It felt like they had waited for a long time. Drowsiness overcame Mu Dai as she dozed off against the sofa. In her hazy state, she thought she heard a tearing sound, like paper being ripped.
She seemed to hear Luo Ren ask: “What happened?”
Yi Wansan answered: “The drawing is ruined.”
Even in her drowsy state, she couldn’t help but mock Yi Wansan in her mind: So much for drawing in the dark, acting all high and mighty.
Then suddenly, bright light flooded around her.
Mu Dai sat up with a start, her head buzzing, momentarily disoriented about where and when she was. Across from her, Cao Yanhua also looked up in confusion, his eyes barely able to open against the sudden brightness.
Mu Dai felt secretly ashamed. One night watch she was truly embarrassing her entire lineage.
She took out her phone to check the time: 4 AM.
The crisp sound of paper rustling caught her attention. Yi Wansan had somehow already sat up and was massaging his neck while leaning against the sofa. Luo Ren stood beside him, intently examining a sheet of paper just torn from a sketchbook.
Oh, was the drawing finished? Mu Dai’s pre-sleep memory finally came flooding back, and she hurried over to look.
If Yi Wansan’s half-night effort could be described in four words, it would be…
Like a dog’s gnawing.
After drawing for roughly four or five hours, this was all he had produced?
Yi Wansan yawned, his voice cool: “Little boss lady, this is good enough. Cut me some slack. Drawing in pitch darkness? I’m not Magic Brush Ma Liang. I’ve already ruined several sheets.”
The subtext was clear: stop complaining.
Luo Ren explained to her: “Yi Wansan says that after long intervals, the water shadows repeat, meaning the countless strokes form just one picture, cycling over and over.”
One picture—was it this one in front of them? This was…
Mu Dai didn’t know how to describe it. On the drawing, there were a few strokes in the distance. Anyone familiar with impressionistic landscape painting would know that those represented the outline of distant mountains. Horizontal strokes near the foreground presumably depicted a flowing river.
Between the mountains and the river, the image was divided into left and right parts. On the left was a…
Mu Dai asked uncertainly: “Is this a wolf?”
Luo Ren glanced at her: “Maybe. I initially thought it was a dog.”
As they spoke, Cao Yanhua’s large head also peered in, offering his conclusion: “A wolf-dog, I suppose.”
Whether wolf or dog, they were certainly related.
Looking at the right side, there was a bamboo scroll, like the scrolls ancient ministers used to present to emperors. What was strange wasn’t the scroll itself, but the three birds perched at its top, middle, and bottom.
The first two birds looked similar. Although Yi Wansan’s drawing was painfully crude, they could barely make out that both had long, trailing tails. They didn’t quite look like peacocks, but after reaching consensus, they decided they must be phoenixes.
But the one at the bottom looked like a chicken.
Luo Ren looked at Mu Dai and Cao Yanhua: “Finished looking? What do you think? Tell me.”
Mu Dai said: “This dog or wolf is crouching by the river, as if about to jump in and drown itself. On this side are two phoenixes and a chicken sitting on a bamboo scroll. That’s it.”
Was that her impression? Luo Ren’s temple visibly throbbed: “You’re certainly… direct.”
He turned to Cao Yanhua: “What about you?”
Cao Yanhua was the typical case of someone without much knowledge who still liked to show off with elegant phrases. Now he put on a profound expression: “I think we shouldn’t just look at the surface. We need to see the deeper meaning.”
“How so?”
“Look at this wolf… dog. I think it represents an evil force. In ancient times, didn’t people curse others as having ‘the heart of a wolf and lungs of a dog’? Or they’d say, ‘You beast!’ So this represents an evil force. As for the right side, two phoenixes and a chicken—the chicken is at the bottom, and the bamboo scroll looks like a wooden perch, reminding us of a common saying: ‘A fallen phoenix is worse than a chicken.'”
Well, they were both talented in their way. Cao Yanhua was essentially describing the image literally: the message was that someone was framed by evil forces and ultimately fell from grace, becoming worse than a chicken?
Yi Wansan didn’t offer an opinion, just weakly waved his hand: “Don’t ask me. Right now, I still see hundreds of strokes. To me, they’re just strokes, nothing more.”
