Chapter 1: Why Is There a Child Laborer?
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“Weep, oh weep, seven passes to cross, weeping at the first pass, the Pass of Longing for Home—Grandpa looks back at his homeland—”
“Grandpa lies in his coffin, and I kneel on the ground, weeping to save him from suffering and disaster—I mourn for Grandpa at the Pass of Seven Sorrows.”
“……”
Jiang Lixuan stared in disbelief at the small figure kneeling among the professional mourners, her wailing blending with the cries of the group. Unable to hold back, he raised his hand and beckoned to Zheng Feiyu, who had just finished bowing and was getting up from the ground.
“Zheng Feiyu, the mourners your family hired don’t seem very professional—they’re exploiting child labor!”
“Child labor? Where would they get child laborers?” Zheng Feiyu, baffled, followed Jiang Lixuan’s pointing finger and immediately caught sight of the little figure kneeling on the ground, imitating the wailing of the old women nearby.
In that moment, the clear, childish voice rang in his ears: “Holding a stick of incense, the smoke rises to the heavens, paper strips hang at the main gate, white banners at the second—Grandpa has departed for the afterlife—”
Zheng Feiyu: “!!!”
Wait, when did a little girl sneak into the mourning team? Wasn’t this causing trouble?
Before Zheng Feiyu could call for his mother, a sharp voice suddenly rang out: “Yuanman! Who allowed you to come here? Get out this instant!”
The next second, a short, stout woman bustled into the crowd, reaching out with her plump hand to grab the little girl off the ground.
But Yuanman swiftly rolled out of the way, dodging the woman’s grasp. Tear stains still streaked her adorable, childish face as she chirped, “Oh come on, Aunt Zheng, isn’t it because Old Man Zheng passed away? I’m here to take my grandpa’s place and send him off!”
“If you think I’m too little, then I won’t take any money for the mourning—just give me a meal and that’s enough.”
Aunt Zheng’s mouth twitched, her teeth clenched: “Who asked you to come and weep at the funeral?”
She turned, grabbed a few white steamed buns from a nearby table, and shoved them into Yuanman’s arms with a scowl. “No meal, just steamed buns! Take them or leave them!”
Yuanman didn’t mind at all, hugging the buns to her chest, sniffling as she beamed, “Thank you, Aunt Zheng. Since you’ve given me food, let me offer you a word of advice.”
“If you want to live, you’d better leave this place soon.”
Her round, moist eyes swept around the mourning hall, finally settling on the body laid out in the main room.
In her sight, a blood-soaked ghostly woman was crouched atop Old Man Zheng’s corpse, her arms locked tightly around his neck.
“Seven days from now is her day of vengeance. By then, every Zheng family member who used her ‘money’ won’t survive.”
The blood-robed ghost seemed to hear Yuanman’s words. Slowly, she lifted her head, revealing a ghastly, pale face with a gaping wound in her skull, hissing a chilling warning: “Do—Not—Meddle—In—Others’—Business.”
Yuanman puffed up her little chest. Aunt Zheng had fed her a meal; a single warning didn’t count as meddling!
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Aunt Zheng: “……”
Aunt Zheng drew a deep breath, then turned to scan the surroundings. “You little brat, spouting nonsense again! Just wait until I teach you a lesson for your grandpa! Husband! Where’s my broom?”
Yuanman: “!!!”
Without hesitation, she turned, clutching her white steamed buns, and scampered away on her short legs.
The way her little legs churned, she looked just like a pair of bicycle wheels—comically quick and nimble.
Zheng Feiyu watched the girl’s agile retreat with curiosity, then sidled up to Aunt Zheng and asked, “Auntie, who is that kid?”
Aunt Zheng’s angry expression softened a little when she saw Zheng Feiyu. “Oh, Feiyu, it’s you.”
At the mention of Nan Yuanman, Aunt Zheng looked particularly exasperated. “Who else could it be? She’s that orphan Old Nan took in at the edge of the village.”
“That Old Nan was never proper when he was young, and now even the child he’s raised is as wild and unruly as he was! Absolutely lawless!”
She lowered her voice, adding, “Feiyu, don’t go play with her. I’ve heard she was born in a coffin, terribly unlucky—she might bring misfortune to you!”
After grumbling about Nan Yuanman, a touch of sadness appeared on Aunt Zheng’s face. “It’s just a pity about your grandpa—he worked hard his whole life, never got to enjoy any good days, and then one cup of liquor sent him off. At least you made it back to see him off on his last journey.”
“Now, he can rest in peace down below.”
Zheng Feiyu’s mood grew heavy as he gazed at the smiling old man’s portrait in black and white, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Because of his family’s business, Zheng Feiyu rarely saw his grandfather. He only made it back for the funeral because he’d come with Jiang Lixuan, the fifth son of the Jiang family.
Jiang Lixuan had come to Batang Village to look for a relative.
Speaking of which, a relative…
Suppressing his grief, Zheng Feiyu turned to Jiang Lixuan. “Brother Xuan, what does the relative you’re looking for look like? Do you have a photo? I could ask my aunt to help—she knows everyone in the village!”
Jiang Lixuan was just pulling his gaze away from the disappearing little figure. At the question, he frowned, a look of distaste on his handsome face. “I don’t have her photo…”
He paused, then seemed to remember something, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his album. “I don’t have hers, but I have her mother’s. Will that work?”
He handed the photo to Aunt Zheng as he spoke.
Aunt Zheng craned her neck for a look. In the photo was a very thin, pretty girl in a floral cotton jacket, her hair in two braids, looking nervously at the camera.
“This face… wait, isn’t that exactly what that brat Yuanman would look like grown up?!”
……
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Elsewhere.
At the edge of Batang Village stood a particularly dilapidated tile-roofed house.
A small, dusty figure in a patched gray shirt came skipping along, hugging her white steamed buns to her chest.
She paused at the doorway, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pushed open the battered wooden door and called out in a childish voice, “Grandpa, I’ve brought food! Today we get to eat white steamed buns!”
The house was silent; no one replied.
Nan Yuanman didn’t mind. She carried the buns to the stove, carefully tucking them into a large, chipped bowl beside it.
She sniffed the air, savoring the scent of wheat, and couldn’t resist sucking her fingers, relishing the lingering taste of the buns.
She’d managed to beg three buns today—if she was frugal, she could make them last three days alone, or two days if Grandpa shared.
She would have to go out and beg again later.
She wondered if Aunt Zheng would still give her food if she went back to the mourning hall.
Lost in thought, she kept her hands busy, carefully breaking off a small piece of bun for her personal bowl, then ladling warm water from the pot and mixing it with the bread for a filling meal.
Then, clutching the remaining large piece of bun, she scampered into the living room on her short legs.
There were no electric wires or light bulbs in the tile-roofed house, leaving the interior shrouded in gloom. In the shadows, small square coffins were stacked in the corners, while a large coffin dominated the center of the living room, casting a sinister, eerie presence.
But Nan Yuanman was used to the darkness. She walked straight to the table with the ancestral tablets, lit the candle expertly, then turned and knocked on the big coffin: “Grandpa, time to get up and eat!”
“Grandpa?”
Silence from within. Nan Yuanman frowned, placed the bun on the table, and was about to fetch a small stool to open the coffin lid when—
A strange man’s voice suddenly sounded from outside: “Is this the place?”
“Is anyone home?”