enter the black hole, and the area was soon fenced off with barbed wire.

During this time, Gou An approached Zhang Chuyang no fewer than five times, urging him to explore the black hole together. Each time, just as they were about to go, Shen Yanxi would call Zhang Chuyang back.

Eventually, Gou An gave up.

Autumn came and went.

One night, with the moon high in the sky, Zhang Chuyang lay on his old, battered rocking chair in the courtyard, gazing up at the distant full moon, reflecting on the year’s events.

First, he had been inexplicably dismissed from his factory job. Then, in July, there had been an earthquake—one he had felt strongly, though no one else seemed to notice. Next, there was the man-eating black hole in Six Company that even the officials could not resolve. And, most exasperating of all, Gouye had gone mad, rambling incoherently day and night, so the medicine he’d promised for Zhang Qinglin was never delivered.

As Zhang Chuyang pondered these things, he suddenly noticed his son bouncing around him. In that moment, he thought, if only his boy could grow up healthy and safe—how wonderful that would be.

Just then, Zhang Qinglin abruptly froze, staring fixedly toward the gate.

Zhang Qinglin’s unusual behavior put Zhang Chuyang on alert. He watched as his son ran out of the courtyard.

Zhang Chuyang hurried after him, not realizing they had arrived at the barbed-wire fence of the Six Company’s black hole.

From within the enclosure came a series of sharp, terrifying cackles.

A chill ran down Zhang Chuyang’s spine. By moonlight, he looked inside.

There, he saw little Zhang Qinglin standing before the mouth of the pit. After a moment, the child jumped in.

“Xiaolin!” In a panic, Zhang Chuyang shouted, tore open the wire fence, and rushed inside after him.

He tumbled headfirst to the ground but reacted quickly, shielding himself with his hands and rolling aside, narrowly avoiding a large stone.

The darkness was absolute—until, suddenly, a beam of light appeared a few steps ahead. There, his son Zhang Qinglin was playing with a bronze mirror, the light inexplicably following his movements.

Chasing after his son, Zhang Chuyang soon found himself in a strange, unfamiliar place. In an instant, the surroundings shifted, and he realized he was in a burial chamber. Before him stood a stone coffin engraved with intricate patterns.

At that moment, his son’s small head peeked out from behind the coffin.

Zhang Chuyang straightened and moved toward it, but the head vanished.

With a loud “bang,” the stone coffin lid was flung aside. Dense smoke billowed, and the scene changed once more. Zhang Chuyang approached and peered inside. To his astonishment, he saw a living person lying within.

This man bore a striking resemblance to himself—delicate features, short hair, wearing what appeared to be tattered, extremely short clothing, with his lower half covered by a silk scroll inscribed with golden characters.

As Zhang Chuyang stared in shock, the man in the coffin suddenly opened his eyes and sat up.

…

Twenty Years Later

“Zhang Qinglin! Zhang Qinglin!” The sharp rapping on the door was accompanied by the hearty voice of a young man, jolting the person slumped over the eight-immortals table from his sleep.

He raised his head, flipped the ancient book in his hand face down, stood up, rubbed his eyes, and walked toward the door.

“Zhang Qinglin, do you know what time it is? Open up—Uncle Jiang is coming!”

At that moment, with a loud “pop,” the door swung open. A young man stood outside, dressed casually, his black hair standing on end, hand braced against the door, looking up.

The one who answered the door was none other than Zhang Qinglin.

He wore a light blue tea master’s uniform, his tousled hair brushing his eyebrows, his deep, melancholy eyes gazing dreamily at the visitor.

“Cheng Che, can’t you come up with something new?” Zhang Qinglin turned away without another glance and walked inside.

Cheng Che was known as the “Busybody of Baijia Alley,” often idling around the Second Ring of Beijing.

“What brings you here so early? Is something wrong?” Zhang Qinglin asked, feather duster in hand, flicking it back and forth over several antique vases.

Cheng Che’s expression grew serious. Crossing his arms, he said solemnly, “Brother, there’s finally a lead in the Zhangjia Mansion massacre from twenty years ago. After all this time, I’ve found a clue.”

The feather duster froze atop a porcelain box embossed with a plum blossom from the Qing Dynasty. A flicker of excitement and anguish passed through Zhang Qinglin’s eyes.

Twenty years ago, the Zhangjia Mansion had been the scene of a massacre. Zhang Qinglin was the only one to escape.

That early winter, his father, Zhang Chuyang, had discovered a great tomb beneath the open ground at Six Company—a tomb said to belong to a general of the Western Han.

Three days after Zhang Chuyang returned home, tragedy struck.

The Zhang family was slaughtered by a group of masked men in black. Anyone bearing the surname Zhang was killed. Their actions and speech were bizarre.

Only one man, speaking in a halting, stammering voice, questioned Zhang Chuyang:

“The… silk scroll… from the Han… tomb… where is it?”

[Dear readers, thank you so much for your support! Here’s a little secret: the nickname “Gouye” (Master Dog) for Gou Fuguo isn’t because his family kept many dogs, as you might have guessed. Actually, it’s because an ancestor of his was saved by a dog as a child. Ever since, every male in the family who lives past fifty must take the name “Dog” to honor that animal’s memory. Isn’t that surprising? If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote and add the story to your favorites—thank you!]