My mother drowned—drowned in a puddle barely ankle-deep. It was just a shallow pool of water formed by the rain, and yet it claimed the life of a grown woman. It sounded unbelievable, but it was true. My mother's face was bloated and pale from soaking in the water. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes stared wide, as if filled with unwillingness and confusion at her own death.
The villagers who had come along murmured amongst themselves in hushed tones upon seeing the scene.
My father cradled my mother's body and wailed with sorrow. My grandfather, on the other hand, stood in silence, his expression grim, staring at my mother's now-flat belly—clearly, the child inside her was no more.
Only then did my grandfather start to believe what Madam Wang had said.
Without a word, he clasped his hands behind his back and returned home. When my grandmother saw him come in, she immediately asked whether my mother had been found. Grandfather, his face dark, replied that she had drowned. Hearing this, my grandmother nearly fainted. She stared straight at me, lying on the kang bed, and through gritted teeth spat out a few words: "This child is a cursed star. He cannot stay."
She said it and came toward me, intending to strangle me. But the moment her hands touched my neck, my grandfather intercepted her.
"What are you doing? He's our blood grandson!" he shouted.
My grandmother's hands fell limply to her sides. She hadn't truly had the heart to kill me. They had longed for a grandson for years—how could she bear to end my life? It was just that she had been overwhelmed with grief and rage.
What happened in our family threw the village into turmoil. When the fortune teller came to read my mother's fortune, many villagers had gathered around. They had all heard his words. And then, news spread from Madam Wang's place that I was born of a ghost.
A dead woman giving birth—it was unsettling enough. Add to that the fortune teller's prediction that I was a cursed star who would bring a flood, and my mother really did drown in ankle-deep water. The whole affair reeked of something supernatural.
By the next day, rumors were flying through the village: "The Chen family's grandson is a cursed star. He killed his mother and will bring ruin to the whole family."
Some even brought up old matters, blaming it all on my grandfather building our house on an old graveyard. They said our house had crushed the homes of the spirits buried beneath, and now those ghosts were taking revenge—making the Chen family birth a cursed child.
A few villagers suggested that my grandfather consult a spirit medium or shaman to see if something could be done to ward off the evil.
My grandfather was furious. He publicly declared that if anyone dared call his grandson a cursed star again, he'd fight them to the death.
Though my uncles were deeply unsettled, with my grandfather laying down the law, they didn't dare voice their concerns.
Even though we were outsiders in the village, my grandfather had five sons and a notoriously strong temper, so no one dared speak ill of us to our faces after that.
Once the funeral for my mother was over, my father, unable to bear the sorrow, packed a small bundle and left. No one knew where he went.
My grandfather named me Chen Taiping—"Taiping" meaning "peaceful"—hoping I would live a peaceful life and bring peace to our home.
Life seemed to return to normal, and the family slowly settled down. No strange things happened again. My grandparents started to believe that perhaps the misfortune had passed.
But on the day of my hundred-day celebration, trouble returned.
In the countryside, the hundredth day of a child's life is a big deal. Families typically host a feast and invite all the neighbors to celebrate.
To bring a bit of festivity and good fortune to the household, my grandfather decided to throw a banquet for the entire village. Early that morning, he called my four uncles over to slaughter a pig.
As they dragged the pig from the pen and prepared to slaughter it, the pig suddenly went berserk. It broke free and charged straight into my eldest uncle, knocking him over.
He fell onto a puddle, slipped, and cracked his head hard against the big ceramic water vat in the yard. He lost consciousness immediately.
With my uncle injured, the celebration was canceled. But that wasn't the end.
Shortly after, my second uncle had an accident during the autumn harvest. He was driving an ox cart loaded with grain when the usually docile old ox went mad, bolting wildly and throwing him off the cart. His leg was broken.
Not long after the harvest, my third and fourth uncles were helping someone build a house. They had just climbed onto the roof when, for some unknown reason, both of them slipped and fell. One broke two ribs, the other fractured his arm.
With all of my uncles getting into accidents one after another, the village gossip returned.
Despite the strange nature of these events, my grandfather still refused to believe in the supernatural, forbidding anyone in the family from speaking of it.
That silence lasted until just a few days before my first birthday, when a wandering Taoist priest came to the village. As he stood in front of our house, he furrowed his brows deeply and shook his head repeatedly.
This scene was witnessed by my grandmother, who was just stepping out to buy soy sauce.
Unlike my grandfather, my grandmother was a typical rural woman who still believed in spirits and omens. Seeing the Taoist's reaction, she asked him if he saw something unusual.
The priest squinted and said, "Your family is about to face great disaster."
Hearing this, my grandmother's legs nearly gave out beneath her. She had already been uneasy about all the strange things happening that year. But because my grandfather always dismissed her concerns—and because she pitied me—she had kept her fears to herself.
"Master, please," she pleaded, kneeling before him and kowtowing repeatedly. "Save our family. Save my grandson."
The Taoist sighed softly, pulled a talisman from his robe, and handed it to her. "Paste this above your main door. It will keep your family safe for a while. But remember—don't let it fall before I return. And keep a close eye on the child."
With that, he turned and walked away without another word.
After he left, my grandmother secretly stuck the talisman to our door and didn't leave my side. Even when she went to the outhouse, she tied me to her back with cloth strips.
For several days, nothing happened. My grandmother's tense heart finally began to relax.
But on the eve of my birthday, something happened again. It was the incident that finally shook my grandfather's disbelief in ghosts and spirits.
The sky had been overcast all day, heavy clouds pressing low from morning till night, but not a single drop of rain fell. The air felt suffocating.
By evening, villagers returning from outside noticed something strange—while the surrounding areas were all sunny and clear, our village alone was shrouded in darkness.
Then, in the middle of the night, thunder boomed so loud it seemed to shake the earth. The villagers, startled awake from sleep, said they had never heard thunder like that before.
As the thunder crashed, raindrops the size of beans began to slam into the ground, followed by howling winds that made the windows and doors groan.
Suddenly, the black dog in our courtyard started barking wildly—its howls sharp and filled with terror.