Mu Dai and Cao Yanhua’s expectant gazes fell on Luo Ren: Since everyone else had spoken, what was his opinion? Let’s hear it?
Luo Ren spread his hands, even more direct than Mu Dai: “I don’t understand it. When the time is right, let’s call Shen Gun and ask.”
Mu Dai felt a strange sense of pride.
After all, initially, it was she who had led them to Shen Gun. Now, she truly felt… honored by association.
They waited from four o’clock to five, then to six. Yi Wansan was sound asleep, while Cao Yanhua paced around the water basin, occasionally bending down to look.
Mu Dai sneered: “Look all you want! Soon it will jump out and stick to your face!”
Cao Yanhua shrank his head in fear, making his neck disappear even more.
Around seven o’clock, Uncle Zheng called, saying he was coming back to get some things for Pin Ting at the hospital. Luo Ren asked him to bring several breakfasts: rice porridge, flatbread, pan-fried dumplings, and tea eggs. With everything laid out on the table, everyone busy setting bowls and distributing chopsticks, it strangely felt like they were a family.
Mu Dai hid off to the side, first calling Shen Gun to arrange a convenient time to talk. She was worried he might still be sleeping and her call would disturb him, but surprisingly, Shen Gun answered quickly, his voice cheerful and energetic, saying: “I’m doing my morning exercises.”
Morning exercises? His life was truly orderly, balancing work and rest, healthy and reasonable.
“My friend told me that when traveling around, one must take care of their health and exercise regularly.”
Oh, really? Mu Dai sincerely exclaimed, “Your friend cares a lot about you.”
That wasn’t exactly what Shen Gun’s friend had said. The original words were: “I’ve got my own family to worry about now, I don’t have time for you. Keep yourself healthy. If you dare come bother me again with your headaches and fevers, I swear I’ll kill you.”
But to Shen Gun, this was just insincere concern, and Mu Dai’s remark pleased him greatly: “Of course, he’s my best friend.”
After the pleasantries, Mu Dai got straight to the point. Luo Ren, guessing she was calling Shen Gun, gestured for her to put the phone on speaker while asking Cao Yanhua and the others to stay quiet.
So the noisy morning suddenly became silent again, with Cao Yanhua eating his flatbread in an exaggeratedly refined manner, his movements slowed by two beats.
“Afraid of water? Afraid of water but not fire… I’ve never heard of that…”
Another thing he hadn’t heard of. Mu Dai felt disappointed. She rallied her spirits and mentioned the drawing: the distant mountains, the nearby river, the wolf-dog by the river, and that “fallen phoenix worse than a chicken” thing…
Shen Gun’s voice suddenly rose by eight octaves, unable to suppress his surprise and excitement: “Wait, wait! Did you just say two phoenixes, one chicken, positioned top, middle, and bottom, on a bamboo scroll?”
Mu Dai’s heart began to race. Looking toward the table, she saw everyone had stopped what they were doing. Luo Ren nodded at her, signaling her to continue.
“That bamboo scroll, count how many strips?”
Mu Dai quickly mouthed to Luo Ren: “The drawing?”
Before Luo Ren could answer, Yi Wansan jumped in: “Seven.”
He added, “I drew it. I remember where the strokes broke off. It’s seven strips.”
Shen Gun seemed to draw in a sharp breath.
Mu Dai didn’t dare rush him. After a while, she heard Shen Gun’s voice, filled with wonder: “Seven strips… it exists…”
What did he mean? If he could say something like that, it meant he knew something, right? Mu Dai’s heart was pounding so hard it might leap out: “What does it mean?”
Shen Gun laughed heartily: “Little Pocket, your head is truly an empty pocket! That’s not a chicken; it’s a luan. A luan is ‘red-colored, five-colored, chicken-shaped.’ Haven’t you heard of it?”
He said her head was an empty pocket! What Luan? This was never taught in school! It was all Yi Wansan’s fault—he couldn’t even color his drawing. If he had colored it, would she have called it a chicken?
Mu Dai glared at Yi Wansan, as if she would have recognized it as a luan if it had been colored—in reality, even if it had been colored exactly according to the “red, five-colored” description, she would still have called it a flamboyant rooster.
