Bai Guang

Chen Shicheng, after viewing the county examination results, made his way home in the afternoon. He had set out early, his eyes keenly scanning the list for the character “Chen,” which appeared frequently, yet none were followed by “Shicheng.” He meticulously searched through the twelve circular charts, but as the crowd dispersed, his name remained elusive. Alone, he stood before the examination hall’s reflecting wall.

A gentle breeze toyed with his grizzled hair, while the early winter sun offered a warm embrace. However, the sun’s glare seemed to dizzy him, his complexion turning ashen. From his tired, swollen eyes, a peculiar light gleamed. At that moment, the text on the wall was a blur, replaced by dark circles that danced before his vision.

He had envisioned a path of scholarly success, rising through the ranks of the imperial examinations, earning the respect and kinship of the gentry. But now, his meticulously planned future crumbled like a sugar tower succumbing to moisture, leaving behind a scattered heap of fragments. Unconsciously, he turned his disoriented body and meandered homeward, lost in a daze.

Upon his arrival at his room, seven students began to recite their lessons in unison, startling him. It was as if a chime had struck near his ear, and he saw their braided heads swaying before him, casting dark, swirling circles around the room. He sat down, and they presented their evening lessons to him with a look of disdain. After a moment of hesitation, he uttered a sorrowful command: “Go home.”

They hastily packed their bags and fled. Chen Shicheng continued to see small heads and dark circles dancing before his eyes, their patterns shifting from chaotic to strangely orderly, until they gradually faded away.

“This time, it’s truly over,” he thought, his heart pounding as if the words had been spoken beside him. He turned to find no one there, but the sound of a chime echoed again, and his own voice repeated the phrase.

He raised his hand to count on his fingers, recalling the number of times he had taken the exam—sixteen, including this year. He laughed bitterly, thinking of the examiners who failed to recognize his talent. In a fit of anger, he pulled out his carefully copied essays and test papers, intending to leave. But as he approached the door, the room seemed to brighten, and even the chickens outside appeared to mock him. Overwhelmed, he retreated back inside.

He sat down again, his eyes gleaming with a strange light. Before him lay the shattered dreams of his future, now expanded to block his path. As night fell, the cooking smoke from neighboring homes dissipated, and the sounds of dishes being washed faded away. The residents of his home, aware of the routine, knew better than to disturb him after the exam results were announced. Silence fell, and one by one, the lights went out, leaving only the moon to rise slowly in the cold night sky.

The sky was a deep blue, like the sea, with a few clouds that seemed to sway like chalk in a wash. The moon cast a cold, silver glow upon Chen Shicheng, as if reflecting off a newly polished iron mirror. He felt as though the moon’s light was piercing through him, casting an image of the iron moon upon his body.

He paced in the courtyard outside his room, his vision clearing, and the surroundings grew quiet. But the silence was suddenly disturbed, and he heard a hurried whisper: “Turn left, turn right…”

Startled, he listened closely as the voice grew louder: “Turn right!”

He remembered the courtyard from his childhood, when his family was not yet in decline. In the summer evenings, he and his grandmother would sit in the courtyard to cool off. As a child of ten, he would lie on a bamboo couch while his grandmother sat beside him, telling him fascinating stories. She had told him that their ancestors were once very wealthy, and this house was their ancestral home. It was said that the ancestors had buried a vast fortune in silver, waiting to be discovered by a fortunate descendant. However, the location of this treasure was hidden within a riddle:

“Turn left, turn right, move forward, move back, measure gold and silver without using a bucket.”

Chen Shicheng had often pondered this riddle in his spare time, but every time he thought he had found the answer, it seemed to fall apart. Once, he was certain that the treasure was buried beneath the room rented to the Tang family, but he never found the courage to dig. Over time, he dismissed the idea as implausible. The few old digging marks in his own house were remnants of his desperate attempts after previous failures, which he now found embarrassing.

But tonight, the iron light enveloped Chen Shicheng, gently urging him to act. He hesitated for a moment, but the persistent whispers and the eerie glow convinced him to look inside his room once more.

A white light, like a fan, flickered inside his room. “Finally, it’s here!” he exclaimed, rushing in like a lion. But upon entering, the light disappeared, leaving only the dimly lit, old room and a few broken desks. He stood there, momentarily disoriented, before the white light reappeared, now more expansive and pure, like misty morning fog, and it seemed to be coming from beneath a desk against the east wall.

Chen Shicheng hurried to the back of the door, feeling for the hoe, and bumped into a dark shadow. Frightened, he lit a lamp and saw that the hoe was simply leaning against the wall. He moved the desk aside and began to dig with the hoe, removing four large square bricks. Kneeling down to examine the area, he saw the usual layer of yellow sand. He dug through the sand, revealing the black soil beneath. With great care, he continued to dig, but the silence of the night amplified the sound of the hoe hitting the soil.

The pit deepened to over two feet, but there was no sign of a jar. As Chen Shicheng grew anxious, he heard a crisp sound, and his wrist felt a sharp impact as the hoe struck something hard. He dropped the hoe and felt around to discover a large square brick. His heart raced as he carefully dug up the brick, revealing more black soil beneath. As he dug deeper, he encountered something small and hard, round, likely a rusted copper coin, along with a few shattered porcelain fragments.

A sense of emptiness washed over Chen Shicheng, and he grew increasingly agitated. Then, he felt something else, a small object that felt like a horseshoe but crumbled at the touch. He dug it up carefully and examined it under the lamplight. The object, resembling decayed bone with a row of partial teeth, seemed to be a jawbone. As he held it, the jawbone began to tremble, and a grin spread across its surface. A voice, chillingly familiar, echoed from the bone, “This time, it’s truly over.”

A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he dropped the bone, which fluttered back into the pit. He fled to the courtyard, stealing a glance at the room where the lamplight was still bright, and the jawbone seemed to mock him. The sight was so terrifying that he dared not look again. He hid in the shadow of the eaves, feeling a sense of safety, but even there, he heard a whisper, “There’s nothing here… go to the mountains…”

Chen Shicheng recalled hearing similar words during the day on the streets. Without waiting to hear more, he had an epiphany. He looked up to the sky, where the moon had begun to set behind the Western Peak, a towering silhouette that seemed to radiate a vast, shimmering white light.

“Yes, to the mountains!” he thought, with a grim determination, and he ran out.

After several moments, the door was left ajar, and silence reigned within. The lamplight flickered, casting a glow on the empty room and the hole in the ground. With a few more crackles, the light dimmed and eventually went out, signaling the end of the burning oil.

“Open the city gate…”

A voice filled with hope and fear, as delicate as a silk thread, trembled in the dawn near the Western Gate.

The next day, a body was found floating in the Wanliu Lake, about fifteen miles from the West Gate. The news spread until it reached the local chief, who ordered the body to be retrieved. It was a man in his fifties, with a pale face and clean-shaven, wearing no clothing. Some speculated it was Chen Shicheng, but no one came forward to identify or claim the body. After an inspection by the county officials, the local chief arranged for the burial. The cause of death was clear; it was common for the clothes of the deceased to be stripped, and there was no suspicion of foul play. The coroner confirmed that the man had drowned, as evidenced by the mud caked under his fingernails.

(June 1922.)