"Look at the terrain here," Zhang Guozhong said, pointing at the bend in the river. "The Caoschang River curves in an arc, and this little stream cuts straight through the middle of it. And that row of willows at the far side—they close the arc off entirely. Headman Li, what does this shape remind you of?"
"Remind me of what? Don't tell me it looks like a man lying with his wife," the headman said with a smirk.
Zhang nearly tumbled off the levee. This man is hopeless, he thought. He didn't bother with riddles anymore.
"No. It's a bow and arrow. This place is what Mao Mountain texts call a Corpse Field."
"A what now?" The headman's face was blank; he'd clearly never cared to ask questions that mattered.
"A Corpse Field," Zhang pressed on, ignoring him. "Also called a Yin Chamber. If a burial ground lies where water gathers, it can become one. I suspect this was once an ancient cemetery. The Caoschang River didn't originally run here. Without the river, the feng shui might have been decent. But once water flowed through, it became a cradle for Yin energy. Water breeds Yin. Here we have not one but two waterways, plus that row of willows locking the energy in place. The bow shape is a killing omen. Any lingering resentment from the dead could be stirred up, made even worse than it was in life."
He leaned closer, his voice low and fast. "That Qing dynasty scholar haunting Li Daming—he must have been the angriest spirit of all those buried here. When he died, eight coffins were buried with him, not holding bodies but willow trunks. Willows restrain Yin energy. Sealed inside coffins, they last longer, and if prepared by a skilled hand, they could even fool restless spirits into silence. With Yin blocked from outside and rage sealed within, over time it would disperse. The countryside would be safe. This formation is called the Hui-Character Burial, meant to keep vengeful dead from disturbing the living. But Li Daming dug up one of those trunks, breaking the pattern. And he was the weakest laborer on the levee, digging closest to the main coffin. That's why he was the one struck down."
He finished in a rush. The headman just stared at him, eyes round as lanterns.
"But then why's Li Daming getting better now?"
"Look at the river," Zhang said.
The headman turned. The Caoschang had shrunk to a trickle, its bed almost dry. In some places the stream was barely a few yards wide.
"Less water!" the headman blurted.
"Exactly. Less water means weaker Yin. That's why Li Daming improved. But once the river swells again, his possession will worsen—maybe even kill him."
"So what do we do? Bury another willow trunk?"
"Too late for that. What we need to do is cut down that row of willows. Let the Yin disperse."
The men erupted in protest. Even the headman shook his head furiously. "No, no, impossible! Before those trees were planted, villagers died from possessions every year. Then an old priest came and ordered us to plant them. Since then, things have been quiet. If we cut them down, do you want our whole village cursed?"
Zhang frowned. He had overlooked one crucial detail—no one knew how many people were buried here. A single angry ghost couldn't form a Corpse Field. It would take a mass grave, a charnel ground. If that was the case, cutting the willows might unleash years of pent-up Yin all at once. Even with the river dry, the consequences could be catastrophic. And if they tried digging up the Qing scholar's coffin now, Li Daming might drop dead on the spot.
With a grim shake of his hand, Zhang dismissed the workers. They trudged back to the village in silence.
That night, Zhang pored once again over his battered copy of the Mao Mountain Treatise. Its pages were nearly falling apart. Suddenly, shouts tore through the stillness:
"Help! Li Daming's sick again! Someone come quick!"
Zhang threw on his clothes and ran into the courtyard. The headman was already outside with his three sons, moving with the routine efficiency of men who had done this many times. They grabbed ropes and sacks from the livestock shed and sprinted toward Li Daming's house.
When Zhang arrived, he found Li Er'ya sitting in the dirt, her face bloodied, sobbing uncontrollably.
The headman nudged Zhang with his elbow and whispered, "Go comfort her, eh? Ever since you left last time, she hasn't stopped asking about you."
Zhang ignored him. He stepped to the window instead, listening. Inside, villagers had already subdued Li Daming, binding him with ropes. The man laughed and jeered between ragged breaths:
"Come on! Come on! Touch me, and you'll all end up just like him!"
The words chilled Zhang to the bone. His heart sank. Damn it. Just my luck. Why did my first real case have to be one like this?