The Corpse of Drought (Unauthorized reproduction of this site's content is strictly prohibited; violators will be held legally responsible by this site)

I exchanged a look with Da Jinya and Fatty, then led Li Chunlai to a dumpling house on the adjacent street. This mutton dumpling spot was quite famous nearby; the owner couple were honest and industrious business people. Their dumplings were generously filled and uniquely flavored, not only affordable but also impeccably clean.

It was nearly noon, the rush for lunch about to begin, and more and more people were arriving. I frequented this place and was quite familiar with the owners. After greeting them, the proprietress led us into the storage room behind the kitchen, setting up a table, chairs, and tableware for us before heading back out to attend to her business.

This spot was my private room for business dealings. Aside from bags of flour, the warehouse was otherwise empty. Every time I finished eating here, I never let the owner return the change; I considered it payment for the private room.

I said to Li Chunlai, "Brother Chunlai, is this place quiet enough for you? Can you show me that little embroidered shoe now?"

Li Chunlai’s soul had already been completely snagged by the aroma of dumplings wafting in from outside. He paid no attention to my words, eagerly waiting for the food to arrive.

Seeing this, I could only offer a wry smile. I nudged his arm and said, "Don't rush. The proprietress will bring them out once they’re cooked. If you can sell that shoe for a good price, eating mutton dumplings with whole meatballs every day won't be a problem."

The nudge brought Li Chunlai back to his senses. Hearing my words, he shook his head repeatedly, "No, no. Once I change this into money, I still need to marry a wife and have a child."

I laughed, "You haven't married yet? Neither have I. Why the hurry to get married? When you have money, you can find a wife from Mizhi. Don't they say where you’re from that a Mizhi woman goes well with a Suide man? Tell me, what’s so good about a Mizhi woman?"

Li Chunlai was no longer as constrained around me as he was before. Upon my inquiry, he replied, "Ah, a Mizhi woman is like those bright red, intricate paper-cuts on a window. If I could marry one, everything would fall perfectly into place."

As he spoke, the proprietress brought out steaming hot dumplings and two bottles of beer. Li Chunlai forgot about talking, shoveling the dumplings into his mouth one after another in a steady stream.

Seeing his fervor, I realized two jin of dumplings probably wouldn't be enough. I quickly asked the proprietress to cook another two jin. Then, I poured some vinegar into the small dish in front of Li Chunlai and said, "Brother Chunlai, there aren't any sour-soup dumplings like you prefer around here. You’ll have to make do with this. There’s vinegar, and have some beer too."

Li Chunlai, his mouth stuffed with several dumplings, just buried his head in eating and drinking, saying nothing more. I waited until he had eaten his fill before bringing up the matter of the embroidered shoe.

By this time, Li Chunlai trusted me completely. He took out the embroidered shoe from his worn leather pouch and showed it to me.

Having recently handled quite a few antique funerary objects, I considered myself half an expert. I took the shoe into my hands to examine it. The front of this shoe was less than a hand's width, tapering to a point as sharp as a bamboo shoot tip. It had a green satin base, embroidered with peonies using blue, gold, and red silk threads. The sole was made of sandalwood, with a middle layer that could hold fragrant spices.

Judging by its appearance and embroidery pattern, it was clearly from the Ming Dynasty. Few women in Shaanxi bound their feet, and those who did were often from wealthy families, which explained the shoe’s exquisite craftsmanship.

If Da Jinya were here, he could tell the shoe’s origin just by smelling it. I lacked such refined skills and couldn't be entirely certain. However, judging by its condition and workmanship, it didn't seem like a fake. This kind of three-inch golden lotus embroidered spice-sole shoe was a hot commodity with significant collectible value.

I asked Li Chunlai where he got the shoe. He didn't hide anything and recounted everything truthfully:

His region suffered drought nine years out of ten, and this year was a severe one—not a single drop of rain. Driven by desperation, the villagers decided to resort to some unorthodox measures.

