On the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month, the Little New Year, it had rained all night. At dawn, the morning mist was particularly heavy.

In the city gate alley, Uncle Shui had risen early as usual. He was boiling water, and when it started to bubble, the entire Tiger Stove room was filled with steam, creating a white haze that made even the lamplight appear fuzzy.

As Uncle Shui reduced the fire in the stove and reached for his wooden clapper to summon people for water, he muttered to himself: “I heard that Zhenniang returned from Nanjing the other day. The Li family’s Old Madam personally went to the city gate to receive her. That girl has made something of herself, just as I expected.”

While he was muttering, someone outside asked, “Uncle Shui, what happened to the Li family? Why has everyone disappeared?”

Uncle Shui looked up toward the door. Between the fog and the steam from the Tiger Stove, everything was hazy, and he could barely make out a swaying figure. He chuckled and replied, “What kind of talk is that? How could perfectly good people just disappear? The Li family is doing well now, they’ve all moved back to their ancestral home.”

As Uncle Shui responded, he had already pulled the firewood out of the stove and stood up, taking his clapper outside. When he reached the doorway, he finally saw the person clearly, and his heart skipped a beat, his vision swimming. Wasn’t this Li Jingfu?

“I must be seeing things,” Uncle Shui rubbed his eyes and looked again. Sure enough, it was Li Jingfu, smiling at him. Though wearing tattered clothes, his face was unmistakable, except for a frightening new scar that twisted the flesh.

“Oh, thank you, Uncle Shui. I’ll be going now. I’ll come back to share a drink with you during the New Year,” Li Jingfu said, then turned and left. In the swirling mist and steam, his departing figure seemed ethereal, soon disappearing into the white fog.

Uncle Shui’s heart lurched again. He had truly seen a ghost—Li Jingfu had been dead for almost two years. They say people see ghosts when their death approaches. Did this mean his time was near? Uncle Shui’s heart clenched with worry.

Well, when the King of Hell decides your time is up at the third watch, he won’t let you live until the fifth. There’s nothing to be done about it, he thought, finally composing himself before stepping out of the Tiger Stove room.

Soon, the sound of his wooden clapper echoed through the city gate alley again.

Like a morning wake-up call, dim oil lamps began flickering behind doors throughout the neighborhood. The sound of women scolding children could be heard—no one wanted to get up in the cold weather.

Eventually, households began opening their doors one after another, carrying copper kettles and wooden buckets, gathering in small groups to queue for hot water at the Tiger Stove.

“Uncle Shui, are you sick? Your face is so pale,” asked Damin’s wife as she came for water.

“Oh, don’t mention it. I saw a ghost early this morning—I saw Li Jingfu,” Uncle Shui shook his head and added, “It’s almost New Year, and times ahead might be difficult if even the ghosts are restless. When Zhenniang comes tomorrow, I must tell her to burn more offerings for her father in the netherworld.”

“Really? That’s frightening,” Damin’s wife jumped at the news.

Just then, Sister Huaide, who was queuing behind her, let out a startled cry, her face turning white.

“What’s wrong, Sister Huaide?” Damin’s wife turned to ask.

“If Uncle Shui hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t have remembered. Early this morning, while my family was still sleeping, someone was banging loudly on our neighbor’s door. My husband shouted ‘Nobody’s home!’ and then the noise stopped. Now that Uncle Shui mentions it, it must have been Li Jingfu coming to knock on doors,” Sister Huaide said fearfully.

“Oh my…” Several people in the water queue became visibly nervous.

“What are you all getting worked up about? People dream about what they think about during the day. Everyone’s been talking about the Li family lately, so you’re all having confused dreams and can’t tell reality from fantasy,” a man grumbled irritably. Then he turned to Uncle Shui and said, “Uncle Shui, stop thinking about Zhenniang. She’s now a consultant in the Princess’s household. She’s connected to royalty now—how could she still care about common folk like us? Everyone should just mind their own business and stop these wild imaginations.”

After he spoke, others joined in the discussion: “That’s right, the Li family looks down on us poor folks from the city gate alley now.”

The words carried a hint of bitterness.

But his words resonated with many—it was natural human nature, after all. The poor stick with the poor, the rich with the rich. Now that the Li family had returned to their former status, they were no longer ordinary folks like the rest of them.

As people continued their quiet discussions, new groups came to replace those who had finished getting their water. The story of Uncle Shui’s ghost sighting spread from one group to the next.

