White-robed Minister

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Bai Zongnan turned around and smiled indulgently, “Alright.” He cleared his throat and recited the poem “The White-Clad Minister”: “White clouds and fleeting dogs, time flies like an arrow; in the blink of an eye, three autumns have passed.” The guest room was clean and tidy, with the bed neatly made.

Lin Xiyue finished her evening ablutions and climbed into bed to sleep. Bai Zongnan lay by the window, gazing at the luminous moon, and was suddenly reminded of a line of poetry.

“When will the bright moon shine? I raise my wine and ask the heavens. I do not know what year it is tonight in the palace above.”

Lin Xiyue turned over, opened her eyes, and looked at Bai Zongnan.

His voice was gentle and warm, reciting softly, like the tinkling of a mountain brook, clear and pleasant to the ear. What Bai Zongnan wanted to tell you was that, as a doctor, he had grown accustomed to the cycles of life and death—such things were nothing to him.

But the events of recent days had terrified Bai Zongnan to the very core of his soul. Please believe Bai Zongnan: if you went through what he had, you might have long since lost your mind, or even suffered cardiac arrest.

This was an experience that Bai Zongnan would never forget in his lifetime. Let us begin from the start.

Bai Zongnan, whose real name was Wang Qiang, had not studied diligently during his four years at university. He couldn’t pass the postgraduate entrance exams and so had to seek work directly after graduation.

After wandering about, all the hospitals in the city turned him away for his poor credentials and lack of professional skill. With no other option, Bai Zongnan returned to his hometown to work at a village clinic, barely scraping by.

Bai Zongnan’s father was rather dissatisfied with his son’s choice—after all, Bai Zongnan had been the village’s only college student.

When the admission notice arrived at Bai Zongnan’s home, his father was so happy he shed tears and arranged a feast for the entire village.

That “entrance banquet” was lively and boisterous, toasts exchanged everywhere. The words of blessing spoken by the villagers were so numerous that Bai Zongnan’s ears went soft—he remembered little of it, only the gist:

“This child is promising!”

“Amazing, amazing, the Wang family is going to produce a great figure.”

“Once you’ve made it in the big city, remember your uncle…”

“Qiang, if you have time, come eat at your aunt’s house, and maybe tutor your younger brother…”

Only one voice was different, and Bai Zongnan still remembered it to this day.

“Child, from now on, you must never go to the land behind the mountain!”

That remark was entirely out of place with the atmosphere. Bai Zongnan, caught up in his elation, was startled when he heard it and looked over. He saw a face hidden beneath a headscarf, wrinkled and grinning—a smile more painful than a cry.

The speaker was Aunt Chen, the village’s famous midwife. Her skill was said to be superb, and she never charged for her services. She lived quietly, always wearing her headscarf, throughout the year, never seen gossiping idly with the other village women. So, whenever a woman in the village needed help giving birth, they sought her out. Though she didn’t take payment, she had two rules.

First, once the work was done, the host family must keep her for lunch.

Second, during her work, only she and the expectant mother could be inside the room—no one else.

The first rule made sense, but the second was odd. Normally, a midwife would have at least a helper, since welcoming new life was fraught with risk and could not be handled carelessly.

Yet Aunt Chen’s skill was unmatched. Every child she delivered arrived safely. Unlike other midwives, she rarely appeared tired, often calm and collected.

Bai Zongnan’s mother had sought her help as well when giving birth to him.

Thinking of this, Bai Zongnan felt warmer towards her and spoke sweetly.

“Aunt Chen, you’re here too—come inside, thank you for coming.”

She didn’t move, only stared at Bai Zongnan with unreadable eyes.

He was puzzled and about to speak, but she slowly turned away, leaving only her earth-colored back, and muttered softly.

“You are what you eat, you are what you eat…”

You are what you eat… What did that mean?

Bai Zongnan was confused, scratched his head, and went back to entertaining guests.

He never imagined he would hear those words again, more than ten years later.

The person brought before him was barely clinging to life—any experienced doctor could tell there was no hope.

Still, out of professional ethics, Bai Zongnan put on his stethoscope and carefully examined her.

She was a young woman, not yet thirty, dressed in a tight red cheongsam, her chest heaving. If Bai Zongnan lowered his head, the view before him was intimate indeed. Torn beige stockings wrapped her long, rounded legs. Her feet lay quietly on the white sheet—one high heel missing.

Bai Zongnan frowned and looked at the two men standing by the door.

They looked like honest farmers, wringing their hands uneasily. When Bai Zongnan looked at them, their brows knitted in worry.

“Well, doctor, can she be saved?”

Bai Zongnan shook his head, smoothed his hair, and sighed, “When you brought her in, she still had breath. Now her heart isn’t beating.”

The other man, in uniform and a baseball cap, was expressionless. “Alright, doctor, thank you. We’ll carry her out now.”

