MW CH38

Chapter 38: I Am Pinjia

“Can’t we follow them to Pengge and check it out?” Back in the car, Sun Manman and Liang Mu were still buzzing.

The driver hesitated. “We could, but it’s not toward Waxiao, where you booked. If I drop you there, I’ve gotta head back—got other rides lined up, can’t wait around.”

The girls wavered. “Well…”

I glanced at the rearview mirror. The dust trail was settling, the black procession shrinking in the distance—soon it’d vanish.

“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” I turned to Sun Manman.

“We were aiming for Pengge, but didn’t know today was their Spring Festival or that we’d catch the ritual crew. Should’ve booked a guesthouse there instead,” she sighed, clearly bummed.

“Here’s an idea…” I offered. “We head to Pengge now. I’ve got a friend there—your Chuwen哥. The research institute should have spare rooms. We crash there tonight, and tomorrow Yan Chuwen can drive us to Waxiao—or I’ll borrow his car and we’ll go ourselves. Sound good?”

Sun Manman and Liang Mu swapped looks, nodded in sync—plan approved.

“Cool. Waxiao’s stay isn’t pricey anyway—cancel it. Let’s hit Pengge now,” Sun Manman said, patting the driver’s seatback. “Master, reroute to Pengge—go!”

“You got it!” He whipped the car around, chasing the procession.

I called Yan Chuwen, explained the crash pad situation. He agreed instantly—come over, he’d drive us to Waxiao tomorrow himself.

Call done, our car caught the procession’s tail.

The rear was flag-bearers—black flags with red trim, an abstract nine-colored deer sketched on each. April in Cuoyansong was cool, but the long, fast march had them sweating. Most had ditched their shirts, sleeves tied at the waist, showing off lean, tanned torsos.

Ahead were guys with empty baskets and poles—probably the offering carriers from earlier.

We crept past at a slightly faster clip, rolling by the drum-and-horn band, another flag squad, until we leveled with the lead riders.

Normally, we’d tail them or zip ahead, but with no cars, no lines, no cameras out here, the driver didn’t care—kept pace alongside so Liang Mu could snap pics.

Except for Mochuan’s dazzling white horse up front, the rest rode brown ones, all in black gear.

Then I spotted a familiar face in the rider pack. Lowering the window, I shouted, “Kun Hongtu!”

The young guy on horseback turned, flashing a huge grin. “Bai Yin哥! Here for Teacher Yan again?”

“Nope, this time I’m with my sister for fun.” I jerked a thumb back.

He waved cheerily at the girls. “Have a blast!”

Liang Mu’s shutter sparked like crazy. “Oh, we are—this trip’s worth it.”

A car came from ahead. The driver honked a greeting, gunned it, and pulled in front of the procession.

Passing that ornate white horse, its rider gripped the reins, eyes fixed forward—not a flicker my way.

“Girls, done shooting? We’re heading straight to Pengge,” the driver asked.

Liang Mu, half-out the sunroof for front shots, was in a trance—Sun Manman had to yank her down or she’d have kept going.

“Done, done—let’s roll to Pengge,” Sun Manman said.

Liang Mu turned pro photographer, plopping down to review her haul, flicking through shots.

“The white horse guy’s vibe changed…” she mused. “That glance back was so soft—how’d it turn cold so fast?”

“Told you, it was just a random look,” Sun Manman said, shaking her head with a laugh.

At the institute, it was still just Guo Shu and Yan Chuwen. The doorstep pup, Erqian, remembered me—licking and leaping on sight.

The girls bunked downstairs; I took my usual second-floor room.

Luggage settled, a quick breather, and Yan Chuwen’s welcome feast was ready.

“Welcome to Cuoyansong—Happy New Year!” Five mismatched cups clinked—some wine, some soda—over a steaming spread of dishes.

“Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year…”

Stuffed and tipsy, we cleared the table together, then sat cracking seeds and chatting. Out of nowhere, the overhead light died.