“The two in front aren’t phoenixes either. They should be Feng and Huang. Top, middle, and bottom, they are feng, huang, and luan—three auspicious mythical birds in ancient China. What you’ve seen is seven ominous bamboo strips sealed by feng, huang, and luan.”
Seven ominous bamboo strips?
At this crucial moment, Shen Gun was unhurried: “I need to look through my notes and organize my thoughts. Please wait.”
He needed to check his notes? Mu Dai’s heart was like cat claws scratching, desperately wanting to reach through the phone, grab Shen Gun’s voice, and pull him out from the invisible sound waves.
Luo Ren was calmer than her: “We’ve waited this long. What’s another hour or two?”
There was forced restraint of excitement in his voice. Mu Dai nodded at him, genuinely happy for him.
Just then, Yi Wansan spoke up irritably.
“This whole feng, huang, luan sealing seven ominous strips thing—you two, could you briefly introduce the background story? I spent all night drawing this.”
So they quickly finished breakfast and moved to Luo Ren’s room. Cao Yanhua was responsible for carrying the basin, walking carefully, his arms stretched as far away from his body as possible, wishing his parents had given him a tall, lanky build with long arms and legs.
In Luo Ren’s room, that wall served as the best display board. Three past events, fishing line puppets—the story unfolded, leaving Cao Yanhua dumbfounded. Yi Wansan was full of questions: “What does this have to do with sealing whatever ominous strips?”
Mu Dai charged her phone to ensure it would last through the potentially long call to come: “That’s what we need to ask Shen Gun.”
Shen Gun’s call didn’t come until the afternoon. The sun was already slanting westward, casting a red glow over half the wall, giving everything an unreal, hazy feeling.
It was truly a case of “finally appearing after countless calls,” but Mu Dai felt that at this moment, she’d be willing to buy a ticket to hear what he had to say.
The sound of turning pages came from the other end of the phone. Wan Fenghuo had mentioned that Shen Gun recorded things in notebooks, and after more than twenty years, he had so many notebooks that they had to be stored in sacks. Which year was the notebook he was now flipping through from? It must be quite old, right?
“This is indeed something I heard about many years ago, near Hangu Pass, and only there. I heard it from an elderly man who told it as a legend.”
Hangu Pass?
The whole thing was like a vast picture missing many pieces. Mu Dai thought to herself: another piece fits, another connection made.
“Where to begin… Do you believe that in this world, there’s always a ‘first’? For instance, the first person to eat an apple, the first person to eat a crab, the first person to swim.”
There must have been, though it was very, very long ago. Just as historians theorize, primitive humans initially ate raw meat and drank blood, then one day lightning ignited a forest, the fire killed wild animals, and the smell of meat drew people. The bravest said, “Let me taste it.”
And thus began the era of cooked food.
“Legend has it that the first seven criminal cases in the world to be recorded in writing—unwritten ones don’t count, nor do those recorded by knot-tying, because individual knots are unintelligible to others and don’t serve the purpose of conveying information.”
“But the first written records, probably in oracle bone script, whether carved on turtle shells, animal bones, or whatever else, the first seven cases supposedly had the power to bewitch people. Later, anyone who came into contact with them would undergo a sudden change in character and commit similar crimes. They were considered ominous by people of that time.”
Luo Ren asked: “Why seven?”
Shen Gun sighed: “I can’t explain clearly. I specifically researched the special significance of the number ‘seven.’ The ‘Book of Han’ says ‘seven’ refers to the beginning of heaven, earth, four seasons, and humans. A week is seven days. Buddhism has seven treasures and seven sufferings. After death, there are memorial ceremonies every seven days, like the first seven days…”
“Even in the West, ‘seven’ has special meaning. In the Bible, God created the world in seven days. And in Catholic doctrine, there’s the concept of the ‘seven deadly sins.'”
Mu Dai wasn’t concerned about numbers; she was only interested in another question: “Why did people who came into contact with them undergo character changes? Was it… ghost… possession?”
After asking, she got goosebumps all over.
Luo Ren pondered: “Like the Japanese… kanji spirit?”