Seeing Bai Zongnan nod, the two moved to lift the woman.

Just then, a mobile ringtone sounded from the man in the cap. The two exchanged a glance and paused.

The man gestured for silence to Bai Zongnan, took out his phone, and answered.

“Hello…”

“Yes, Bai Zongnan is still at the clinic, the one from the house behind the mountain.”

“She’s gone, we’re about to bring her back.”

“Alright, alright, I understand. I’ll come now…”

He hung up, looked at the farmer, and pointed at the woman, “I have to go back now, can’t help you. As agreed, I’ll give you two hundred more.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before hurrying away.

The farmer slumped to the ground, sighing deeply.

Bai Zongnan, feeling pity, patted his shoulder, “My condolences. She’s gone now—let her rest in peace, don’t be too sad.”

The man shook his head, pulled at his hair, and mumbled,

“How can I carry her alone? How can I carry her alone… It’s over, I’ll miss the deadline…”

Suddenly, he leapt up, his eyes bulging, voice trembling, “Brother! Please, if you can’t save the dead, can’t you save the living? Please, help me, help me, alright?”

“I was hired to carry this woman, dead or alive. If I don’t get her home by six this afternoon, I won’t get paid a cent!”

“Help me, doctor, my daughter has leukemia. The village doctor can’t treat her—we have to take her to the city. The medical bills are overdue, if we don’t pay soon, she’ll be thrown out of the hospital.”

He clutched Bai Zongnan’s hand, tears streaming down his face, almost ready to kneel.

Bai Zongnan quickly stopped him, his own smile more painful than a cry.

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“No problem, I happen to be free. Tell me, how can I help?”

“It’s simple, just help me carry her.”

“Carry her? What, this woman?”

He pointed at the seductive figure lying on the bed, and the farmer nodded.

Bai Zongnan looked at the woman again—delicate brows, almond eyes, pale face with bright red lips, eyes closed.

Perhaps he stared too closely, but her eyelashes seemed to twitch. That moment made Bai Zongnan’s heart skip a beat.

He steadied himself, glanced at the clock on the wall—the hands pointed to two thirty.

“How long will it take to get there?”

The man quickly replied, “About three hours, maybe a bit more.”

Bai Zongnan suffered from severe headaches, enough to make him wish to cut off his head. This scene was exactly what he least wanted to see. He swallowed two painkillers, and seeing the man’s hopeful gaze, finally nodded.

About fifteen minutes later, Bai Zongnan sat in the passenger seat of a pickup. The woman was laid in the back. The farmer drove, smoking leisurely.

It seemed there was enough time, so Bai Zongnan steadied himself and began to chat.

He learned the man’s name was Wang Jian, a temporary worker at a local building materials factory. He took odd jobs to earn extra money, especially since his daughter was diagnosed with leukemia. To pay the medical bills, he worked desperately, accepting any job, whether for weddings or funerals, dirty or exhausting, as long as the pay was good.

This was his first job outside the village. The client offered a generous price, asking him to deliver the woman to the clinic with the man Bai Zongnan had met earlier. If she died or couldn’t be saved, he had to take the body to a certain place—

He used a dialect term, and when Bai Zongnan didn’t understand, he gestured and explained in awkward Mandarin—

—the cemetery behind the mountain.

But if he was late or lost the woman, not only would he get nothing, but he might be killed.

“Killed? Isn’t that too much?” Bai Zongnan found it hard to believe.

The man raised his voice, “Why not? That man in your clinic—when I first met him, he wore sunglasses, looked fierce, kept threatening to kill this one or that one… except for his master, an old man who smoked a water pipe. He was extremely respectful to him!”

“I’m just a hired hand, I know how to keep my head down.”

“But there’s something odd. Before coming to you, I moved two bodies—one large, one small. But after I arrived, only one was left.”

He looked at Bai Zongnan, his voice trembling.

“What do you mean, two and then one?” Bai Zongnan asked absentmindedly, gazing out the window.

“Two bodies, then…” He pointed to the back, “Just one, now.”

Bai Zongnan’s eyes widened, “What? Say that again. There were two, but now only this woman?”

The man swallowed, “Yes, before there were two—one big, one small. Now only she’s left.”

“What about the smaller one?”

“No idea, disappeared halfway. I was puzzled, but that man didn’t care. I figured, less trouble is better, as long as I get paid, so I didn’t ask.”

“The woman in the back—was she married?”

“How would I know? But she wore a gold ring on her middle finger, so probably. But I didn’t take it—it was that man who did.” Panic flashed across his face.

After listening, Bai Zongnan fell silent.

The man kept glancing at him, “Brother, what do you think is going on?”

Bai Zongnan didn’t reply, lost in distant memories.

