My name is Li Yang. I was born on October 15, 1987.
That day was the Xia Yuan Festival, a day when the Water Official pardons misfortunes, generally considered an auspicious occasion.
However, my father always said that day was the most agonizing and horrifying day of his life.
The agony came from my mother's difficult labor, which lasted from morning until late at night. The horror was due to a coffin that inexplicably drifted into our home.
Saying it was "inexplicable" isn't entirely accurate. That morning, torrential rain poured relentlessly. By dusk, the rising river had already reached our doorstep. Most villagers had evacuated to higher ground early, but our family was trapped because of my mother's labor complications.
By ten o'clock at night, my mother's screams had grown hoarse. The midwife from the neighboring village emerged from the room, asking my father to prepare for the worst.
At that moment, a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, instantly followed by a deafening thunderclap.
As soon as the thunder rumbled away, my cries rang out from inside the house.
Yet, before my family could even celebrate my birth, a loud bang shattered the moment—the front door was violently flung open.
A pitch-black coffin, carried by the floodwaters, drifted silently into our courtyard.
For a few seconds, my grandmother stood frozen in shock before she suddenly let out an enraged scream. Grabbing a wooden pole from the yard, she began chasing and beating my grandfather furiously.
Her reason for doing so was simple: I was never supposed to be born on this day.
To understand why, we need to go back several years.
My grandfather had received a classical education and was one of the few literate men of his time, widely regarded as a young man with a bright future.
However, at some point, he acquired a book on feng shui and fortune-telling. From that moment on, he changed. He buried himself in that book, reading it even while eating and walking.
The family's farmwork was abandoned, all falling onto my grandmother's shoulders.
After a few years of self-study, my grandfather—having only a half-baked understanding—decided to offer feng shui readings and fortune-telling services.
To put it in modern terms, he was inexperienced but overly enthusiastic.
The result was predictable: his reputation quickly plummeted. Within a few years, he was notorious, avoided by everyone within miles, even when offering free consultations.
With no customers left, my grandfather turned his focus to our family's ancestral graves. Over a year, he moved the Li family graves eighteen times, causing all my uncles to sever ties with him.
It wasn't until my mother became pregnant with me that he seemed to change. He stopped practicing feng shui, stayed home all the time, and became eerily quiet. No one knew what he was up to.
As my mother's due date approached, we finally discovered the truth—my grandfather had been meticulously calculating my birth date and time. He believed that choosing the right moment for my birth could change the Li family's destiny.
To achieve this, he even managed to procure two doses of labor-inducing drugs from the city.
Despite his eccentricity, my grandfather was still the head of the household. My parents had no choice but to obey him, leading to the furious beating he received from my grandmother.
Yet, regardless of the quarrel, there was now a coffin in our courtyard that had to be dealt with.
There is an old saying:"A cat brings poverty, a dog brings wealth, but a coffin arriving at your doorstep will doom three generations."
Traditionally, coffins are only brought home when needed, and even then, they are collected by the family rather than delivered.
Even if a coffin shop provided home delivery, it would only be placed at the entrance, never inside.
Yet here was a coffin, already settled in our yard.
Moreover, it seemed to be an ancient coffin washed down from the mountains—and it was not empty.
While the family was at a loss about what to do, my grandfather merely chuckled. He called it a waterborne bridal coffin and claimed that it was a sign of my future wealth and prosperity.
According to my father, at that point, my grandfather was utterly delusional—his mind consumed by superstitions to the point that no one could argue with him. In the end, he insisted on keeping the coffin and stored it in his room.
Fortunately, no misfortune befell the family afterward, and over time, people stopped mentioning the coffin.
However, my grandparents began sleeping in separate rooms because of it.
When I was five, my father planned for a second child and moved me into my grandfather's room.
That was when I discovered that he regularly performed rituals in front of the coffin.
Not long after I moved in, he tricked me into bowing three times to it, using a piece of candy as bait.
At the time, I was too young to understand what I had done. I only thought it was fun—and I got candy.
By the time I realized how absurd it was, it was already too late.
Besides that, my grandfather also began teaching me what was written in his old book.
He taught me for ten years.
By the time I turned fifteen, my grandfather had grown old.
His hair was white, and his eyes had clouded over.
I knew his days were numbered.
How did I know?
Naturally, I had learned it from his book.
But I dared not tell my family.
In his final days, my grandfather spent long hours alone in his room, speaking softly to the coffin as if conversing with someone.
It felt as if there was another presence in the room.
Yet, aside from me occasionally entering, only the coffin was there.
On his last day, I saw a black and white glow fading from his forehead.
That was soul light and vital energy—the final signs of life dispersing.
That day, he no longer spoke to the coffin. Instead, he called me over and gave me two final instructions.
First, after his death, he must be buried in that coffin. He warned that others would come to steal it, and I had to protect it.
Second, I must cherish and protect my future wife.
The first instruction made sense, but I found it hard to believe that anyone would want that coffin.
As for the second instruction, even after so many years, I had never seen what lay inside the coffin, so I was confused.
However, my grandfather wouldn't let me ask questions. He gripped my hand tightly, urging me to remember his words.
Fearing that he might pass away in distress, I hurriedly nodded.
The moment I did, the glow at his forehead dissipated.
My father, who had been a dutiful and honest man all his life, respected my grandfather's final wish.
Together with my uncle, he pried open the coffin.
We had prepared a brand-new coffin for the remains inside, assuming that all we would find were bones.
However, when the coffin was opened, everyone was stunned.
Inside was not a skeleton—but a lifelike woman.
Her body showed no signs of decay. She was breathtakingly beautiful, like a sleeping beauty frozen in time.
At that moment, my thoughts wavered.
I thought—if only she could breathe, I wouldn't mind giving up ten years of my life to marry such a woman.
But alas, she was a corpse.
Even so, my grandfather's actions now seemed even more absurd.
Before I could dwell on it further, a strange fragrance wafted from the coffin.
It spread quickly, lingering in the air.
Within moments, the entire village was enveloped in its scent.
My expression darkened instantly.
I recognized it immediately—corpse fragrance.
According to my grandfather's book, a corpse's fragrance spreads for miles, attracting demons, spirits, and a thousand worshipping corpses.
It was at that moment that I finally understood my grandfather's dying words.
The second instruction was the true challenge.