Chapter 46

A country girl in the sixties, and she'd even been to high school.

Her grandmother's adoptive parents were, by any measure, fairly enlightened.

So her birth family probably had little effect on the dungeon.

Liu Zhiyi guessed her grandmother's obsession must be tied to her mother, but from the start until now this dungeon had done nothing but tell ghost stories, and those were bound up instead with her own childhood.

It left Liu Zhiyi rather at a loss.

Liu Zhiyi looked at Yindi's belly.

For a pregnant woman, Yindi cut rice and cooked and bustled about; her constitution was astonishing.

Why did her grandmother appear in the dungeon in this form?

Liu Zhiyi: "You mean to have her on your own?"

In Liu Zhiyi's memory, her grandfather had never once appeared; her grandmother and mother hardly ever mentioned him.

She'd only dimly heard the villagers say her grandfather was a sent-down youth, and that after the sent-down youths went back to the cities, nothing more was heard of him.

Yindi smiled, stroking her belly, and nodded.

"Mm."

"However hard, however tiring, I'm not afraid."

Yindi cupped her belly in both hands.

"But sometimes I feel living is too hard… if only I could stay pregnant and never give birth — then I could protect her all the while."

Liu Zhiyi was struck still; she felt she ought to say something.

"Living really isn't so hard."

Liu Zhiyi gazed at Yindi's belly, and opened her mouth.

"Once she's born, I'll protect her."

Somehow the words came out without passing through her head at all.

Yindi said, smiling, "How old even are you."

Liu Zhiyi said nothing, only stared at the belly.

"I just… want to protect her."

Yindi said helplessly, "All right, all right."

She reached out and drew Liu Zhiyi into her arms.

Liu Zhiyi carefully pressed her head to the belly.

Mama… Mama…

she thought.

The candle's flame flickered and swayed.

The dinner table's shadow stretched long again, and this time two figures lay over that long, coffin-like rectangle, huddled tight against each other.

That night Liu Zhiyi slept in one bed with her grandmother.

The bed in the room was wooden, creaking at the slightest movement.

The countryside of that era had no notion of a spring mattress; it was strewn with thatch, with a layer or two of cotton padding on top.

Not as comfortable as the big spring-mattress bed at home in the city, but the bed carried the smell of her grandmother and her mother.

Liu Zhiyi loved that smell so much.

As a child, when her mother came home in summer, she'd loved to hold her too.

Her mother would ask her then, smiling.

"I'm all sweat — doesn't the smell bother you?"

But it wasn't unpleasant in the least; it was as if her mother always smelled sweet, whatever the time.

And now her grandmother carried that smell too.

So a scent could be passed down after all.

"Sleep now."

Yindi held her half in her arms, patting her back gently.

"No ghost stories tonight."

As the words left Yindi's mouth, the splashing water and the beat of gongs and drums all receded, and vanished.

The dungeon was always cold and ghastly, but that chill, too, was steadily fading.

Liu Zhiyi even felt warm.

—Cicada.

—Cicada.

The cicadas outside began to cry loudly.

It was as if she'd gone back to the summers of her childhood.

Yindi touched her forehead, wiping off the beads of sweat.

"Hot?"

The countryside of that time had no electric fans, no air conditioning.

So Yindi picked up a palm-leaf fan and waved it at her a few times.

"Still hot?"

The warm wind rushed against her face; hardly a comfortable setting, yet Liu Zhiyi's eyelids began to droop.

—Bzz.

And a pestering mosquito flew past her ear.

Wasn't this a dungeon?

A little vexed, Liu Zhiyi scratched at her ear.

The palm fan came down, carrying its wind, patting gently down over her body from top to bottom, driving off that annoying mosquito's buzz.

Yindi: "Sleep now."

Liu Zhiyi closed her eyes and fell asleep.

A whole night without dreams.

She slept so soundly she woke muddled.

When Liu Zhiyi opened her eyes she blanked for a few seconds, and only on seeing the wooden roof beams remembered she was in a dungeon.

Looking out the window, the day had already broken bright.

She felt at her side; the bed was empty, hardly any warmth left in it — Yindi had clearly been gone a good while.

Liu Zhiyi flipped over and hopped off the bed, and ran out with her shoes half on.

She'd barely left the bedroom when the smell of steamed buns rushed into her nose.

"Hungry?" Yindi stood at the kitchen door, spatula in hand. "Noodles are ready, on the stove."

As she spoke, Yindi set down the spatula and took off her apron.

Liu Zhiyi: "You're going out?"

Yindi: "That's right. The pot's broken, I've got to find someone to mend it."

Liu Zhiyi lowered her head; she was the one who'd poked the hole in it, after all.

Liu Zhiyi: "I want to come too."

She didn't want to be apart from her grandmother, and she wanted to look around the village; going with Yindi was safer.

Yindi laughed. "All right. No rush — get dressed first, then eat your noodles."

Liu Zhiyi washed up and put on her clothes; the clothes were Yindi's making too.

The noodles were egg noodles, a round poached egg laid on top.

Liu Zhiyi cupped the bowl, filled to the brim.

"Have you eaten?"

Yindi took out a little comb.

"I ate before you woke. Come here."

She pressed Liu Zhiyi down at the dinner table, pulled over a low stool, and set to plaiting Liu Zhiyi's hair into braids.

Yindi: "I'll go find someone to mend the pot in a bit. When you're playing with the others, mind yourself — don't go falling in the pond."

As she spoke, the dispelled chill slowly returned.

Yindi: "Someone drowned in that pond."

