Chapter One: The Demoness

The sudden strains of “King and Queen’s Song” blared out at the most inopportune moment. Kaiming paused, lifting her hands from the keyboard in irritation, and raised her phone: “What is it?”

“I’m almost home. Do you want me to bring you something for a late-night snack?” The voice on the other end was eager.

“No need!” She hung up coldly, but then hesitated, dialed again, and said, “If you’re out having fun, at least bring some barbecue home for your wife.”

“What?…” The other party tried to protest, but she hung up again.

She returned to pounding the keyboard, sneering. What a show of false affection. Four years married, three years in separate rooms; the first year only together because she was pregnant, but even then, barely. Day to day, they lived their own lives, speaking only over meals. Was this what a husband was supposed to be?

“It’s like there are two children in this house,” she often said. Marriage was not marriage; a husband, not a husband. Faye Wong’s “The Most Familiar Stranger” could have been written for her.

“Still the same?” Enna could not help but ask.

Kaiming nodded vigorously. Enna lamented, “You’re a modern woman—why put yourself through this? There are plenty of men in the world. Are you planning to live like a widow forever?”

“You don’t understand. What marriage isn’t full of storms? Divorce is even more troublesome than marriage.”

“Do you really want to keep living like this?” Enna studied her, then suddenly laughed. “A man who thinks twice a year is too much—can you call that a normal man? Where’s the bold Kaiming I know?”

“Who says I want to live like this forever?” Kaiming’s expression clouded. “He’s a monk, but I’m still a normal woman! It’s just… divorce has too many consequences. I need to think carefully.”

“Sounds like your marriage is all for other people.”

In the café at the corner, Enna lounged with her long, wavy, wine-red hair and a fashionable short Korean skirt with a high waist. She stirred the black coffee in her delicate white enamel cup.

Kaiming sat across from her, gazing pensively at the passersby outside. Her ponytail and T-shirt with shorts made her look younger than Enna, but in truth, she was already past thirty.

Perhaps her face was the only thing that could still feign youth. Her heart was full of scars. She sighed.

“My mother-in-law says divorce is shameful. The child is still young. And then there’s the house, the car, and the shares in the new factory…”

With a thud, Enna set her coffee cup down hard and glared. “Why are you explaining to me? Do you really have to?”

Kaiming hesitated, then smiled wryly. “You’re right—I’m a fool.”

All her reasons boiled down to one thing: she couldn’t divorce for other people’s sake.

“I heard there’s a very accurate fortune-telling monk at a certain temple. Want to go?” Enna stood, picking up her bag from the bench.

Kaiming gaped. “Since when do you believe in that stuff?”

“I went once with my old lady. It was pretty interesting. Anyway, it’s only noon. I don’t have to be at work yet, and you’ve got plenty of time before you need to pick up your daughter from kindergarten. Let’s go check it out together!”

“But…”

“Don’t drag your feet,” Enna half-joked. “If you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to the will of the gods!”

The will of the gods? The phrase struck a chord in Kaiming’s heart.

Had she known then the series of earth-shattering events that would follow, whether it was fate or not, she’d have rather died than ask for that fortune.

Ancient trees and Buddha statues always evoked solemnity. The incense smoke twisted in the air, the candles burned low, their blackened wicks standing in a deathlike stupor.

Kaiming exhaled. With such a gloomy mood, everything she saw looked dilapidated.

“Kaiming, over here!” Enna’s clear voice called her attention.

Enna was half-bent over a small wooden table, beside which sat an elderly monk. At her call, the monk looked up.

“If this fortune is so accurate, why are we the only ones here?” Kaiming teased, eyeing the shabby temple and the struggling monk. Surely another charlatan.

Enna shot her a look and pulled her down to sit, treating the monk with great respect. “Master, my friend wishes to draw a fortune.”

Kaiming let out two dry laughs. Master? Her trendy friend Enna, showing such deference to this unremarkable old monk—it was almost unbelievable.

Her laughter drew the monk’s attention at last. He studied her, face impassive, then handed her the bamboo tube. “Please draw a lot.”

Kaiming drew one at random. Before she could look at it, Enna snatched it, handing it reverently to the monk.

The monk examined the stick in silence, his face inscrutable, emotions shifting like a bottle of mixed spices.

Enna craned her neck for a look and gasped.

Kaiming, puzzled, glanced at the lot as the monk laid it on the table. She, too, let out a surprised sound—it was a blank stick!

“Who’s playing this terrible joke, putting a blank stick in the lot?” Enna exclaimed.

But the monk only smiled. “It’s no prank. It must be Buddha’s will…”

Kaiming burst out laughing. She could no longer pretend to be a pious believer. The monk was out of tricks and tried to cover it up—she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m leaving, Enna. The sun’s too harsh. I’d rather go home and play on my computer in the air conditioning.” She slapped her thigh, rose rudely, and left before Enna could stop her.

From a distance, she heard the monk call after her, “If you doubt the heavens, remember—events are determined by people.”

Pah! She scoffed inwardly. Who couldn’t spout such vague nonsense?

