bruja

Capítulo 1

The introduction tells the story of...

One day, four college students suddenly visited. They said that after reading my novella "The Abandoned Village" published in the magazine *Mengya*, they were inspired to explore the village themselves and insisted on doing so. After returning from the village, the four of them encountered unexpected events within a few days. I also received an email from a mysterious woman calling herself "Nie Xiaoqian." From then on, all sorts of bizarre phenomena haunted me like ghosts, impossible to escape. During those thirty days and nights of extreme fear, Xiaoqian and I fell deeply in love. However, the sound of a flute from the abandoned village awakened her memories. Xiaoqian did not belong to this world. Yet, I still hoped to see her again. When the sacred jade ring returned to the underground palace, a flash of light appeared, and the ancient mystery was finally revealed…

"The Deserted Village Apartment" tells a story that is both terrifying and beautifully poignant. Throughout the film, besides the visceral, bone-chilling fear, there is also the timeless call of love. In a suffocating atmosphere of tension, profound love transcends five thousand years of time and space, transcends city and deserted village, transcends life and death—only under the test of absolute terror can such moving and passionate romance erupt.

Once you open "The Deserted Apartment," you'll have an unforgettable night...

"I know where the deserted village is."

This is the title of a post on a BBS, but clicking on it reveals a Flash animation.

Against a backdrop of suffocating gloom, turbid waves crash against a desolate shore. Below the hillside lies a deathly silent village, its many black rooftops arranged haphazardly. Atop a cliff overlooking the village, in the distance, stands the figure of a woman in white, her hair and dress tossed about by the wind. The background music is the most famous song from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical *The Phantom of the Opera*.

It turns out this was a Flash animation created by a netizen after reading my novel. Is this what they envisioned as a deserted village?

As the familiar melody of *The Phantom of the Opera* played, the Flash animation repeated itself over and over. I took a deep breath. Ever since my novella *The Deserted Village* was published in *Sprout* magazine, my life has been completely disrupted by it. And because of this novella, an extremely mysterious figure entered my life—as for who this mysterious figure is, I will tell you in detail later.

Besides this mysterious figure, several other significant events occurred around me, which still leave me with lingering fear when I think about them. These events were so unbelievable that when I told many journalist friends about them, not one of them believed me; they all thought it was from my latest novel.

Sigh, I really regret not having a DV camera with me at the time to record everything on video, making it into a chilling and heartbreaking documentary. Otherwise, who would believe such a bizarre story? Since that's the case, just consider it a strange tale you overheard while relaxing in the cool of the night.

In many of my novels, the story is like the circular ruins described by Borges, with neither beginning nor end. You can take any point on the story's trajectory and open a secret door, leading you to another world of imagination...

However, to tell this story, we must start from the spring of that year, when my novella "The Deserted Village" was published in the April issue of the magazine "Sprout".

This novel, over 20,000 words long, tells the story of—

The abandoned village first appeared in my novel "The Ghost Inn," a desolate little mountain village in eastern Zhejiang, nestled between the sea and a cemetery. But in reality, I have never been to the abandoned village, because this place is purely a figment of my imagination.

If it weren't for a book signing event, the deserted village would have remained only in my imagination forever.

The book signing for "The Ghost Inn" took place inside a bookstore in the subway. It was a cold winter night, and as the signing was about to end, a girl named Xiaozhi appeared in front of me.

She was wearing an oversized sweater that didn't fit her at all, and her long black hair was tied in a ponytail. She looked like a female college student. This strange girl had a pair of beautiful eyes with an indescribable feeling in them. She asked me for my autograph with a little timidity and said that her name was Xiaozhi and that she came from a place called Huangcun (Desolate Village).

I was stunned, because the deserted village was just a fictional scene in a novel, but she told me that the deserted village actually existed, and that it was located between the sea and the cemetery.

Although I could hardly believe it, I was still stunned by her. Her pitiful eyes, like a lost fawn in the night, made me feel an irresistible attraction to her. In an instant, I made a decision: I would ask Xiaozhi to take me to the deserted village to see what the fictional place in my novel was really like in reality.

After waiting anxiously for several weeks, Xiaozhi finally agreed to my request and took me on a long-distance bus to the deserted village.

Xiaozhi told me that the abandoned village is located in Xiling Town, K City, on the eastern coast of Zhejiang Province. Eight hundred years ago, after the Jingkang Incident in the Song Dynasty, the people who fled from the Central Plains settled on this desolate coast, and that's how the abandoned village came to be.

Xiaozhi was born and raised in a deserted village. Two years ago, she was admitted to a prestigious university in Shanghai and is now home for winter vacation.

After a long and winding journey, Xiaozhi and I finally arrived at the deserted village. It was indeed located between the sea and the cemetery, with desolate mountains and cliffs everywhere. Time seemed to have stood still here, remaining in the desolate era of hundreds of years ago.

