Ten Thousand Cats Pay Homage

I am a roof cat, a beast that guards the ridge, perched on rooftops generation after generation.

When craftsmen shape me, they listen to the family's joys, sorrows, illnesses, and misfortunes, then knead them into the clay. On an auspicious day, they open my eyes and place five grains in my mouth, commanding me to face outward and swallow evil, and inward to keep blessings.

Only when the hearth fire and cooking smoke sustain me do I gain a spirit. As long as people remain in the house, I will guard its eaves forever.

But if the owner abandons their ancestral home and the cooking smoke dies away, my spirit will vanish. This is called losing one's spirit.

In recent years, merchants have torn down old houses and built new inns.

In haste, they molded a batch of crude clay beasts to place beneath the new eaves. They did not paint their eyes or offer them five grains. They had my shape, but not my spirit. Unable to swallow evil spirits, they instead absorbed the foul energy from the entire street.

One old house after another became empty.

My kin who guarded those homes lost their spirits one after another. Their heads turned, their gazes fixed on the living.

Human eyes cannot see this movement. Only one outsider, a photographer who came to capture local scenery, could use his camera to pierce the divide between yin and yang and photograph us turning our heads.

An old Naxi saying goes: When the cooking smoke fades, the roof cats come looking for people.

I have guarded this estate for decades, watching generations of its people leave their homeland.

The foul energy grows heavier with every passing day. Every roof cat on the eaves waits in silence.

Those who turn their backs on their home, we will follow their scent to their door.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.