Meaty aroma

I obtained a thick stack of documents from a distant relative in the countryside, which is said to be relics left behind by an ancestor of our family from the Tang Dynasty. My relative repeatedly admonished me not to damage them, and certainly not to lose them, or else the spirits of our ancestors would not forgive him. I carefully opened this pile of papers, and a musty smell accumulated over many years hit my nose, making me nauseous. Judging by the paper, it seemed to be centuries old—yellowed xuan paper, similar to the paper used in funerary rituals that is burned in fire. The paper was very brittle, with the feeling that it would crumble into powder with a single touch. I moved it very cautiously, and my entire room became enveloped in this ancient atmosphere.

They were all letters, one after another, written in a traditional upright script, vertically from top to bottom and from right to left. The calligraphy was exquisite—not in the style of Yan or Liu, but in a style I had never seen before, perhaps long lost. Yet this beautiful upright script seemed as if it had been written by a young woman. Could it have been my ancestor? Perhaps his wife, or even a lover? No, upon closer inspection, I realized it was not. It was written by a man, a man in his thirties. His handwriting was soft yet elegant, but I could vaguely sense a strange atmosphere. From his writing, from every stroke, hidden deeply was a sense of—fear.

Yes, it took me an entire day to discern this. The fear was deeply hidden. At that time, I did not read the contents of the letters, but I perceived it from his handwriting. I could almost feel that while writing the letters, he was filled with terror, both around him and deep within him. Yet his hand did not shake like that of an ordinary person; his strokes remained strong, only carrying a subtle chill at the tip of the brush, a coldness he might not have even noticed.

This was not written by my ancestor, but by another person writing to my ancestor. All of it was in classical Chinese, and I tried to translate the first letter into modern vernacular.

"Jinde, my elder brother:

It has already been ten years since we parted in Chang'an. I suddenly write to you now; please do not take offense. You know, the court has granted me a luxurious residence in Chang'an, vast fertile lands in Guanzhong, and the official position of military governor in Jianghuai.But from the very first day, I resigned from my official post. I left the mansion and fertile fields, and returned alone to Kunzhou, living in the residence of the governor where I had once served. Ten years slipped by in the blink of an eye, and I spent them alone, idly and in solitude. I often recalled the time when the An-Shi rebel forces rose in chaos. I was the governor of Kunzhou, and you served as a general under me. Together, we defended Kunzhou for three years, preventing Shi Siming's tens of thousands of troops from ever capturing Kunzhou and moving down to the Yangtze and Huai regions. Eventually, reinforcements arrived, and we achieved great merit. Jin De, I increasingly miss you and the soldiers who shared life and death with me back then. I'm writing this letter to tell you something — my house is haunted. Duan Lu.” I did not expect that my ancestor Jin De was actually a general of the Tang Dynasty during the An-Shi Rebellion, defending Kunzhou alongside this governor named Duan Lu. But the problem was, my historical knowledge told me that there was no city called Kunzhou, and in the An-Shi Rebellion, there was no such thing as Duan Lu defending Kunzhou. I was confused, so I called another distant cousin of mine. He is the most learned person in our family and is currently pursuing graduate studies in history. On the phone, he heard my question, then remained silent for a long moment before slowly saying, “Yes, I saw this stack of letters a year ago as well, and I immediately got completely absorbed in them. I searched through all kinds of materials and even conducted field research in northern Anhui and Jiangsu, but to my disappointment, I found nothing — absolutely nothing. Perhaps history has forgotten our ancestor and Duan Lu. But I had experts verify them; these letters really are authentic Tang Dynasty artifacts, not forgeries by later generations. Listen to me, you shouldn't read them any further, you'll get absorbed too. These letters are terrifying, containing blood, the blood of history. Take care of yourself, goodbye.” I sat for a long time, carefully pondering the words of this history graduate student. He had always had a certain aura of mystery, saying things others could not understand. Historical blood? I thought he was just being mysterious; this was just a collection of old correspondence. Could the bones of long-dead people possibly harm me? Yet I couldn't help but become more cautious. I began planning to return these letters. But I could not bring myself to stop, perhaps because of Duan Lu's last line: “My house is haunted.”I continued and opened the second letter, translating it into plain language. "Brother Jin De: I was extremely happy to see your letter. It turns out you had already retired early and returned to the countryside, which is a good thing. Last time I mentioned that my house was haunted. Yes, this ghost has been persistently bothering me. I vaguely felt that ever since the day I moved back from Chang'an to Kunzhou ten years ago, this ghost has been wandering around this old house; I just didn't realize at the time that it was a ghost. But this year, its activity has become increasingly frequent. Actually, I've never been afraid of ghosts, but this time I am truly a bit terrified.