When Bai Zongnan was five, the village suffered a famine—many starved to death. People were superstitious then. The village chief decided to lead some to the mountain behind for rituals, twice a month: once on the full moon, once on the new moon.

At first, most villagers opposed the idea—how could you think of sacrifices when people were starving? Ridiculous.

But as the deaths mounted, every family lost someone. Attitudes began to soften, and soon the proposal was unanimously adopted.

The rule was simple: each family sent two people to the mountain for a week-long ritual. During that week, they could not leave. Participating families got priority for food; those who didn’t had to fend for themselves.

Initially, few went. Oddly enough, those who did seemed to actually receive food. The rest grew restless—hunger made their eyes red. Given food, they would do anything!

During that time, Bai Zongnan had a constant high fever and was covered in sores. After two rounds of rituals, his mother decided to go. Technically, two from his family should have gone, but Bai Zongnan was too young, and his father was bedridden, so they abstained.

After that, his family always received some food after the rituals—not much, but enough to survive.

Aunt Chen later told him that during those days, Bai Zongnan was delirious, calling for his parents, refusing food even when it was brought to his lips.

As his wet nurse, Aunt Chen half-coaxed, half-threatened him to eat and drink, saving his life.

He still remembered her fierce glare, “Little rascal, do you know what your aunt does? I pulled you from your mother’s belly, grabbed your little head and pulled—” She made an exaggerated gesture.

“If you don’t listen, do you know what your aunt does after pulling you out? She tears off your mother’s flesh, takes a piece from her belly and stuffs it in your mouth so you won’t starve, understand?”

“If you still don’t listen, your aunt will tear a piece from your belly!”

She reached for his stomach, and Bai Zongnan shrank back, quickly swallowing the food she handed him, terrified she would tear his own flesh.

With food, Bai Zongnan and his father recovered. Once they could work, the famine ended and the rituals ceased.

But Aunt Chen told him that during the second ritual, his mother was chosen by the mountain spirit to become its bride and could never return home.

He remembered looking at his father in confusion, who only lowered his head, saying nothing, smoothing his hair.

Later, Bai Zongnan asked others in the village and received the same answer. During the second ritual, his mother was chosen, stood up from among the crowd, chanting, and ran toward the distant mountains—no one could stop her, as if possessed.

Bai Zongnan never believed in possession. He thought his mother was delirious from hunger, wandered off, and got lost.

As the saying goes, the living must be seen, the dead must be found. Bai Zongnan missed his mother deeply, often sneaking out to the mountain at night, but he was too timid to venture far. The mountain behind the village was pitch black at night, with only the occasional eerie cry of wild cats—he found nothing.

Until one night, Bai Zongnan ventured farther, hoping to find any sign of people. He wasn’t disappointed. As he crept along the mountain path, he saw two figures ahead—one tall, one short. He froze at once.

The moon was bright. The taller was clearly an adult woman, slender and elegant, dressed in an old-fashioned cheongsam, her hair piled high—a style from the 1980s.

She held the child tightly, heading toward the mountain. Bai Zongnan followed, heart pounding, careful not to make a sound.

Soon, he noticed something strange.

Rather than walking, the woman seemed to drag the child—the child’s feet made no walking motion, just slid forward.

It was reminiscent of the corpse-walking rituals in Xiangxi.

A scene from a Lin Zhengying film flashed through Bai Zongnan’s mind, making him shudder.

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That shudder was nothing, but his foot snapped a branch. The sound was faint, but in the dead silence of the mountain night, it spread instantly.

The figures ahead froze, their ears visibly twitching, and stopped.

Bai Zongnan swallowed, his heart nearly stopping, cold sweat breaking out. In that moment, his mind felt numb.

Strangely, his vision seemed to sharpen under extreme fear. He could clearly see the woman’s right hand gripping the child’s collar, but something seemed off—something missing.

A slender hand held the child, but above it—oh heavens—no head!

Before he could react, the “woman” slowly turned, the swaying child catching Bai Zongnan’s eye. Immersed in terror, he didn’t manage to see her face.

When he finally looked, he saw a ghastly, bloodless face, hollow eyes, long hair drifting, mouth stretching in a grin almost to her ears.

“Ah!” Bai Zongnan couldn’t bear it, turned and fled, running blindly, not caring where he stepped—only one thought in his mind: don’t let her catch him!

By some luck, he made it back to the village before dawn. After that ordeal, Bai Zongnan lay at home for three days before recovering.

Later, he heard from villagers that on the night of his “ghost encounter,” something happened: Widow Liu’s corpse disappeared.

Widow Liu was a tragic woman. A week before, she had died in childbirth—a mother and child lost.

Bai Zongnan’s father pitied her, organized the villagers to raise money for a gravestone, paid most himself, and placed it in the cemetery outside the village.

Yesterday afternoon, a middle-aged man named Liu, who limped, passed the cemetery. He was considered an “elder” in the village, rumored to have secretly loved Widow Liu, and had survived the rituals years ago.

