Chapter 2: Uncle Dazhuang’s Passing

My father’s house in the ancient city isn’t large, around a hundred square meters—three bedrooms, a living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom. Over the years, I haven’t stayed with them, and they had another son—a younger brother of mine.

My brother is quite young, about fourteen or fifteen, right in the throes of adolescent rebellion, often staying out all night without returning home.

“Your bedroom has already been tidied up by your aunt. Go get some rest first,” my father said expressionlessly.

I nodded without saying much. As for where my stepmother was at the moment, I didn’t ask.

On the way to the ancient city, I had some vague hopes. But now that I was actually here, my mood was calm and indifferent.

“Remember to rest early tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go out together. Uncle Dazhuang has passed away. He was quite good to you while alive, so no matter what, you should pay your respects,” my father reminded me again.

What?

Uncle Dazhuang has passed away?

I couldn’t quite believe it.

Uncle Dazhuang had always been kind to me. Though he’d gained wealth, he often returned to the village and gave me red envelopes during Lunar New Year when I was a child. But my grandfather rejected the money, saying it was tainted.

“When did this happen?” I asked, swallowing my shock.

“Yesterday morning, I believe. I was supposed to go then, but since I had to pick you up, I went back to the village first,” my father replied.

After that, we didn’t talk much more.

I went into my bedroom and lay on the bed, but sleep eluded me for a long time.

***

The next morning, just as dawn brightened the sky with a pale glow, my father came to knock on the door.

Still bleary-eyed, I quickly washed up and changed.

By seven o’clock, we set off.

Uncle Liu Dazhuang’s home was in the southern suburbs, while we were in the northern suburbs, with the ancient city lying between—quite a distance—so we left early.

Morning rush hour traffic was heavy, and by the time we arrived at Uncle Liu’s house, it was nearly ten o’clock.

His detached villa was well-situated, with favorable winds and water—likely expensive.

Since Uncle Liu had unearthed many antiques from the tomb, becoming a millionaire, his life seemed to have taken off. He came to the ancient city to take on projects as a contractor, later starting his own company and accepting construction work everywhere.

Many in the village speculated that Uncle Liu’s net worth had exceeded a hundred million.

Not only him, but most who had found those antiques back then had since become wealthy.

***

The car slowly entered the villa compound, where white cloth hung everywhere.

Many villagers had come to mourn.

My father parked and immediately sought out friends to chat, leaving me behind.

I knew quite a few people there, so I wasn’t bored, but the place was heavy with an oppressive aura.

There’s a difference between a chilling atmosphere and an oppressive one.

Chilling makes one feel cold.

Oppressive aura gave me a stinging sensation on my skin.

This place is wrong, I thought instinctively.

It was mid-morning, not the blazing noon sun, so evil spirits usually wouldn’t appear.

Why was the oppressive aura so thick?

Suppressing my unease, I began to look around.

“Xiaochen, when did you come to the ancient city? The old man never let you leave the village before,” a voice suddenly came from behind me.

It was my neighbor, Uncle Wangcai.

He, too, had once been part of the patrol team and had acquired some treasures.

He often returned to the village, so it was no surprise he knew me.

“Uncle Wangcai!” I slowly turned, staring at his face.

Before, his face was nothing remarkable—square-shaped, broad in the middle, exuding an air of prosperity.

But today, I noticed a faint dark aura on his forehead.

A dark aura at the forehead signals ill fortune.

This wasn’t a baseless claim.

The area between the eyebrows is an acupoint channeling the body's qi and vitality.

A dark aura there indicates problems with internal organs.

Uncle Wangcai had become wealthy in recent years and was very cautious about his health, undergoing check-ups every six months.

I had never heard he was ill.

So this dark aura on his forehead was definitely abnormal.

“Uncle Wangcai, I got into the Ancient City University. I’m here to study,” I said.

“Wow, you’re impressive! Ancient City University is a 211 Project university. You haven’t brought shame to the Jiang family! Come visit my place sometime,” Uncle Wangcai praised, patting my shoulder.

“By the way, you haven’t gone to see Uncle Dazhuang yet, right?” he added. “You should pay a visit. The funeral is tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

***

Uncle Wangcai had just arrived, so we entered the villa’s living room together.

In the center lay a corpse dressed in burial clothes, with a stack of yellow joss paper covering the face.

A girl about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in mourning attire, knelt before the body, burning joss paper.

I could faintly hear her soft sobs.

The living room was crowded, with small groups chatting quietly.

Uncle Wangcai stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and offered incense.

As a junior, I knew I had to kowtow when offering incense.

Uncle Dazhuang, may you rest in peace.

I knelt and bowed sincerely, then placed three incense sticks in the censer before him.

Behind the censer was a black-and-white photo of Uncle Dazhuang.

His forehead was sunken; the middle of his face lacked fullness.

According to the books my grandfather left behind, Uncle Dazhuang should have lived a lonely, difficult life.

But now, he was wealthy, with descendants.

What was going on?

The books should be accurate, but Uncle Dazhuang’s appearance and life story didn’t match them.

Inside the living room, the oppressive aura was even stronger than outside.

I felt a prickling sensation on my back.

If the aura was this fierce during the day, what would night be like?

“Qingya, your father is gone. I know it’s hard, but you must take care of yourself. Accept fate with composure,” Uncle Wangcai said softly to Uncle Dazhuang’s daughter.

Noticing I was standing there dazed, Uncle Wangcai called out, “Xiaochen, come chat with her—you’re young and might have more to say.”

“Okay,” I nodded and walked over.

Uncle Dazhuang’s daughter was named Liu Qingya. I’d met her a few times but she grew up in the city and rarely came back.

We knew each other but weren’t close.

She was facing away from me now, her figure faint and slender, her long hair tied back.

Behind her ear was a sesame-sized mark.

What was that?