At the entrance of the village stands a huge stone archway, inscribed with the four characters "Chaste and Virtuous, Yin and Yang". It is said that during the Jiajing period of the Ming Dynasty, a scholar who passed the imperial examination came from this remote village. In order to commend his mother, the emperor bestowed this archway upon her.

Xiaozhi led me into the deserted village and to an ancient house with three characters on the gate: "Jinshi Di" (meaning "Residence of a Jinshi"). This was Xiaozhi's home, and the grand archway at the village entrance was a gift from her ancestors. The Jinshi Di house was dark and somber, with several courtyards. The main hall at the entrance was called "Ren'ai Tang" (Hall of Benevolence and Love), and inside hung a scroll portrait of an ancient person.

The large old house was deserted, with only Xiaozhi's father still living there. He was a pale-faced, thin middle-aged man who called himself Mr. Ouyang. His tone was indifferent, like a zombie.

There are no hotels in a deserted village like this, so after nightfall I had no choice but to stay in this old house.

Xiaozhi, carrying a kerosene lamp, led me to the second courtyard, where there was a room upstairs that had been empty for a long time.

I cautiously stepped into the ancient room, only to be surprised to find an old screen inside. It was a four-panel vermilion lacquer screen, probably an antique from before the Qing Dynasty. But what surprised me even more was the content depicted on the screen—the first panel depicted a man and a woman, looking at each other with reluctance, seemingly a scene of a couple or lovers parting; the second panel depicted the woman again, seemingly shedding tears, with a monk standing in front of her, handing her a flute; the third panel depicted an interior scene, where the woman sat alone on a bamboo mat, holding a flute to her lips, with a three-foot-long white silk ribbon hanging from the beam; the fourth panel depicted the man from the beginning, with a red lacquered coffin lying beside him, and even more frighteningly, the coffin lid was open, and the man was also holding a flute.

Looking at the paintings on these screens, I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine. Some strange shadows were moving on the screens, as if the men in the paintings were really about to walk out of the screens.

Introduction: Stories Painted on Ancient Screens

Xiaozhi told me the story behind the painting on this ancient screen—

During the Jiajing era of the Ming Dynasty, there lived a young couple in a deserted village. The wife's name was Rouge. At that time, Japanese pirates frequently appeared, and Rouge's husband was forcibly conscripted into the army and forced to fight against the pirates in other provinces.

Before leaving, the husband made a promise to Rouge: three years later, on the Double Ninth Festival, he would definitely return home to meet her. If they could not meet by then, the two of them would commit suicide together on the night of the Double Ninth Festival.

Three years later, the Double Ninth Festival was approaching, but her husband, who was far away, was still nowhere to be found. Rouge waited at the village entrance every day. One day, she met a wandering begging monk who gave her a flute and told her to play it on the night of the Double Ninth Festival, and her husband would return as promised.

On the night of the Double Ninth Festival, Rouge played her flute. When the mournful flute music ended, her husband actually returned home. Overjoyed, she helped him remove his armor and gently helped him to bed.

After several happy nights together, her husband suddenly disappeared. Soon after, Rouge heard that her husband had died in battle on the night of the Double Ninth Festival. It turned out that on that night, her husband was fighting a thousand miles away, deliberately charging at the front of his troops, and was killed by a hail of enemy arrows.

He died in battle, but in reality, he died for love, fulfilling his promise to his wife through his death. His soul flew across mountains and rivers, only to return to his desolate hometown. At that moment, Rouge played a mysterious flute, and the melodious flute music guided her husband's ghost home.

That night, I thought about this story all night and couldn't sleep. In the early hours of the morning, I went out of my room and found a sliver of candlelight coming from the next room.

Suppressing my fear, I peeked furtively into the window next door—

A candle burned on the old dressing table, its dim light illuminating a woman dressed in white. I couldn't see her face, only that she was combing her long, black hair. I immediately thought of a scene from a classic horror movie and hurriedly fled back to my room.

This was my first night in the deserted village.

The next day, Xiaozhi took me to look around the deserted village. It was indeed a poor and desolate place, with barren mountains and a black sea, which reminded me of "Jamaica Inn".

Xiaozhi always had that same expression, seemingly never happy, staring blankly at the sea in a daze. Watching her gaze at the ocean, I suddenly felt a certain impulse, but I restrained myself.

In the afternoon, in Xiaozhi's room, I saw a photo frame on the desk, containing a black and white photo of Xiaozhi. She looked very charming in the photo, but there was a hint of melancholy in her eyes.

But Xiaozhi said the person in the photo had died long ago. It turned out to be a photo of Xiaozhi's mother; the mother and daughter looked remarkably alike.

Xiaozhi's mother died of illness when she was very young, in the building where I now live. Her father raised her alone. She can only see her mother's face in photographs.

