Volume One: The Field of Eight Coffins Chapter 5: The Fallen Bodhisattva

"It's me." Just as I instinctively turned to run, my third uncle's voice came through in time.

"Good grief, Uncle, you could have at least said something before coming back—you nearly scared me to death," I grumbled quietly.

"I just remembered something and didn’t have time to tell you," he replied tersely, climbing down from the bed.

"What did you remember?" I asked.

"Come here and lie down on this bed," he beckoned me over.

It was then I noticed a candle was burning on the floor of the room. The flickering light and shadows came from that very candle.

Puzzled but obedient, I lay flat on the wooden bed.

"Li Yang, tell me, if the homeless man who died here went to sleep, which bed would he have chosen?" my uncle suddenly asked.

When I lay down as he instructed, I hadn’t thought much of it. But his question sent a chill through me.

Logically, if a homeless man found shelter in this old building, he’d have no reason to go upstairs. For convenience, he would have chosen a room on the first floor.

That meant it was very likely he had died on this very bed.

Realizing this, I jumped up in alarm. "Damn it, Uncle, what are you doing making me lie on a dead man's bed?"

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Look at you, acting as if death were the end of the world. Dying is just another state of being alive—what’s so terrifying about the dead?"

I waved him off impatiently. "Cut the nonsense. What did you find?"

He gestured at the bed. "That’s why I wanted you to lie down..."

Seeing his mysterious expression, I steeled myself and lay down again.

He pointed at the wardrobe opposite. Then, with a puff, he blew out the candle. The room plunged into darkness.

Only then did I realize that lying on the bed, I was perfectly aligned with the wardrobe—my line of sight fell directly upon it.

I understood what he was getting at: the homeless man, lying here, would have first seen that wardrobe. If anything unusual happened, it would most likely have originated from there. My uncle must have suddenly realized this and returned to investigate what was inside.

He held up his flashlight, exchanged a glance with me, then walked over and gripped the wardrobe's handle.

I held my breath as he suddenly yanked the door open.

We both shone our lights inside, revealing a bizarre and eerie scene.

Inside the wardrobe stood a statue, no bigger than a water bottle. The statue's face was far from benevolent—unlike the kind found in temples, it wore a menacing expression resembling that of a wrathful guardian. In one hand, the statue held a round bundle.

Strangest of all, a cord was looped around its neck, as if the statue had been hanged inside the wardrobe.

The statue's already fierce features became all the more sinister and frightening, suspended by the rope.

My scalp tingled. "Uncle... what is this? Who offers incense to a statue only to hang it?"

He seemed just as surprised, studying the statue with his flashlight and a look of disbelief.

After a long moment, he muttered, "This... seems to be a Lost Bodhisattva."

"Lost Bodhisattva? What kind of deity is that? Why does it look so grim?"

He explained, "This Bodhisattva originates from ancient India and later spread to the Western Regions. The name 'Lost Bodhisattva' was adopted after it reached our country. Families who worship this deity don’t seek peace or prosperity but rather..."

His explanation startled me, and I interrupted, "If not for peace or fortune, what do they worship it for?"

He said, "Every offering has its reason. Some families have their troubles. For example, sometimes a woman becomes pregnant but, for various reasons, cannot give birth. Going to the hospital may be inconvenient, so they pray to this Lost Bodhisattva, burning incense and praying daily. After twenty-one days, the pregnancy will be terminated."

The realization struck me. "So... this statue belonged to Li Ximei? She wanted to end her pregnancy? Are all these statues hanged like this?"

He grimaced. "Of course not. I’m not sure why it’s like this either."

I nodded. "I think I understand. Li Ximei must have worshipped the Lost Bodhisattva, but when her prayers failed and she couldn’t abort, she took out her anger on the statue—hanging it up."

My uncle’s eyes widened as the logic clicked. "Why didn’t I think of that? You’ve got a sharp mind. That must be it! She hanged the Bodhisattva out of spite. But regardless, it’s still a deity. Such disrespect is bound to bring retribution."

I asked, "Did the homeless man die from being frightened by this statue? That seems unlikely."

He shook his head, shining his light more closely. Suddenly, he said, "No, that's not it."

I quickly leaned in. The cord suspending the statue was red—and stained with blood.

A chill ran through me. "Blood? Where did it come from?"

He replied, "It looks like it’s coming from upstairs. The cord is tied off up there. Yang, stay in this room and keep watch. I’ll check upstairs. If anything happens, call me right away."

"But Uncle, can’t I go with you?"

"Yang, this house is more complicated than I thought. If something is wrong, it’s most likely on the second floor. The first floor should be the safest. Besides, if I find the source of the blood, you need to watch the statue for any changes. I’ll message you when it’s safe, then you can come up."

Reluctantly, I agreed and stayed behind. Before leaving, he reminded me that if things got dangerous, I should throw that doll he’d given me to protect myself.

With that, he left the room, flashlight in hand. His footsteps echoed from the direction of the stairs.

The longer I stared at the eerie statue, the more unnerved I became. Remembering that someone had once died on that bed, I grew increasingly restless.

I went to the doorway, crouched down, and listened intently.

I heard my uncle’s footsteps moving from the stairs to the middle of the upper floor, punctuated by two coughs.

His pace varied—sometimes quick, sometimes slow—suggesting he was checking the rooms upstairs.

After about ten minutes, his footsteps suddenly ceased.

I imagined he’d found something and waited another five or six minutes, but the silence continued. The house was deathly still.

My heart leapt to my throat. I pulled out my phone to call him.

The call connected, but all I heard was static.

Panic rising, I shouted upstairs, "Uncle, are you there?"

Only the echo of my own voice returned, with no answer from my uncle.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, I gripped my flashlight and left the room, determined to search for him upstairs.

Just as I reached the foot of the stairs, a tremendous crash erupted from above.

The sudden noise nearly made me collapse. It sounded as if something heavy had fallen.

Immediately, my uncle's voice rang out from upstairs, "Li Yang, run!"

Cold sweat broke out all over me. His voice had changed—hoarse and desperate, as if he’d screamed himself raw. He must have seen something terrifying.

Hearing his warning, I instinctively bolted up the stairs to save him.

But almost at once, he shouted again, "Yang, don’t worry about me—just run! Run out and don’t look back!"

A cold draft swept down from the second floor, chilling me to the bone. It felt as if the wind could seep into my very pores, freezing me solid.

I quickly turned and dashed downstairs, knowing that if I froze now, I could neither help my uncle nor save myself.

As I reached the ground floor, that icy wind continued to pursue me. There was no sound from my uncle.

A sense of dread filled me as I raced into the living room, aiming for the front door.

But when I arrived, I found the door—which had been open—was now inexplicably shut.

I remembered following my uncle in without closing it. Who had locked it?

No time to dwell on it, I rushed over and tugged at the door.

It wouldn’t budge, as if welded shut.

At that moment, I heard soft footsteps behind me.

Those steps were definitely not my uncle’s. With each step closer, the chill grew more intense and oppressive.

I wanted desperately to turn and look, but my uncle’s warning echoed in my mind: Don’t look back.

The footsteps stopped right behind me.

From experience, I could tell—someone, or something, was standing at my back.

A cold sweat broke out along my spine; my body grew numb.

Suddenly, I felt a weight on my left shoulder, as if a hand had landed there from behind.

I cried out, nerves stretched to the breaking point.

My shout reminded me of the doll at my waist—it was the only thing my uncle had given me for protection.

I yanked it out, spat on it, and flung it over my shoulder.

It worked—the instant I threw the doll, the pressure on my shoulder vanished. At the same time, I summoned all my strength and wrenched the door open.