The autumn rain in the third year of Xuantong was stickier than in previous years. When Chen Mo stepped on the moldy moss on the bluestone slabs and returned to City S, the stone lion at the city gate had been corroded by acid rain and had honeycomb-shaped holes, like a giant beast suffering from leprosy. As he crossed the suspension bridge carrying his faded suitcase, he heard someone spit thick phlegm behind him - the sound mixed with the patter of rain was actually more frightening than the bronze bells of the City God's Temple.
No one knows why Chen Mo came back. When he ran away three years ago with a certificate of graduation from the Jiangnan Manufacturing Bureau, the neighbors said that this kid must have been fascinated by Western machines, and sooner or later his soul would be seduced by "Mr. Sai". Now he appeared in front of the dilapidated gatehouse of his house in disgrace. The patina on the door knocker was so thick that three coins could be scratched off. It seemed that he was keeping some shady secret for him.
The strange things started on the night of the seventh day. First, the floor of the west wing always makes a grinding sound at midnight, and then there is the dry well in the backyard, which emits rusty mist every rainy day. The most evil one is Aunt Wang, the old woman who has made a living by sewing shrouds for people all her life. One morning, she suddenly knelt down in the alley and burned paper, repeating in her mouth: "The iron shell is alive... The iron shell is going to eat people..."
When Chen Mo dug out the camphor wood box left by his grandfather under the bed, some dark red powder was embedded between his fingers. There was no gold or silver in the box, only neatly folded blue shirts and a thread-bound copy of "Tiangong Kaiwu" - but the copper fragments sandwiched between the pages glowed coldly under the dim oil lamp, and the spiral patterns etched on them were actually seventy-nine times similar to the steam turbine cross-sections he had seen in the manufacturing bureau.