Before they knew it, the morning hour had passed, and travelers began stopping at Uncle Shui’s porridge stall for hot breakfast. Uncle Shui attended to them distractedly, his mind still dwelling on his morning encounter with Li Jingfu. If it had been a dream, it certainly hadn’t felt like one—he had been wide awake and working at the time. Even now, Li Jingfu’s voice rang clearly in his ears.

Just then, in the distance, a group of people approached. Leading them was a young woman wearing a lotus-colored jacket with small floral patterns, dark wide-legged trousers, and a green outer vest. Wasn’t this the Li family’s daughter, Li Zhenniang?

Beside her was Xiege, accompanied by a group of twelve or thirteen-year-old boys, all carrying various items.

The Tiger Stove was at the entrance of the city gate alley, so people usually reached it quickly.

“Uncle Shui, how have you been this year? Are you keeping healthy?” Zhenniang approached with gifts—four types of pastries, various fruits, preserved sweets, plus duck and smoked chicken, and several pieces of fine cloth—typical New Year goods.

“Good, good,” Uncle Shui replied excitedly, completely forgetting his earlier worries about seeing Li Jingfu’s ghost and his mortality.

“Oh, Zhenniang, you’ve come to see Uncle Shui?” asked a woman who had come to fetch water.

“Yes, I missed everyone during the New Year. I brought some pastries and dried fruits from Nanjing. It’s not much, but please have a taste. Don’t be shy,” Zhenniang said with a bright smile. The boys with Xiege carried several baskets, going door to door to distribute the goods.

“What’s there to be shy about? We’re delighted! Right, Uncle Shui?” a quick-tongued woman called out.

“Yes, yes,” Uncle Shui nodded repeatedly, then said to Zhenniang, “Girl, I’m already happy just having you visit Uncle Shui. Why bring so many things? Though your family is better off now, you’re not that well-off. With all the household duties, and your honest older brother still taking care of those families whose children were affected by last year’s tung oil poisoning incident, spending quite a bit throughout the year…” Uncle Shui rambled on.

The Li family’s situation wasn’t as glamorous as outsiders imagined.

Though he said this, his joy was unmistakable, and everyone else was beaming too. They weren’t after Zhenniang’s gifts—rather, they were touched that even though the Li family had moved out of the city gate alley and Zhenniang had made a name for herself in Nanjing, she still remembered her former poor neighbors, visiting them and bringing treats. It showed that the Li family still cared about them, and valued them. This was about relationships and face, naturally making everyone very happy.

“Zhenniang, let me tell you, early this morning, I saw your father—his ghost returned. He couldn’t find his home. Since today is the Little New Year, you should hurry home and burn more offerings for your father. From his appearance, he seems to be suffering in the netherworld, wearing tattered clothes with a scar on his face. Must have been roughed up by some ghost. Burn more spirit money so your father can make his way around. The ways of the world are the same whether above ground or below,” Uncle Shui pulled Zhenniang aside and advised carefully.

The morning’s encounter had been too real to be a dream—he was certain he had seen Li Jingfu’s ghost.

Zhenniang was stunned by Uncle Shui’s words. She didn’t believe in ghosts, so she quickly asked Uncle Shui for details about how he had seen her father that morning.

So Uncle Shui recounted every detail of his early morning encounter with Zhenniang. Every detail was crystal clear.

If ghosts didn’t exist, and Uncle Shui didn’t seem to be talking nonsense from a dream, could it mean her father wasn’t dead? At this thought, Zhenniang’s heart clenched. However, she replied, “Alright, when I get back, I’ll prepare more food offerings and burn more spirit money for my father.”

“Good, good…” Uncle Shui nodded repeatedly.

Afterward, Zhenniang chatted with Uncle Shui for a while longer, and just like old times, sat by the stove helping him add firewood before saying goodbye.

As for Xiege, that boy and his friends wouldn’t return home until mealtime. It was almost New Year’s, so they could let him play.

However, Uncle Shui’s story had unsettled her thoughts. Had her father returned? Or had Uncle Shui made a mistake? Thinking this, Zhenniang quickened her pace home. Whether it was a mistake or real since the person was looking for the Li family and Uncle Shui had told him they had moved back to their ancestral home, he would likely go there.

After turning past Sibao Street and exchanging greetings with people along the way, Zhenniang soon reached her home.

“Hey, you ungrateful beggar, I’ve already given you copper coins, why won’t you leave? During the New Year, you’re just bringing bad luck… go on, get going…” The doorman Li Liujin was impatiently waving someone away.