Chapter 443: Thousand-Faced Corpse

Thousand-Faced Corpse, also called Thousand-Faced Mountain Goblin, is one of the evil spirits spread in folklore.

Such vengeful spirits, in life, were mostly disfigured or flayed to death, then discarded in cold, dark places, forming these ghosts. Every year on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, when the gates of the underworld open, Thousand-Faced Corpses will assume human form and come out to lure people.

One might think that the beings who come out to lure people on the fifteenth of the seventh month are just water ghosts, right?

Actually, no. Although the Thousand-Faced Mountain Goblin resembles the water ghost, its grudge is far more bitter than that of a water ghost. In life they were disfigured; after death they were abandoned in cold, dark places. Each time around the fifteenth of the seventh month, they endlessly relive the agony of being flayed and disfigured, never able to transcend.

So, the Thousand-Faced Mountain Goblin has a habit: the faces of those it kills to death are usually mutilated beyond recognition. Moreover, perhaps because of its grudge, each time it harms a person, it peels off a piece of that person's skin, after which the Thousand-Faced Corpse can assume the appearance of that skin's owner.

Wang Aunt was almost killed by the Thousand-Faced Mountain Goblin on a pitch-black, windy night.

That day, it happened to be just before the fifteenth of the seventh month; after finishing her work, Wang Aunt did not go home directly but stayed in the dormitory to look after the sick Xi Ying,

Xi Ying was a fellow villager from Wang Aunt's hometown, a few months younger than Wang Aunt and also more slender in build. However, her family circumstances differed from Wang Aunt's.

She had lost both parents from childhood and was raised by her uncle, often bullied by her miserly aunt. After joining the production team to work, that aunt cared nothing for her life or death, locking the door even when she slept. At night, if Xi Ying finished her work and returned home, the aunt would not open the door. No matter how Xi Ying called, she pretended not to hear and would not let her husband get up to open the door for Xi Ying.

Having no choice, Xi Ying could only stay in the production team's dormitory.

Perhaps from excessive sun exposure in the fields and overwork, Xi Ying came down with a heat illness, which is just ordinary fever.

Although she had taken some herbal medicine, Wang Aunt was still not reassured. Thus that night she stayed behind, moved into the dormitory, and shared a bed with Xi Ying.

At that time, the production team also arranged dormitories for its members. Of course, those dormitories were not as refined and elegant as people consider them today.

Put bluntly, they were shabby houses built of kiln bricks, leaky in the winter wind and rainy season.

Around midnight, Wang Aunt picked up her flashlight and got up to relieve herself.

Those born before the 1980s would understand the architecture of that era. Before that time, toilets were generally not built inside houses. Wealthy people would set up a privy in the corner of their compound.

Those without money usually kept a chamber pot at home. When they felt uncomfortable and needed to relieve themselves, they went to the public toilet.

It is possible that the whole village had only a few public toilets. It is also possible that villagers, to make a trip to the toilet, had to carry a flashlight and crawl from the village head to the village tail; of course, they could also use a bucket to hold the waste for use as fertilizer in the fields.

This had much to do with the technology of the time and people's notions. First, people of that era considered excretion inauspicious, believing toilets should not be built inside homes. Second, it was limited by the technology and living standards of the day; building a toilet entailed great expense.

In the production team, naturally there were no toilets either. The only two toilets were located several hundred meters away from the team; if one needed to relieve oneself, one had to take a flashlight and walk for about ten minutes.

On both sides of the road lay dark patches of bamboo grove; the path was broken and rough, with a small pit every three steps and a steep slope every five. Thus, as Wang Aunt walked with her flashlight, she proceeded with great caution.

But just then, a mournful wail suddenly came from the small path.

Wang Aunt listened closely; the sound resembled a wailing wind, yet also sounded like a neighbor's child crying.

When Wang Aunt stopped moving and listened carefully, she finally realized it was not wind at all, but a child really crying.

Upon suddenly hearing that it was crying, Wang Aunt's heart tightened; although the prevailing ideology of the time held that only the Party's line was supreme and all demons and monsters were mere clouds,

but Wang Aunt, born into a family of Daoist practitioners, naturally believed in spirits and gods. However, the Old Wang lineage, like many Daoist masters, had an unwritten rule: when choosing an heir, it was to pass the teachings to sons, not daughters.

