In the early years, many people left their hometowns just to survive and fill their bellies.
Our family was considered outsiders in the village. We had moved here starting from my grandfather's generation.
My grandfather was a man who didn't believe in ghosts or gods. When he arrived in the village, he knew that in order to settle down, the first thing he needed to do was build a house.
To save money on land, he chose to build the house near the edge of the village, right on an old graveyard.
The graves there were ancient, and no one knew which families they had once belonged to. At the time, the village chief advised my grandfather to hire someone to exhume and reinter the graves properly before building.
But after doing the math, Grandpa decided it wasn't worth the expense. He said, "I, Old Chen the Fifth, don't fear the living—why should I fear the dead?"
Soon, the house was built. The graveyard was quite large, and since no one in the village contested it, our family ended up with a big courtyard.
Grandpa married Grandma, and they had five sons and one daughter there. Life passed peacefully enough.
As my uncles grew up and got married, they moved out one after another. Only my grandparents and my father remained.
Later, my father also got married—to my mother.
When my mother was pregnant with me, a traveling fortune-teller came to the village.
Since all my uncles had only had daughters, my grandmother wanted to find out whether my mother was carrying a boy or a girl.
But the moment the fortune-teller saw my mother, his face changed dramatically. He told Grandma, "Your daughter-in-law is indeed carrying a son, but he's a harbinger of misfortune. Because of him, your daughter-in-law will be struck by a water-related calamity."
Grandma's face darkened immediately. She was about to ask how to resolve it when Grandpa happened to return home and promptly chased the fortune-teller away.
Grandpa told Grandma, "There are no ghosts or gods in this world. And besides, there isn't even a stream or pond near this village. Where would a flood come from?"
Before long, summer came, and my mother's belly grew larger. It looked like she would give birth any day. Seeing that my mother was perfectly fine, my grandmother began to believe that the fortune-teller was just spouting nonsense and felt relieved.
Then, as the due date approached, one night there was a massive thunderstorm. Lightning cracked the sky, and torrential rain poured down as if the heavens had been torn open.
That very night, around 3 a.m., my father woke up to find that my mother was gone. The rain had already stopped, so he assumed she had gone to the bathroom and didn't think much of it at first.
But after waiting a while and still seeing no sign of her, worry set in. She was heavily pregnant—anything could happen. He opened the door, intending to check the courtyard.
Just then, someone knocked urgently at the gate.
"Old Chen the Fifth! Old Chen the Fifth!"
It was barely past 3 a.m.—who could be knocking at this hour? My father was puzzled, but still went to open the gate.
Outside stood Auntie Wang, the village's midwife. Her face was ashen, and she held a bundle in her arms.
As soon as the door opened, she said bluntly to my father, "Chen Shu, you've got a son."
My father froze.
Hearing the commotion, my grandparents came out from inside. My grandfather's face turned cold. "Auntie Wang, stop talking nonsense. My daughter-in-law hasn't given birth yet. Where would this son come from?"
"Old Chen the Fifth, your grandson is a ghost-born child. Cursed! Tainted!" Auntie Wang spat on the ground a few times, as if trying to ward off evil.
Grandpa frowned. He had never believed in ghosts, and he certainly didn't believe her now. He told her off and ordered her to leave at once.
But Auntie Wang didn't back down. "Chen Shu, is your wife even at home?"
My father paused. He suddenly remembered—his wife hadn't been in bed when he woke up. He'd gone outside to look for her but had been interrupted by Auntie Wang. The realization hit him all at once.
Grandpa walked over and gave him a kick. "Where's your wife?"
"I—I don't know. She wasn't in the room when I woke up. I thought she was in the courtyard…" my father stammered.
My grandmother began calling out my mother's name, but there was no reply. She checked the bathroom—nothing. She searched every room—still nothing.
Panic set in for the entire family, even Grandpa, who was usually the calmest one in a crisis.
Grandma turned to Auntie Wang and asked her what had happened.
Auntie Wang finally explained.
The rain had been heavy the previous night, so she went to bed early. In the middle of the night, she heard knocking at her door.
At first, she thought she was dreaming and rolled over to go back to sleep. But the knocking didn't stop.
She sat up, called out toward the door—but no one answered. In the dead of night, with the rain pouring down, she started to feel afraid.
The knocking grew more urgent.
Auntie Wang, being a seasoned midwife, was bolder than most women. She got up and opened the door.
There stood my mother.
She was drenched, her face pale as paper, and her pregnant belly visibly bulging as she stood in the rain.
Seeing her, Auntie Wang hurried forward. "Chen Shu's wife! What are you doing out here alone in the middle of the night, in this storm? You're about to give birth!"
She reached out to pull her inside and ask what had happened. But the moment she touched my mother's hand, Auntie Wang shivered—it was ice-cold, like winter frost, stiff and lifeless.
As a midwife who'd seen her fair share of strange things, Auntie Wang immediately knew something was wrong. No living person's hand should feel like that.
"Save my child…" my mother managed to squeeze the words out from between her teeth.
Auntie Wang was terrified. She had realized by now that my mother was no longer among the living—she was a corpse.
She hadn't wanted to get involved, but seeing my mother's contorted, pain-filled expression, a mixture of fear and compassion compelled her to act.
She led my mother into the house and onto a bed.
Feeling her belly, Auntie Wang was shocked to find the baby still moving. Filled with mixed dread and duty, she quickly helped deliver the baby.
"Your wife left right after giving birth. Here's your child," she said, thrusting the bundle into Grandma's arms before turning and walking away without another word.
The whole family was stunned.
Grandpa was the first to react. He told my father to gather people and start searching for my mother—he still refused to believe Auntie Wang's story. Ghosts giving birth? Nonsense.
Grandpa and my father woke all the neighbors and asked for help searching.
By then, dawn was beginning to break.
Not long after, they found my mother outside the village, in a sunken area of land.
She lay there face-down, motionless.