Prologue

The red lanterns swayed, filling the air with festive joy, like the rosy glow of dawn breaking early, casting a warm, fiery hue over the humble gate. Yet from within, only sighs escaped.

At first light, the Chen family was to celebrate their daughter’s wedding as she was to be married off to the town. The bride, clad in her wedding finery, locked herself inside the room, refusing to come out no matter what.

Chen Dasheng wore a worried frown, leaning close to the door crack to plead, “My dear daughter, your father knows you feel wronged. Yes, Mr. Wu is older, but wouldn’t being his wife again be better than a concubine?”

“As long as you bear him a son, your life will be secure—no worries about food or clothing. Why suffer here with your poor parents in this desolate place? Isn’t that so?”

“Come on, open the door and hear your father’s counsel.”

“Daughter? Daughter?”

The old villager seemed exhausted from pleading; his tongue grew dry, and anger began to rise.

“A woman must marry when she comes of age; how could there be any other way? Do you want to become a nun instead?”

“What harm is there in your father asking for a little more dowry? This whole family needs to eat. Can you just watch your parents and brothers starve?”

“Open the door at once! Don’t test my patience! If you miss the auspicious time to leave, don’t blame me for being harsh!”

After long hours of coaxing, his hands red from pounding on the door, inside all he heard was the faint sound of sobbing—no other noise.

Chen Dasheng was puzzled: his daughter was fiery by nature; even when she cried, she usually cursed loudly, yet this time she was unusually quiet.

Pressing his ear against the door, he listened more closely, the crying sounding strangely unnatural.

Suddenly, a dreadful thought struck him—

“This is bad!”

His head buzzed, flushed with heat, cursing under his breath as he kicked the door latch hard and burst inside.

He searched the whole room—there was no sign of his daughter.

Only the back window was ajar, allowing the night wind to whistle through with a hollow “woo-woo,” the very source of the crying sound.

“That damned girl! What wickedness! Somebody, come quick! The bride has run away—”

Sparks from burning straw torches scattered, trailing thick smoke as they flitted through Gan Hua village.

The waning moon pierced through the clouds, its cold gaze watching the sparks flicker like startled fireflies, restless in the air.

Amid the clamor, anxiety and fury mingled, faces distorted under the torchlight into grim masks.

“Found her—!”

Suddenly, a heart-wrenching scream led the search party beyond the village.

A thousand-year-old tree stood there, its shadow darker than the night itself, silent without insects or birds.

The crackling sparks from the fire pierced the ears.

On the thick, gnarled branches entwined with withered vines, a pair of feet dangled high above, clad in red embroidered shoes.

Chen Dasheng trembled as he raised his torch, the light climbing upward to reveal those feet—

The restless night breeze stirred the flames and the red garment, like a flowing dance suspended in the air, gently swaying.

The girl’s eyes half-closed, serene as a bodhisattva in a temple, casting a look of sorrow upon the world.

Someone’s legs buckled with a thud, collapsing to the ground.

“This... this is the fourth one.”