“Kanji Spirit” is a Japanese ghost story from Baku Yumemakura’s “Onmyoji.” It tells of a Chinese monk from the Tang Dynasty who was copying Buddhist scriptures when one day, a woman appeared in his meditation room, always covering her face with her sleeve. Later, the monk couldn’t resist pulling down her sleeve and discovered she had no mouth. After the woman disappeared, the monk checked the scripture he was copying and found that in writing “Dainichi Nyorai,” he had omitted the “mouth” radical from the character “ru,” writing it as “woman” instead.
The story’s moral is that all things have spirits. That character transformed into a mouthless woman to remind the monk of his error. At first glance, it seems to have commonalities with the seven ominous cases carved on oracle bones.
Shen Gun thought for a moment: “Not quite. ‘Kanji Spirit’ is just a ghost story, but what I’m talking about is invisible and intangible—an ominous entity, like the curse of the pharaohs, that brings misfortune through mysterious means.”
“People of that time were extremely reverent. During sacrifices to the hundred gods, they also had shamans pray to heaven. It is said the divination revealed that in future generations, a person of great virtue would appear to resolve this ominous resentment.”
At this point, Shen Gun suddenly became excited: “This person lived during the late Spring and Autumn period. He was a real historical figure, very famous in Chinese cultural history, arguably a world-class cultural celebrity. Can you guess who it was?”
Cao Yanhua answered in a loud, resounding voice: “Confucius!”
Luo Ren glanced at him: “It should be Laozi.”
Shen Gun made a surprised sound: “Little Radish gets one point. Who just answered?”
Cao Yanhua had received numerous reminders from Mu Dai to be extremely respectful to Shen Gun: “Hello, Mr. Shen. My surname is Cao. You can call me Fatty Cao.”
“Fatty Cao” certainly didn’t sound pleasant, but at least it was his existing nickname. He didn’t want another one. Little Radish? Goodness, he couldn’t imagine how Luo Ren endured it.
Shen Gun lectured him: “Fatty Cao, Confucius is indeed a cultural celebrity, but you need to guess based on the context. I mentioned Hangu Pass earlier. Laozi has a significant connection to Hangu Pass. Moreover, Laozi himself is revered as the founder of Taoism, the Supreme Lord Lao. Compared to Confucius, he has a more mysterious quality.”
He returned to the main topic: “The story of the seven ominous bamboo strips begins with Laozi passing through Hangu Pass.”
According to legend, as the Zhou royal house declined, Laozi, a man of great virtue, decided to withdraw from society and rode a blue ox through Hangu Pass.
The pass keeper Yin Xi was quite knowledgeable in celestial divination and vaguely saw purple qi coming from the east. Guessing that a noble person would pass through, he waited early at the pass and indeed stopped Laozi as he was about to leave. After failing to persuade him to stay, Yin Xi said: “With your great learning, will you not leave something for the world?”
Historical records state that moved by Yin Xi’s sincerity, Laozi lingered at Hangu Pass for three months and left behind the “Tao Te Ching,” a work of about five thousand characters.
But the version Shen Gun heard went far beyond this.
In that version, Laozi was determined to rid the world of a great evil. He drew seven ominous auras from turtle shells and animal bones into seven wooden strips, sealing them with feng, huang, and luan bronze clasps. He instructed Yin Xi: the world is created by the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth—and each element could temporarily subdue the ominous strips, but none was a fundamental solution.
The wooden strips belonged to wood. Wood grows from the earth and thrives with water, implicitly containing “wood, earth, and water.” The bronze clasps represented “metal.” “Feng, huang, and luan” were divine birds of that era, their nature belonging to fire. Thus, all five elements were present, drawing on the auspicious energy of the divine birds to seal the seven ominous strips.
Yin Xi respectfully accepted them and asked Laozi why he didn’t destroy the ominous strips.
Laozi sighed and said that even though they were vicious and evil, they were indeed crimes committed by humans. Prettifying or destroying them couldn’t erase their existence; they had already become part of historical records.
Yin Xi then asked: if one day the feng, huang, and luan clasps were opened, wouldn’t the seven ominous strips bring calamity to the world again?
Laozi laughed heartily, flicked his whisk, and strode directly onto his blue ox, saying: “Don’t worry. In this world, no one can open the feng, huang, and luan clasps.”