He saw a gravestone overturned, the coffin half open—a bizarre scene. Knowing it was the newly buried widow’s grave, he bravely looked closer and was terrified to find both bodies gone.

When Bai Zongnan heard the news, he trembled uncontrollably. His father asked if he was ill, but Bai Zongnan only shook his head.

He remembered Widow Liu, who had come from another village. Her husband had died during the famine.

After his death, her belly grew large. The village was small—news and gossip spread quickly. People whispered about her, but she ignored them, working in the fields while pregnant, determined to have her child.

But things didn’t go as she hoped…

The vision of that night was etched deeply in Bai Zongnan’s mind: one tall, one short, the child’s body swinging as the woman dragged him.

“Ah, damn it!” Before he could finish his thought, a sudden scream and a loud crash broke his reverie. Before Bai Zongnan could react, the world spun, and his head slammed hard against something. Just before losing consciousness, he glimpsed a flash of red outside the car window.

—

When he awoke, it was pitch black. His left forehead seemed badly wounded, pain sharpening his senses.

Where was he? Bai Zongnan held his brow, smoothed his hair, and groped in the darkness.

Soon, his hand reached something slippery. He instinctively sniffed—sharp, bloody.

No surprise, it was blood.

Bai Zongnan struggled to sit up, pulled his phone from his pocket, pressed the power button. The screen lit.

He relaxed slightly, and used its light to look at the bloodstain.

Wang Jian lay in a pool of blood, his face covered, fate unknown. Bai Zongnan moved closer, checked his breath—nothing. He examined him briefly, then leaned back against the stone wall, gasping.

With the woman sent earlier, this was the second corpse Bai Zongnan had seen today—what a cursed day.

Perhaps it was professional habit; accustomed to life and death, seeing two bodies in a day didn’t break him, but he felt he’d been drawn into some vortex.

He thought of the woman in the cheongsam, and his heart stirred.

Darkness awakened his animal instincts. Her voluptuous figure and attractive face floated in his mind—like a sleeping beauty. Her chest rose and fell, lips parted, exhaling fragrant breath, her scent lingering in Bai Zongnan’s nose.

He indulged in his fantasies, the sensation intensely real.

No, his keen sense told him the scent wasn’t imagined… Could it be?

Bai Zongnan turned on his phone’s flashlight, illuminating the cave.

It seemed to be a cave, with Bai Zongnan and Wang Jian lying by the stone wall.

He looked ahead. A body leaned against the opposite wall, head bowed, eyes closed, face streaked with blood. Her tight cheongsam was torn in several places, revealing snowy skin.

Bai Zongnan swallowed, his forehead pain forgotten. He rose, stooping in the low-ceilinged cave, approached the woman, and hesitated—then reached out…

The moment his fingers touched her skin, the sensation nearly overwhelmed him. His hand wandered lower, his body moved closer, their faces nearly touching. If she were alive, she would surely feel his hot breath.

Bai Zongnan wasn’t innocent in medical school—he’d seen women’s bodies before, but never one so alluring.

Finally, he could appreciate her face up close—delicate features, vivid red lips, elegant brows with a lifelike crease, breathtakingly beautiful, with a familiar quality. If not for her pallor, she might come alive any second.

Bai Zongnan’s left hand wrapped around her back, he bent toward her lips, closed his eyes.

If only this weren’t a corpse…

“Mm…”

Just as his lips were about to touch hers, the close red mouth shifted, emitting a sound like celestial music—or a demon’s whisper.

In an instant, Bai Zongnan felt his blood freeze.

She opened her eyes. Their gazes met, Bai Zongnan could almost feel the warmth of her lips.

A brief silence, then a scream echoed through the cave.

Bai Zongnan instinctively recoiled, banging his head against the ceiling, stunned.

Dazed, he heard her shriek, “What are you doing? You pervert!”

Suddenly, pain shot up from his groin, doubling him over—a high heel nearly striking his nose as she withdrew her foot.

She snatched up a stone, threatening to strike. Bai Zongnan, realizing danger, cried out, “Wait, miss, it’s a misunderstanding, let me explain!”

She paused, stone raised, her torn cheongsam revealing her waist.

Bai Zongnan couldn’t admire her now. He grabbed her hand holding the stone, pressed her against the wall. To prevent further attacks, he pinned her, their bodies pressed together.

Seeing her frightened eyes, Bai Zongnan spoke in a low voice, “First, I’m not a bad person. I’m a doctor. I woke up in this cave.”

“I thought you were dead, so…”

“Now that you’re alive, let’s find a way out together. I won’t harm you, trust me!”

He looked at her, his gaze resolute, though his body burned with tension.

She flashed a disdainful look, then met his eyes, blinking—accepting, at least for now…

…