In the 10th year of the Republic of China, Xiangxi was turbulent, and less than 200 people died in Chujiazhai due to epidemics and wars, all of them old, weak, women and children. My memories of eighteen years of fetal transmutation had just been unlocked. I stood on the stone in front of the village and looked at the white flags in my eyes. There was a muffled sound from the underground of the stockade, and several old people turned pale and said that there was movement over the ancestral graves. I tightened my grip on the hatchet in my hand, turned around and told the people behind me that no one was allowed to go out tonight.