She'd mentioned it the night before too; this time Liu Zhiyi didn't cut off her telling.

Liu Zhiyi wanted to see whether they'd bump into a ghost in the morning.

Yindi: "The water in that pond by the door isn't deep — a grown-up at the very middle, the deepest part, it comes to the chest, and at the edge only to the calf. But Liu Yang drowned right there at the edge."

Liu Zhiyi cupped the bowl, staring at the doorway.

The front door faced the pond straight on.

The sunlight outside was very strong, almost glaring, setting the pond's surface a-shimmer.

Yindi: "When they found him, his upper half was floating on the water, his feet sunk down, planted on the bottom."

A cluster of bubbles suddenly rose on the water.

Liu Zhiyi turned her wrist, quietly aimed the watch out the door, and tapped into the camera.

Yindi: "Water that deep can't drown a person — but a water ghost coming out to find a substitute is another matter."

Liu Zhiyi enlarged the captured image; another cluster of bubbles rose on the water, and she could dimly see a dark-gray shape floating up from below.

Yindi: "They'll turn into someone you know, then call your name, and trick you over…"

The shape floated fully up.

It was a crucian carp.

Liu Zhiyi let out a breath — but her shoulder suddenly went heavy.

Her body flinched.

"What is it?"

Hearing the voice, Liu Zhiyi turned her head and saw it was Yindi laying a hand on her shoulder.

Liu Zhiyi: "…Don't scare me."

Yindi glanced at the pond and warned her.

"If you fall in the pond, shout out loud. A grown-up will hear and come save you."

Liu Zhiyi nodded, bent her head and shoveled the noodles down fast, finished the egg noodles in a few mouthfuls, and wiped her mouth clean.

"I'm done."

Yindi laid the braids over the front of her chest; Liu Zhiyi saw a little yellow flower tucked into one.

"More?"

Yindi asked her.

Even turned young again in the dungeon, her grandmother cooked the same portions as ever.

Liu Zhiyi gave a burp.

"I really can't eat any more…"

The pre-illness grandmother might well have pushed another bowl on her.

But Yindi didn't press her; she cleared the bowl, soaked it in the sink, picked up the broken pot, and held out her free hand.

"Let's go."

Liu Zhiyi didn't want to act too much like a child, but the moment her hand took Yindi's, it began to swing back and forth on its own.

This dungeon really was too strange.

By day the sun was bright, people came and went in the village, and free-ranging hens ran past her with a string of chicks behind them.

And the pigs — a white pig nudged open the gate of its pen and lay in the doorway sunning itself, lifting an eyelid to give her a lazy glance as she passed.

"Baa…"

A little white goat staggered along behind the mother goat, past the edge of the pond, where white ducks paddled to and fro.

Yindi: "Want to pet the little goat?"

Liu Zhiyi flushed at the offer; as a child she'd loved chasing after the goats.

Because she couldn't catch the chickens or the pigs — yes, for all its fat, a pig you couldn't catch when it ran.

Only a newborn goat, still unsteady on its legs, she could catch.

Liu Zhiyi shook her head. "No — if I pet it, its mother will fret."

As a small, unknowing child, she'd caught a kid and cuddled it in her arms, kneading it, while the mother goat bleated frantically at her side.

Yindi: "Do you like the countryside?"

At the question, Liu Zhiyi paused.

Liu Zhiyi: "I do."

"I like it too." Yindi said, smiling. "Look at these hills and this water, and the people…"

Liu Zhiyi saw that people came out of every brick house they passed to greet Yindi.

Yindi: "I want to live here forever."

Liu Zhiyi suddenly felt uneasy; she felt Yindi's words seemed to carry another meaning.

"Living in the village isn't bad, but the world outside is wonderful too…"

Yindi: "You're a child from the city, aren't you?"

Liu Zhiyi gave an "mm."

"Once you've played enough, go back to the city." Yindi held her hand. "You wouldn't get used to living here."

Liu Zhiyi wanted to say she would, then remembered this was a dungeon, and the words stuck in her mouth.

"Yindi!"

The door of a small brick house opened, and a woman came out.

"Did you bring the pot?"

Yindi drew her hand free. "I'm here to mend the pot. Find somewhere to sit and wait for me."

Liu Zhiyi followed her inside; she listened hard for a while, and found Yindi and the woman were only talking about the pot, with no strange words or gestures.

Ordinary, and a little dull.

It didn't even feel like a dungeon.

Liu Zhiyi propped up her head and looked out the door.

"Come on, come on, there's magulengzi over here."

A few children suddenly ran past outside.

Magulengzi was local dialect too, for a kind of small fish.

Liu Zhiyi didn't know the proper name for this little fish, but in the water its body was half-transparent, and struck by sunlight it took on the colors of a rainbow.

As a child Liu Zhiyi hadn't liked the countryside, but she'd loved scooping up these fish in a net with the village children — what the grown-ups called netting fish.

Scatter a few grains of rice, wait a while, and lots of magulengzi would float up; then one sweep of the net, and you'd be sure to scoop a netful of little fish.

"Wow!"

The children burst into cheers, drawing Liu Zhiyi's eye.

Fish of every color were lifted out in small hands and put into a water basin readied nearby.

The children turned and saw her, smiling until their faces creased into several folds.

"Come play?"

Something stirred in Liu Zhiyi.

Whether it was that the dungeon's air was so ordinary, or that the little fish in the pail were so pretty —

she was actually a little tempted. But thinking of Yindi behind her, she still shook her head.

Refused, the children looked a little let down, but they didn't press her; they just gathered back together and bent to their fishing again.