Chijiao Niang
In the dog days of summer in southern Fujian, the sea breeze carries a salty and rotten smell. Cai Huabang, who was working in Quanzhou, suddenly received a call from his father Cai Cong's home, urging him to return to his hometown of Dongpu, Shishi immediately.
That dilapidated stone house built on a rocky slope along the coast was a nightmare that lingered in Cai Huabang's childhood. The moment he stepped into the old house, a bone-chilling chill ran from the soles of his feet straight to the sky. There were seven newly-cut doornail marks in the corners, moldy red dates and longans were placed out of thin air on the stove, and in the wedding room on the second floor that had been sealed since my grandfather's generation, the rustling sound of the weighing beam and the hijab could be heard every night.
"Don't look back, don't answer." The crazy fisherman next door held his wrist tightly, her nails digging into her flesh. "I am the bride who married in the 27th year of the Republic of China. Halfway through the carriage, the sedan sank into Chijiao Bay with the person and the sedan... Now I come to ask for my horoscope, and I want to marry her!"
From that day on, Cai Huabang discovered that his father worshiped in the empty hall late at night, while the men living alone in the village drowned in the sea one after another, their ears and noses filled with red mud, as if something had been pressed into the crevices of the rocks. When Cai Huabang dug out the Republic of China marriage certificate from the bed board, he saw that the ink was still wet on it - in the groom's column, his own name was clearly written.
The female ghost in red wanders around every night, waiting for someone to uncover her head. This time, she chose the last single seedling of the Cai family. And every stone in this old house has long been soaked in deep red and almost ink blood.
Concept: story