At midnight that night, I suddenly heard the sound of a flute, seemingly coming from the mountain behind us. The flute music in the darkness startled me, and I hurriedly ran out of the Jinshi Mansion, following the sound to find the flutist on the mountain. It turned out that the flutist was Xiaozhi's father—Mr. Ouyang.

He ran up the mountain in the middle of the night to play the flute, a strange behavior that piqued my curiosity. The flute in his hand was also very special, and it was said to be several hundred years old.

This flute must have a story behind it, and indeed, Mr. Ouyang told me that it was the mysterious flute that Rouge had played all those years ago, and that Rouge's story had another version—

In a desolate village hundreds of years ago, Rouge played this flute on the night of the Double Ninth Festival, reuniting with her husband's ghost. Three months later, she discovered she was pregnant. It was a miracle. The child in her womb was the seed sown by her husband's spirit, who had returned from the battlefield.

The villagers began to suspect her of infidelity, but Rouge insisted on her innocence. To protect her unborn child, Rouge endured countless hardships, carrying the pregnancy for ten months before finally giving birth to her son. Rouge raised her child alone, suffering discrimination and humiliation along the way. More than a decade later, Rouge finally died from overwork, but her son studied extremely hard and later passed the imperial examination with flying colors, becoming a student of the emperor.

The story of Rouge reached the emperor's ears, and he was moved by it, bestowing upon her a memorial archway to honor her virtue. It turns out the memorial archway at the village entrance was for Rouge, the Jinshi Mansion was built by her son, and Mr. Ouyang and Xiaozhi were both descendants of Rouge.

Descendants of ghosts?

Terrified, I ran back to the Jinshi Mansion. In the courtyard, I was astonished to find Xiaozhi dressed in white, wandering alone in the moonlight. She didn't say a word, her eyes glazed over as if in a daze. I immediately vanished without a trace.

On the third day after I arrived in the deserted village, I finally couldn't bear it any longer and decided to leave immediately.

Before leaving the deserted village, I said goodbye to Mr. Ouyang and Xiaozhi. They didn't try to stop me, but their words seemed to conceal something.

I stood at the gate of the Jinshi Mansion, looking at Xiaozhi. Although we had only met briefly for a few days, her charming gaze still made me feel a little bittersweet. I didn't know what to say, so I resolutely left the deserted village.

Upon returning to Xiling Town, I did not immediately go back to Shanghai. Instead, I sought out the director of the local cultural center to inquire about the legend of the rouge in the deserted village.

The director of the cultural center told me that twenty years ago, an ancient tomb from the Ming Dynasty near a deserted village was looted by tomb robbers. At that time, Mr. Ouyang reported the case, and the archaeological team immediately rushed to carry out a rescue excavation. They found that the tomb contained the skeletons of a man and a woman, as well as a relatively well-preserved epitaph that recorded the life and deeds of the tomb's occupants.

It turns out that this ancient tomb is where Rouge and her husband are buried. The epitaph says that during the Jiajing period of the Ming Dynasty, the southeastern pirates were rampant. Ouyang An, a man from a remote village, was forcibly conscripted into the army. Before leaving, he made a promise with his wife that they would definitely return to their hometown for a reunion on the Double Ninth Festival three years later, or they would commit suicide together.

Three years later, the Double Ninth Festival arrived, but Ouyang An was still fighting a thousand miles away. Knowing he could not keep his promise, he resolved to die for his love on the battlefield. On the night of the Double Ninth Festival, Ouyang An charged at the forefront of his troops, struck by several arrows and collapsed. However, he was only seriously wounded and unconscious, and later recovered. Several months later, when he returned to his desolate hometown, he discovered that his wife had hanged herself on the night of the Double Ninth Festival.

Overwhelmed with grief, Ouyang An longed to see his wife one last time. He secretly opened her coffin and found her body intact, with a flute beside her. So, Ouyang An carried his wife's coffin home, and every year around the Double Ninth Festival and the Spring Festival, he would play the flute he had taken from the coffin in the middle of the night.

Several years later, on a winter night, Ouyang An played his flute again, and his wife truly awoke from her coffin. Overjoyed, Ouyang An fed her thin porridge daily, finally restoring her health. His resurrected wife remained young and beautiful, and they lived a peaceful life, even having a son.

Later, her son passed the imperial examination and ranked among the top scholars in the palace examination in the capital. The emperor, deeply moved upon hearing this, bestowed upon him a memorial archway honoring his chastity. After hearing this version of the Rouge story, I was almost overwhelmed with emotion—

Are the stories told by Xiaozhi and Mr. Ouyang true or false?

But graves don't lie. Suddenly, I felt like I'd fallen into an abyss reminiscent of Akira Kurosawa's *Rashomon*. What secrets does the Ouyang family in this desolate village still hold?

