Luo Ren smiled at Mu Dai. “The little girl is mischievous—she waited until everyone started eating.”
He was smiling, but there was no joy in it.
Among them, the fortune-teller was the most anxious. Wiping his mouth, he pressed, “What story?”
Mu Dai turned the book so they could see the cover.
It was a hardcover book. On the cover was a scholar in flowing robes and a gauze cap, painted in a traditional Chinese style. Beside him were three large characters: Zi Bu Yu.
Cao Yanhua stood farthest away, squinting. “What’s that?”
The fortune-teller let out an “oh,” like greeting an old friend. “Zi Bu Yu.”
He explained, “It’s a collection of classical Chinese tales of the strange and supernatural, written by Yuan Mei during the Qing dynasty. The title comes from the Analects: ‘The Master did not speak of strange phenomena, feats of strength, disorder, or spirits.’ But Yuan Mei himself was free-spirited and said he ‘collected astonishing tales to amuse the mind, recording what he heard.’”
Luo Ren looked at him. “You’ve read it?”
The fortune-teller grinned smugly. “Of course. But it was a long time ago—I’ve forgotten most of it. The book has, what, over thirty volumes? Tons of stories.”
Then it hit him. “Wait—are the Seven Ominous Slips recorded in there? That’s impossible. I don’t remember anything like that.”
Mu Dai paused, then said, “In this book, page 342, in the supplementary volume, there’s a story titled ‘The Singing Dog.’”
Cao Yanhua didn’t get it. “What?”
“Two street performers led a dog and put on shows in a busy market. Crowds gathered because the dog… could sing.”
Cao Yanhua sucked in a sharp breath. “Master, that dog must’ve become a spirit, right? Even fiercer than the literate dog in the water shadow…”
The fortune-teller frowned, trying hard to recall whether he’d read this story before.
Mu Dai continued.
“Because the performance was so popular, it caught the attention of the local magistrate. He ordered the dog brought to him and told the performers it was for the Dowager Madam’s amusement. If she were pleased, they would be richly rewarded.”
The fortune-teller’s mouth fell open—he remembered now.
“After the dog was brought back, the magistrate had it led into the yamen and asked it, ‘Are you a human, or are you a dog?’”
Wan San was completely absorbed, while Cao Yanhua chuckled. “Isn’t that pointless? Obviously, it’s a dog.”
Mu Dai glanced at him.
That look made Cao Yanhua uneasy. He stammered, “U-unless… it’s a person?”
“The dog replied, ‘I don’t know whether I am a human or a dog.’”
At that, the fortune-teller let out a short gasp. He remembered.
Mu Dai stopped. She found it hard to go on, her fingers rubbing the spine of the book. Yan Hongsha sensed it wouldn’t be a pleasant story, but her curiosity won out. “And then?”
The fortune-teller’s face alternated between pale and grim. Seeing Mu Dai hesitate, he said, “I’ll tell it.”
He thought for a moment. “There were other details I won’t go into. In short, the magistrate grew suspicious and had the two performers arrested and interrogated. They denied everything until torture was used. Only then did they confess.”
“They said the dog was made from a three-year-old child. First, they used drugs to burn and rot the skin until it all fell off…”
Mu Dai lowered her head in silence. Yan Hongsha’s face grew steadily paler. Smelling the soy-sauce scent of the tea egg in front of her, waves of nausea suddenly hit.
The fortune-teller was clearly uncomfortable too. “Then they burned dog hair into ash, mixed it with a special medicine, and smeared it on the body. They also fed the child a secret drug. The sores healed, and before long, hair grew all over the body and even a tail appeared—exactly like a dog.”
The room was deathly quiet. Cao Liberation rolled the tea egg with its little claws, looking up uneasily, not understanding why everyone had suddenly gone silent.
The rest of the story was hazy even to the fortune-teller. He asked Mu Dai, “What does the book say?”
Mu Dai handed it to him.
The fortune-teller flipped to page 342 and read aloud. Though it was classical Chinese, the meaning was clear. “‘With this method, nine out of ten die. If one succeeds and becomes a dog, the profit lasts a lifetime. Countless children were killed to make such a dog.’”
Cao Yanhua ground his teeth. “Those two bastards—what happened to them? Did they get what they deserved?”
The fortune-teller scanned further. “After they confessed, they cried, ‘This is Heaven’s will! Heaven’s will! We only beg for a quick death.’ The magistrate then ‘dragged them through the market, proclaimed their crimes, and had them beaten to death.’ ‘Beaten to death’ probably means they were clubbed to death.”
Cao Yanhua was still furious. “Beating them to death was too merciful. They should’ve been cut into a thousand pieces.”
Then he suddenly thought of something. “But Master, what does this have to do with our water shadows? Don’t tell me that dog…”
His face changed abruptly.
Luo Ren said, “Mu Dai wouldn’t have had that dream for no reason. And this book was taken from Leopard’s place. If we apply the Singing Dog story to the Literate Dog, then the water shadow story becomes complete.”
“The reason that dog could read—even recognize characters written by the village schoolteacher—wasn’t because the performers taught it well, nor because it became a spirit, but because… it was actually a human.”
“For reasons unknown, the Literate Dog eventually escaped and was even taken in by the schoolteacher’s daughter.”
Yan Hongsha felt the hair on her arms stand on end, a heavy pressure in her chest. “Then did the schoolteacher’s daughter know that the Literate Dog was actually… a person?”
Luo Ren thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
“Remember the fifth water shadow we saw—the schoolteacher’s daughter feeding the Literate Dog? She fed it exactly like livestock. I think she was kind-hearted. If she had known it was human and still taken it in, she would’ve treated it like a person.”
Wan San suddenly added, “And from the Literate Dog’s perspective, it would rather keep it hidden.”
A chill crept up Yan Hongsha’s feet. After shivering, she said nothing more. Seeing Cao Liberation by her feet, she instinctively picked it up and held it close. Warm and comforting—at least it worked as a hot-water bottle.
Luo Ren continued, “Then the schoolteacher’s daughter got married. In the water shadow, we saw the bright red bridal sedan chair—and we saw the Literate Dog, staring at it in a daze.”
Cao Yanhua blurted out, “D-don’t tell me it… developed feelings for her?”
Luo Ren’s expression darkened slightly. He didn’t want to dwell on that point. “Next, we saw the small private courtyard. Behind the bamboo curtain, a man and woman embrace, while in the shadowed corner outside the door, there is a dog.”
“At first, we guessed too much. We even suspected the woman of infidelity. Now it seems that man was probably her husband, and the one that wasn’t normal was the dog.”
The Literate Dog wasn’t guarding the house. It was lurking in the shadows… watching.
“And after that came the fire.”
Yan Hongsha cried out softly.
She remembered the bizarre dream she’d had before sending her uncle Yan Jiuxiao for cremation.
In the dream, inside the furnace was a disheveled woman, her face twisted in pain, as if desperately trying to crawl out. She ran from the control room to find the cremation worker, only to see a bulge in his pants—like a tail.
She stammered, “That fire… that fire…”
A trace of pain crossed Luo Ren’s face. “That fire was probably not an accident.”
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152