You know, at that time, the governor's mansion in Kunzhou was a very dilapidated old house. After the war, the newly appointed governor built a new mansion, and I lived alone in the old one. This house is very large and very run-down. You wouldn't know, I didn't hire a single servant; in this huge mansion, I was all alone. I survive on the thousand acres of fertile land I own in Guanzhong. Every month, my agent there would bring me grain and money. I have been used to living alone. Friends advised me to remarry, but I refused. Have you remarried? My heavens, the ghost is back again. It torments me. I cannot write any longer, so I'll stop here.

Duan Lu."

There wasn't anything new in this letter, but at least it told me that my ancestor had been a widower. The sunlight outside the window was unusually strong. I daydreamed at home and thought of Kunzhou.

Kunzhou, a city I had never heard of before, but I would rather believe it existed because history is full of examples of places forgotten for various reasons. But what I find hard to understand is how Duan Lu and my ancestor, called Cai Jinde, defended Kunzhou for three years, withstanding tens of thousands of troops under Shi Siming. During the Anshi Rebellion, Zhang Xun and Xu Yuan defended Suiyang to the death, and yet the city eventually fell and they died. Could Duan Lu be even more capable than Zhang Xun? This question troubled me, spurring me to open the third letter.

"Brother Jin De: You said in your letter that you have already remarried and have three sons. Congratulations. As for me, I may be destined to remain alone for the rest of my life. Yes, your guess in the letter is correct; I will never forget Yuexiang—her eyes, her smile, her body. Ten years ago she died in Kunzhou, right in this room. I can never get rid of her, never.Over the past ten years, although I lived alone, I raised many cats, more than twenty, including the kind that a Persian merchant sold to me at a high price, with two eyes of different colors. These cats have accompanied me for ten years, as if they were my lovers. Being with these more than twenty cats, I felt a sense of having many wives. Yes, I loved them, and I regarded them as a group of beautiful women. But ever since my house became haunted, strange things have happened continuously. Yesterday, one of my white cats went missing and I could not find it no matter what. Later, I discovered a smell of cooked meat coming from my kitchen. I hadn't eaten meat for ten years; since the end of the war, I had become a vegetarian, living a monk-like life. I was extremely shocked, for I had never cooked meat. I lifted the lid of the pot, and God, inside was my missing cat. The cat had been chopped into pieces, all its fur plucked out, its internal organs removed, and the meat cooked. I immediately fainted. Although I had once fought a bloody battle in Kunzhou for three years and witnessed countless bloody scenes, over the past ten years I had hardly seen any blood at all, and my bond with my cats had grown stronger. Seeing such a tragic sight, I wept as if my own wife had died. I understood that this must have been the work of that ghost, because my mansion used to be the governor's residence, with very high walls, and since the rumor of my house being haunted was known throughout the city, no one dared to intrude. I was in immense pain. Jinde, this is retribution, retribution from ten years ago; you should understand the meaning of this sentence. Duan Lu." "What does 'retribution' mean?" I could not understand, and he said that my ancestors also understood it. What exactly happened? I have never believed in ghosts, let alone the idea of a ghost killing a cat and cooking it—it sounded like a tale from the Arabian Nights. Perhaps Duan Lu had schizophrenia, producing hallucinations. Indeed, living alone in such a dark and terrifying old mansion for ten years could certainly cause a mental breakdown. He also mentioned 'Yue Xiang,' clearly a woman, perhaps his past wife. It is certain that he deeply loved Yue Xiang, but he later lost her. So, to mourn his late wife, he continued to live in the room where she had died, surviving on a vegetarian diet, giving up wealth and prosperity. Truly, he was a rare and devoted lover.The sun was already setting in the west, and the evening sunlight filled my room, also falling onto these ancient letters, tinting them with a blood-like color. I knew sunlight could damage artifacts, so I hurriedly moved the letters to a darker place. In the dim light, I opened the fourth letter.