In an instant, I made a decision—to return to the deserted village immediately and uncover this secret.

On that cold winter night, I crossed the steep hillside back to the deserted village and heard a strange flute melody. At that moment, nothing could stop me. I rushed into the Jinshi Mansion and found a faint light shining from the small building where I had once lived.

I rushed into the room and found Xiaozhi dressed in white, staring blankly at the screen. Her face was so pale, her dark eyes staring blankly ahead, still in that sleepwalking state.

I spoke loudly to her, but she didn't respond. That's when I realized with astonishment—she wasn't Xiaozhi at all! Just as a chilling fear gripped me, Mr. Ouyang suddenly appeared behind me and told me an unbelievable answer—

She is Xiaozhi's mother.

But I clearly remember Xiaozhi telling me that her mother had passed away a long time ago.

Mr. Ouyang recounted the story in detail: twenty years ago, shortly after Xiaozhi was born, her mother passed away from illness. Mr. Ouyang was devastated and didn't want to live alone anymore. Soon after, the graves of his ancestors were robbed, and he saw the epitaph. His ancestors' story gave him great inspiration—

If he followed the instructions in the epitaph, his wife would surely return to him. Therefore, he often went up the mountain at midnight to play his flute, for this ancient flute possessed a mysterious magic that could bring his loved one back.

Yes, she's back. I remembered the photo of her mother in Xiaozhi's room; she looked exactly like Xiaozhi. No wonder I mistook her for Xiaozhi.

I realized that the woman combing her hair in the room next to mine on the first night was her, and the woman wandering in the courtyard on the second night was also her. They were a human and a ghost couple; the still young and beautiful wife looked up at her now haggard and aged husband—

He loved her deeply, whether she was dead or alive, even if they were separated by death, he still longed for his beloved to return home. But then I heard a strange flute melody, which hypnotically made me faint…

When I woke up early the next morning, there was no one left in the Jinshi Mansion. I searched all the rooms and found only a thin layer of dust, as if no one had lived there for a long time.

I rushed out of the Jinshi Mansion with trepidation and found the village chief of the deserted village to inquire about the Ouyang family. The village chief's answer terrified me even more. It turned out that Mr. Ouyang had died long ago! He had died of cancer three years ago, right there in the Jinshi Mansion. And Mr. Ouyang's wife had died of illness at home twenty years ago when Mr. Ouyang went to work in another city.

As for Xiaozhi, she was studying in Shanghai, but about a year ago, she died in an accident on the Shanghai subway. If the family of three in the Jinshi Residence had all died long ago, then who were Xiaozhi and Mr. Ouyang that I met?

I can no longer stay in this deserted village. Perhaps this place belongs to another era, to the strange tales in thread-bound books.

Xiaozhi—I thought of her in my heart, but my body hurriedly left the deserted village. The imperial chastity archway that still stands at the village entrance looks like a huge tombstone.

After returning to Shanghai, I asked a friend who worked for the subway company. He told me that a year earlier, in the winter, at the very subway station where I had signed books, a major accident had occurred: as the subway train was about to enter the station, a 20-year-old female college student slipped and fell onto the platform and was run over and killed instantly by the train.

—Her name is Ouyang Xiaozhi.

The original text is over 20,000 words long, so due to space limitations, I can only provide a brief overview here. In that rainy spring, after the novella "The Deserted Village" was published, hundreds of thousands of readers across the country read it, immediately sparking much controversy and numerous online comments. I never imagined so many readers would be so deeply immersed in the world of the deserted village; it seems that this 20,000-word novel served as a fulcrum, inadvertently triggering a soft spot in their hearts.

However, what I received most were readers' various speculations about the "abandoned village." Over a month, I received many emails, mostly inquiring about several unsolved mysteries in *The Abandoned Village*. I apologize for not answering them all, because I myself was eager to know the answers. What I never expected was that one day in early May, several uninvited guests knocked on my door.

Part 1, Day 1, Section 1, Day 1 (1)

I remember it was a rainy afternoon. The misty rain outside the window blurred my vision, as if everything was being seen through a filter. Only the plants greedily drank in the rainwater, their dark green leaves quietly spreading. At that moment, the room was also filled with damp air, and raindrops kept tapping against the windowpane.

I was alone in front of my computer screen, pondering the opening of my next novel. Suddenly, the doorbell rang urgently, as unsettling as the sudden rain outside the window. I always hate being disturbed at times like this, but I could only suppress my annoyance and open the door—only to see four unfamiliar faces.

The young man at the head of the group was muscular and dark-skinned, seemingly a frequent outdoor enthusiast; raindrops still clung to his hair. He cautiously asked my name, and they all breathed a sigh of relief upon learning that I was the author of "The Deserted Village."

A petite girl with fair skin murmured, "Wow, I never expected this!"