After Liu Po decided to stay and help us, the first thing she did was inquire about the grudge between me and Ma Lao San's wife.
It turned out, Ma Lao San's wife had beaten me that day and stood outside our house, hurling curses. The very next morning, her corpse was found in the woods behind the village.
The yellow weasels and fox spirits all knew that a powerful celestial soul resided within me. To harm me was to provoke that celestial being. That's why they took revenge on Ma Lao San's wife.
Later, my father asked why her ghost kept coming to our window in the dead of night, repeating the same words with a chilling laugh before vanishing.
Liu Po explained that newly dead ghosts like her lacked spiritual power until the seventh day after death—after that, their malevolence would grow strong enough to kill an entire family. Given how much resentment she carried, and the fact that she'd been mauled by both a fox and a weasel spirit, she was the perfect candidate for a terrifying transformation: into a corpse ghost—a half-corpse, half-ghost entity, both deadly and unrelenting.
Her body hadn't been stolen. She'd broken out of the coffin herself, now hiding in some shadowy corner, waiting for the seventh day to merge spirit with flesh and return for revenge.
Upon hearing this, the whole family panicked and begged Liu Po for a solution.
She said the simplest way was to destroy Ma Lao San's wife before the seventh night—either by finding her body and burning it or by dispersing her soul. Do that, and she'd never become a corpse ghost.
Grandpa said, "That should be easy. She shows up every night to knock on the window. Liu Po, just stay with us. When she comes tonight, finish her off once and for all."
Liu Po agreed.
Before confronting Ma Lao San's wife, she asked my father to prepare three things:
A fully grown black dog with not a single patch of different-colored fur.
Three adult roosters, raised for no less than three years, with bright and pristine feathers.
A burial outfit—for me. I was to wear it if things got out of hand, to protect my life.
The first two were manageable—nearly every household in the village had dogs and chickens. But a burial outfit for a three-year-old child? That had to be custom-made.
Left with no choice, my father went to the funeral supply store and ordered one. The soonest they could finish it was tomorrow.
Fortunately, Liu Po said the outfit was only a last resort. If it was just the ghost appearing, she could handle it.
So we waited.
But that night, to everyone's surprise, nothing happened. We all stayed up till dawn, bleary-eyed, but Ma Lao San's wife never showed. The black dog fell asleep. The roosters crowed. Grandpa, eyes sunken and dark, asked Liu Po, "Why didn't she come?"
Even Liu Po was puzzled. She thought about it and said, "Maybe her spirit sensed my presence. As a disciple of the exorcist path, she might've been too scared to appear. Or maybe she just didn't plan to come last night. Looks like we'll only see her after she becomes a corpse ghost."
"But once she becomes a corpse ghost, will we still be able to stop her?" my father asked.
"Difficult, but not impossible," Liu Po replied. "Even if it costs me my life, I'll protect the boy."
So Liu Po moved in and waited with us.
Another night passed. Still no sign of her. And now… the seventh night was only hours away.
Liu Po was visibly uneasy all day. So were my parents and grandfather. Grandpa even pulled out the old machete he'd used in the war—one that had tasted blood and killed Japanese soldiers. He sharpened it to a gleaming edge.
Liu Po said weapons that had killed carried a killing aura—spirits feared them.
As dusk fell, we all gathered for what might be our last supper together.
Afterward, Liu Po told my father to take the black dog far from the house, then bring it back after midnight to stand guard at the door. Though he didn't know why, he obeyed.
Back then, we had no electricity in the village—no phones, no TV. People slept early, and by 9 p.m., the whole village was dead silent.
Time crawled by.
By 11 p.m., my mother, trembling with fear, had already taken me to bed. She knew she couldn't help with what was coming.
Grandpa sat in the middle of the courtyard on a long bench, holding that blooded machete. A red cloth was tied around the blade—red as fresh blood.
He had already made up his mind to die, if it meant protecting me.
Liu Po stood beside him, puffing away on her long pipe. The courtyard was thick with smoke. Her eyes never left the gate.
Then, just past 11…
It began.
The wind picked up first—dark, swirling, forming a small black tornado in our yard.
Suddenly, every dog in the village began howling, their cries echoing through the night like a funeral dirge.
Then—silence. Total, unnatural silence.
A chill swept through the air. Grandpa's hair stood on end.
And then… came the footsteps.
Heavy, echoing, slow.
Thump… thump…
And with them, a wave of rot—thick, gagging, deathly.
"She's here," Liu Po whispered, voice taut with fear.