A yelp—Sun Manman or Liang Mu?—cut through the dark. Yan Chuwen soothed, “Don’t freak, don’t freak. Power’s been shaky around Cuoyansong lately—cuts out at night a lot. No biggie, usually back by midnight.”

“Pretty cool, right? Sets the mood—let’s tell ghost stories!” Guo Shu fished candles from a drawer, lit them, handed one each.

“G-ghost stories?” Liang Mu glued herself to Sun Manman.

“Not ghost stories—ghost-god belief studies,” Yan Chuwen said, candlelight bouncing off his glasses in twin flickers. “Real stuff we’ve lived through.”

Even Sun Manman tensed, swallowing hard. “It’s the festival—something cheerful instead?”

Guo Shu and Yan Chuwen cracked up in sync. Guo Shu said, “Alright, if little sis is spooked, we’ll skip it. What do you want to hear?”

Sun Manman eased up, grinning again. “The ritual today! We saw a white horse with a gold-masked rider—that’s the Cenglu Pinjia, right? He looked so young, like twenties.”

“Yeah, that’s Pinjia…”

Yan Chuwen and Guo Shu dove into the title’s meaning and origins, breaking it down. The girls listened, asked questions, kept the vibe lively.

I sat peeling peanuts—one after another—stomach bloating by the time they wrapped up.

Chat hit nine; we split to our rooms.

I meant to sleep, but on the bed, tossing and turning, I couldn’t. My head replayed Mochuan’s glance from that horse.

We’d seen each other just over two months ago—why’d this feel so distant, longer than seven years?

Just one look, one peek…

With that, I rolled out of bed, threw on clothes, and headed downstairs.

Flashlight in hand, I climbed the steps. At the top, staring at the Deer King Temple gate—three months since last time—my body, head, even my breath burned hot.

It was festival day; the auntie cooking for the institute brought a jar of wine. Guo Shu and I polished off most of it. Didn’t hit me then, but now it was creeping up.

I must be drunk. How else do you explain sneaking out at night to scale a wall?

I found the familiar jutting brick, flipped over the wall—careful this time, no crushing Mochuan’s flowers.

Warmer weather now—the main hall’s windows weren’t shut tight. One facing the gate was wide open, faint candlelight dancing inside.

At the window, I held my breath, peering in.

A row of butter lamps glowed on the table, squat white candles at the floor’s corners. Mochuan, still in his daytime ritual garb, knelt before the Mountain Lord statue, back to me, still for ages.

In dim light, his gold ornaments trailed down, shimmering with the flames—dreamlike, unreal.

If this were a dream, how nice… I could do whatever I wanted.

Chanting done, Mochuan lowered his hands, spine relaxing. I thought he’d stand, but he knelt back, head tilting up to the giant gold face, frozen again.

He stared at the Mountain Lord forever, a breathing statue, until a breeze slipped in, twisting the flames. He snapped out of it, moving again.

Pulling off his necklace, his voice drifted out, lifeless as a ghost. “I won’t struggle anymore, won’t hope. I’ll stay here properly, live out my life in Cuoyansong…”

Muttering to the Mountain Lord or himself, the empty hall echoed it back. Pengge’s quiet made it clear without strain.

He yanked off the armlet tying his sleeve, the chained bracelets—then erupted, hurling them at the wall.

“Why test me still?”

Fury unquelled, he tore at his ornate jewelry, flinging piece after piece like venting rage.

“Why make him show up again?”

I froze, realizing instantly—“him” was me.

“What more do you want from me?” His voice sank, cold, trembling uncontrollably.

He’d gone this far—why torment him still? He didn’t get it, questioning the Mountain Lord, the god he’d forsaken all to serve.

He didn’t want me here.

My presence hurt him.

A knife stabbed my chest—pain and choking breath turned me cold in an instant.

The hall quieted. Spent, Mochuan seemed drained, bending slowly, kneeling flat, clutching another armlet tight.

“I am Pinjia, I am Pinjia, I am Pinjia…” He repeated it like a trance, a binding spell trapping him—and me.

Backing away, panicked, I didn’t care about hiding tracks. I turned, scaled the wall the same way, and fled.