The faded red temple doors loomed ahead. She reached out to push them open, but the doors seemed to grow legs, retreating further away. Alarmed, she turned to Enna, who was apologizing to the monk, and when she saw Kaiming looking, made a silly face.

Kaiming grew even more unsettled. She reached again but the doors still eluded her, as if a few steps’ distance had become a thousand miles. A chill crept up her spine. The monk! He must have played some trick on her after she embarrassed him.

She refused to be outdone.

Teeth gritted, she launched herself at the doors in a sprinter’s dash. As the old saying goes: simple-minded, strong-limbed. She’d never had much wit, nor a sense of direction, nor a head for numbers—but her physique was above average.

This time, the doors did not flee. She grasped them firmly, but immediately sensed something was wrong. The instant her hand touched the wood, her head spun, as if her optic nerves had been shaken, and everything she saw doubled.

Phantoms overlapped with reality. She couldn’t utter a sound, only collapsed against the doorframe, face ashen. Enna’s shriek echoed in her ears, and as she fell, her last thought was: That monk knows witchcraft!

With a jolt, Kaiming awoke and leapt up. What time was it? She had to pick up her daughter from school. She took a step forward—and tripped.

She grabbed what she’d stumbled over—a long, soft object. Annoyed, she scrambled up and looked down. A long, garishly colored skirt? She was wearing it. Lifting it, she saw her feet were encased in red embroidered shoes.

Startled, she heard a timid voice nearby: “Madam… are you all right?”

Madam? Kaiming wondered if she was hallucinating. She looked over and saw a young man huddled in the corner—delicate features, but weary. She skipped over his appearance, noting the rough cloth robe and shoes, his hair tied back in a knot.

“Who are you?” she frowned. What kind of outfit was this? What a weirdo.

The young man looked surprised. “Madam, I am your husband!”

Kaiming chuckled. Madam and husband—what kind of play was this? Was the monk’s witchcraft still at work?

The man wanted to come forward, but hesitated, keeping his distance. “Madam, are you truly well? You accidentally hit your head against the wall—now something seems wrong.”

“Accidentally hit my head?”

“It’s my fault. You wanted to visit Hua Da, and I shouldn’t have stopped you. I caused you to hit the wall.” The young man gritted his teeth, fetched a willow switch from the corner, and knelt, holding it above his head. “Please punish me, madam!”

Kaiming was dumbfounded. Was she supposed to beat him? If she was the madam, why did he act like a child awaiting punishment?

Before she could speak, two tiny figures darted from the inner room, knelt before her, and cried, “If mother will punish father, please punish us too!”

She saw they were two malnourished children, their eyes huge in their thin faces, staring intently at her. In their gaze she saw not pleading, but suppressed anger and a nameless fear.

There was no time to decipher their strange expressions—their words had already stunned her. When had she become the mother of two children this age? There was no doubt—they were kneeling to her, calling her mother! Was this not absurd?

She pinched her thigh hard. Pain shot through her. This was no dream—it was all real! She had a husband begging for a beating, and two undernourished children!

Panic gripped her. She glanced around. The patched roof, earthen kang bed, clay jars—the place rivaled the shanties of construction workers.

“What is this place?” she shouted, catching sight of a half-open wooden door. She grabbed her skirt and bolted.

Stepping outside, she froze, unable to move. Under the blazing sun, narrow paths crisscrossed, radiating heat. Low, shabby houses lined the way, with withered trees drooping—like a vast slum.

A few people passed by, greeting her familiarly, “Kaiming!”

She sobered. They were calling her name—Kaiming—but she knew none of them. Her face twitched; worst of all, they all wore the same clothes as the young man inside.

She took a deep breath, retreated into the house and slammed the door. With three pairs of eyes on her back, she spun around and stormed at them, furious: “What is this place? Who are you? What’s going on? What’s going on?!”

The two children shrank into the man’s arms. He stammered, “Madam, what’s wrong? Don’t you know us? Should I fetch a doctor…”

“Go to hell with your doctor!” Kaiming snapped, slamming her fist on the rickety table, which collapsed under her blow.

The crash jolted her to her senses. She stared in disbelief at her own hands—rough, callused from labor, nothing like her former fair and delicate ones.

Her heart skipped a beat. Realization dawned as she lunged at the stunned young man, shaking his shoulders and shouting, “A mirror! Now!”

The man, pale and trembling, stammered, “Our only mirror—you broke it yesterday when you were angry…”

“So what! Anything that can show a reflection—anything!” she snarled.

He stuttered, “Maybe…”

Before he could finish, Kaiming shoved him aside and searched frantically for water. “Where?”

“There…” one of the braver children pointed.

A half basin of water wobbled, reflecting her image. Clutching the rim, she nearly broke her fingers. What kind of nightmare was this! The woman in the water had flushed cheeks, bared white teeth, blood-red lips as if painted with fresh dye, and eyes blackened with some terrible makeup, crowned with a headful of cheap trinkets. Hideous—unbearably hideous.

Was this herself? Or a demoness? Kaiming’s heart turned to ice.