'Brother Jinde:

Within just ten days, six of my cats have been killed and cooked. Even though I moved all the firewood and pots from the kitchen and went to the city temples every day to eat vegetarian meals, that omnipresent ghost still somehow managed to get firewood and pots. I am extremely fearful. Every night, I gather all the cats on my bed to sleep with me. This bed was where Yuexiang and I slept ten years ago, very wide, and sleeping on it, I almost dream of her every night. She is still as young and beautiful as she was ten years ago, forever twenty. You surely haven't forgotten how affectionate Yuexiang and I were, becoming the envy of generals and officers like you.

Yes, Yuexiang was a talented woman, her poetic talent not inferior to mine. Every evening, she would light the candles for me while I wrote a poem, then I would light the candles for her while she wrote a poem. Each time, her poems were better than mine. It's such a pity that she was born a woman. If Yuexiang had been a man, she would surely have become a prime minister if officialdom were her path, or an immortalized figure in literature. Yet she possessed all the virtues of a woman, beautiful and virtuous, thoughtful toward me. Among all the officials' families in Kunzhou at the time, her handiwork was also the finest. I clearly remember, Brother Jinde, your wife once specifically asked Yuexiang for guidance on embroidery screen techniques.

Now, it's all in the past. They are no longer among the living, and neither of us is engaged in political affairs. On the spot where she once slept now lies a group of cats. Although they are very restless at night, such is the unpredictability of life. I really fear they might all be taken by that ghost to make cat soup. They are the last hope in my life. Brother Jinde, what do you think I should do? Please give me guidance.

Duan Lu'

I forgot to have dinner. Although my stomach was indeed hungry, I had to admit that I was deeply captivated by these letters. Duan Lu's words had an irresistible power, like some kind of spell; once you open it, you cannot close it again.From Duan Lu's writings, I seem to have seen that woman called Yue Xiang. If Duan Lu's description is accurate, then I really feel regret, regret for why I was born in the 20th century and not the 8th century AD. I really want to meet Yue Xiang. I understand that I have become obsessed, and only now do I believe what my cousin, a history graduate student, said. As the sky darkened, I turned on the light and opened the fifth letter.

'Jin De, my brother:

I've read your letter, thank you very much for giving me these ideas, but I'm afraid I can't do any of them. First, I won't leave Kunzhou, because Yue Xiang and I spent the most wonderful time of our lives there, and of course also the most tragic time. I think if I leave Kunzhou and this house, I would die immediately. Second, I would not invite monks or Taoist priests to exorcise ghosts. If I invited them, it would certainly disturb Yue Xiang's spirit at rest. So, I can only continue to stay and contend with the ghosts to the end. I tell you, now my cats are down to the last five; the rest were killed by the ghosts. Jin De, you wouldn't understand, in this old house, Yue Xiang's scent lingers everywhere. Ten years have passed, and instead of fading, this scent has only become stronger. I constantly feel that Yue Xiang is not dead; she is right beside me, accompanying me, having spent ten years with me. Every night now I still write poems, poems remembering her, and sometimes the next morning, I am surprised to find that in what I wrote...