Of course, even ordinary masters taking disciples are particular about it; even a biological son, when young, would usually be taught only martial arts and some basic theory to lay a foundation.

This is because only when a person reaches a certain stage of growth do their thoughts in all aspects gradually mature. Children in puberty or younger typically have tempers that are hasty, their edges not yet smoothed, making them prone to conflict with others.

To prevent a son from misusing magical arts out of petty grudges, any master, no matter how skilled, would absolutely refrain from teaching sorcery until the son's temperament had been smoothed and he had learned tolerance.

Thus, even if the Old Wang family at that time were willing to pass mountain arts to female descendants, due to her age and the fact that her father had gone far away, Wang Aunt knew no sorcery at all, so she could not tell whether the one crying was a person or a ghost.

When Wang Aunt stopped and realized the incoming sound was crying, she was frightened to the point of her scalp going numb; she even suspected that a water ghost was about to emerge to lure souls.

But after a moment's thought, she realized the village's sole pond was ten thousand eight thousand li away—so even if there were a water ghost, it could not possibly run all the way here.

If it were an ordinary person, hearing a child's cry in the middle of the night on a deserted mountain pitch dark, they would surely drop everything and run as far as they could; how could they sit and speculate as Wang Aunt did?

However, members of the Old Wang family have an innate, somewhat useless trait. It's not exactly good, but it's certainly not bad either.

Almost QingSongShu, Pangzi, and Wang Aunt share a common ailment—they are kind-hearted and soft-hearted.

Whenever they see someone in trouble, they feel distressed, even guilty. Even without considering themselves, they must help others. Even if they know they might suffer a loss or be deceived, they still foolishly reach out a helping hand.

People with such nature are rare good souls in today's society, yet from another angle they are also prone to suffering loss and being taken advantage of.

Wang Aunt hesitated on the spot for a long time; finally, her softness overcame reason. Kind-hearted as she was, fearing it might be a lost child from the village, she didn't think twice—she grabbed her flashlight and ran toward the source of the sound.

The sound came from the left side of the bamboo grove; as Wang Aunt carefully pushed aside the tangled wild grass, she immediately saw the source of the crying.

It was a boy only a few years old, wearing tattered nylon cloth, his arms wrapped around his knees, squatting in the grass clump.

Wang Aunt approached, squatted down, and looked at the boy with pity, asking: "Child, it's so late—why are you sitting here alone crying? Come with Auntie quickly; there are snakes here."

The boy lifted his dirty face, looked at Wang Aunt, and cried: "Mom took me out to herd cattle today; I played truant, went off to catch butterflies halfway, and got separated from her."

Wang Aunt's heart softened, and she immediately picked him up, intending to send him home right away.

Speaking of which, Wang Aunt is also terribly foolish. By normal reaction, a child of a few years who has been crouching for so long in a desolate bamboo grove would, upon suddenly seeing a stranger, surely be startled out of his wits. Yet this child, upon seeing Wang Aunt, immediately burst into tears and explained the cause clearly—nothing like a normal person's reaction… How could a child long exposed to an unknown environment, eroded by fear, have such a clear train of thought?

But the Wang Aunt holding the child did not think about those things. At that moment, her mind considered only two questions: first, the child has been lost for so long—his family must be worried sick! Second, if the child cannot find home, he must be terrified!

After picking up the boy, Wang Aunt immediately asked: "Child, where is your home? Auntie will take you back right now."

The boy pointed in a rough direction; Wang Aunt gave it no further thought, carrying him as she walked that way.

However, Wang Aunt did not notice that, after she picked up the boy, lying on the ground where he had been sitting was a skeleton only as high as a person's knee—clearly the remains of a child.

The bright moon in the sky gradually faded behind black clouds, and the moonlight shining on the earth grew ever weaker.

Thus Wang Aunt continued to hold the strange little boy, clutching an antique-style flashlight, feeling her way slowly along the mountain path.

The boy, held by Wang Aunt, rested his head on her shoulder, as if asleep.

But if someone were walking behind Wang Aunt, they would notice that the boy was actually not asleep.

Not only was he not asleep, he also gazed at Wang Aunt's pure cheeks, revealing a meaningful smile; his hand rubbed her cheek, lightly stroking it.