"Smashing the Drought Stake," also known in folklore as beating the Hanba (drought demon), was a common practice in the Central Plains before the liberation. This custom persisted in remote areas across Henan, Shandong, and Shaanxi provinces.

Li Chunlai’s village had tried every means to summon rain. There was a blind fortune-teller in the village who claimed the drought was caused by a Hanba and that rain would only return after the demon was struck down.

Everyone asked him where the Hanba was. After calculating for a long time, the blind man couldn't pinpoint its location. At that moment, a young shepherd boy spoke up, saying that while tending sheep, he had seen a small, entirely green child in the long-abandoned graveyard east of the village, running into an ownerless coffin. Nobody in the village had been buried in that cemetery for years, and strangely, this broken coffin had never been interred.

When the blind fortune-teller heard this, he immediately declared that the Hanba must be hiding in that coffin. The villagers conferred and decided to force the coffin open to see if there was indeed a drought demon inside.

The village chief disagreed, saying the blind man was talking nonsense. The blind man became irritable and made a bet with the chief: if they found no Hanba in that ownerless, broken coffin, the blind man's son would herd the village chief's sheep for a year.

Consequently, the villagers all headed to the eastern wilderness cemetery. None of them could say where the coffin came from, and few people visited that burial ground anyway. Since it was nameless and ownerless, it spared them many complications. The crowd acted immediately, setting to work prying off the coffin lid.

As soon as the lid opened, a foul, pungent odor assailed them, like a heap of rotten fish left to bake under the sun—as repulsive as anything imaginable.

A few brave, fearless souls pinched their noses and leaned closer, only to jump back in shock at what they saw. Lying in the coffin was a female corpse. Her clothes and jewelry were perfectly preserved, looking as if they were brand new, but the attire clearly belonged to no recent era; it was an ancient corpse.

Though the garments were pristine, the body was shriveled; the muscle and skin resembled dried tree bark.

Perched directly above the female corpse's head was a small monster covered entirely in green fur, naked, standing barely seven cun tall. This little green-furred monkey was still alive, curled up in a ball, sleeping.

After hearing the villagers’ description of the scene, the blind man insisted that this small, green-furred creature was the Hanba and must be killed immediately, then whipped, and they had to act fast, or it would vanish before nightfall, making it impossible to find again.

A few courageous villagers captured the little monster, entirely covered in green fur, outside the coffin, smashed it to death with a hammer, and then lashed it with a whip. Strangely, the creature didn't bleed. When struck by the whip, black vapor billowed from its body. Only after it was beaten into a pulp, and no more black vapor emerged, did they burn it to ashes.

Dusk was setting in. The villagers asked the blind man what to do with the female corpse in the coffin. The blind man said that if left alone, it would eventually bring disaster, and it would be best to burn it soon. He warned them not to take anything inside.

At first, the villagers hesitated. After all, the body wasn't recent, and there were many gold and silver ornaments; burning them felt like a waste.

While the villagers were still undecided, the sky grew dark with gathering clouds, and faint thunder rumbled, signaling an imminent downpour. Everyone cheered, and their previous skepticism towards the blind man’s words turned into devout belief.

Since the blind man insisted the coffin had to be burned, it must be burned. Finally, the village chief decided to leave Li Chunlai behind to light the fire and burn the coffin. Li Chunlai was a spineless man who usually did whatever the chief told him. Although scared, he had no choice but to steel himself and stay.

To burn the coffin before the rain started, he hurriedly fetched several bundles of dry firewood, piled them haphazardly beneath the coffin, and set them alight.

Li Chunlai squatted nearby, watching. He was a poor bachelor, nearly forty and still without money to marry. At this moment, thinking of the gold and silver inside the coffin, he couldn't help but feel tempted. It was a pity he hadn't dared to take anything earlier. Now that the fire was burning, it was too late to take anything, and he wondered if the contents would still be valuable after being burned.

Just as Li Chunlai was filled with deep regret, a flash of white light cut through the air, followed by three or four loud thunderclaps. Heavy rain poured down instantly, extinguishing the half-burnt flames.

(For updates, please refer to the 'Extra Chapter')