The Warning

**Night Log of Lanruo Temple · The twentieth day of the ninth month · Night**

(Tonight. One lamp. The bolt in place. Someone is standing beyond the window. I know her.)

Let me first record the day.

This morning the east wing's door stood open. Yan Chixia sat at the threshold, not sharpening his sword. He watched me come, and watched long.

I grew uneasy under his gaze. "What is it?"

He did not answer. He looked at me a while, then said: "Last night — did you sleep well?"

"Well."

"Well, then." He lowered his head and played with his scabbard. "Tonight, do not sleep dead."

I stopped. "Why?"

He did not answer. He drew the sword an inch from the sheath, looked at it, and put it back. I asked: "Tonight, will something happen?"

"Don't know," he said. "If I knew, I would not have to keep the night watch."

"You kept watch last night?"

"Mmn."

"What was behind the hall, last night?"

He raised his head and looked at me: "Tonight, do not sleep dead."

This phrase, he said it a second time. I understood — he would answer no more.

I went back to my room and sat the whole morning. Reading failed me; the words on the page, one by one, I knew them all, strung together I knew nothing. At noon I ate dry provisions and drank half a bowl of water. In the afternoon I walked behind the hall once. The mound beneath the poplar was as before. Six rings of footprints circled one grave, like six hoops around something unseen.

When the sun slanted west, I returned to my room and closed the door.

At dark I lit the lamp. The wick was trimmed, the window paper pasted tight, the bolt in place. I sat and waited.

At midnight, someone knocked at the door.

Three knocks. A wait. Three knocks more.

I knew this way of knocking.

"Young master."

It was Xiaoqian. Her voice was low, not soft as before, with a roughness in it: "Young master, open the door."

I did not move. The bolt was in place. The one who had learned her voice last night had called me the same way.

"Young master," she said beyond the door again, "I do not tap. I knock three times, wait, and knock three times more."

I started. What she said was exactly what I had thought of last night.

"How do you know that?"

"The one who came last night went back and told." She said, "It said the young master saw through it. It said the young master asked it, 'Are you Xiaoqian.' It learned me, and learned me badly."

I was silent a moment, then asked: "Are you Xiaoqian?"

"Yes."

"Then prove it."

Beyond the door, a silence. Then she said: "On the ninth day of the ninth month, the young master sat in the west veranda reading, and at the line 'the gentleman is open and at ease,' he paused, and read it once more. On the tenth, the young master shut the window at night, and I scratched the paper. On the thirteenth, I came and said 'willing to share a pillow,' and the young master said 'in my life, no second woman.' On the sixteenth, I said, young master, tomorrow do not go to the poplar."

All that she said was true. On the ninth night I had indeed paused at that line and read it twice. On the thirteenth, when she spoke of "willing to share a pillow," I had indeed said "in my life, no second woman."

I drew the bolt and opened the door a crack.

She stood beyond it. Hair loose, white dress, standing in the moonlight. The moonlight fell on her; she had no shadow. She looked at me, eyes bright, as if holding a pool of water.

I did not open the door wider. I asked: "You have something to say?"

"Yes." She said, "Young master, hear me out."

She stood beyond the door, through the crack, and spoke a long while.

She said the demon had been angered tonight. Last night's three attempts — the one who offered wine failed, the one who sang failed, the one who learned her voice failed. The demon sat behind the hall and smashed bowls and dishes all night. It said: if neither beauty nor gold can lure him, then stop luring.

She said: "Tomorrow, it will come itself."

I gripped the bolt and asked: "To come itself, for what?"

She looked into my eyes, word by word: "To take your heart and liver."

I was silent.

"It keeps six souls," she said. "Six souls are not enough. It wants a seventh. It says a righteous man's heart nourishes it best."

Her voice did not shake as she said it. She said: "I once urged a man not to open his door. He did not listen."

My heart stirred. "Who?"

"A scholar named Fang," she said. "He lived in the west veranda. I urged him to leave at dawn. He laughed at me — said, 'even a ghost can urge a man.' That night, he opened the door."

I stood a while, then asked: "And he, now?"

"He is dead," she said. "Buried by the poplar. The old grave, the one with new earth piled on — that is his. They pile earth on it every year, for fear someone will see a body buried beneath."

I gripped the bolt and said nothing. The day Scholar Fang left — it was daylight. He left in a hurry; his bedroll was not even gathered. I had always thought he had gone.

"Why do you tell me?" I asked.

She was silent a while. Then she said: "The young master is a righteous man."

"What does being righteous do?"

"A righteous man's heart — the demon cannot eat it. But it will try." She said, "Three tries have failed. It will try no more. Tomorrow it comes itself, to take it by force."

"You told me. Will it know?"

She lowered her eyes: "Tonight it called me to guard the west veranda. If I do not come, it will know tomorrow."

"Then why did you come?"

She raised her eyes and looked at me. The moonlight lay on her; her eyes were bright. "Young master, I have harmed many. Scholar Fang — I urged him, but I did not kill him. Yet his death has a share of mine. Night after night I lured men with beauty, fed their hearts and livers to that demon. I cannot count them. Tonight I came, because I wanted—"

She paused, and said: "I wanted to be a person once."

I gripped the bolt and said nothing.

Far off, behind the hall, a sound rose.

Very low, word by word, called up from under the earth: "Xiao—qian—"

It called eleven times. Each call seemed to urge. The last was drawn out very long, like a thread, pulling one in.

She heard it. Her whole body tightened; her shoulders drew in, like a leaf stepped on. She lowered her eyes and said: "Young master, it calls me."

She stepped back, then stopped, and said: "Young master, if you mean to leave, leave tonight. When it comes itself tomorrow, you will not get away."

"And you?"

She did not answer. She withdrew to the veranda; the moonlight fell on her, and she stood there, a white candle standing in the night.

"Xiao—qian—" the voice called again. This time, the twelfth call.

She turned and walked toward the poplar. After a few steps she stopped, and without turning back, only said: "Young master, the west window paper — I scratched it once. That was me, wanting to come in, and not coming in."

"That door — you did well to keep it shut."

She finished, and went. Her steps were very light, very quick, toward the poplar, step by step, lost in the night.

I stood at the door a long while. Wind came down the veranda and set the lamp-flame guttering. I thought — if I leave tonight, I can get away. Roll up the bedroll, go out by night, reach the city by daylight.

But I lowered my head and saw that cold patch at the foot of the door. The place where she had stood. I remembered the way her eyes shone when she said "I wanted to be a person once."

I went back into the room.

I returned to my room and drove the bolt home. The lamp was still burning; I trimmed the wick a little brighter. I sat under the lamp and thought over her words.

All she said, I believed.

I rose, meaning to go to the east wing. Yan Chixia said, tonight do not sleep dead. I must ask him — when the demon comes itself, can he hold it back?

I went to the veranda and looked at the east wing.

The east window was dark.

That thread of light, tonight, was not lit.

I stopped. Yan Chixia was not in the temple.

I went back to my room and sat under the lamp. The wick burned; beyond the window, by the poplar, all was still.

Six souls, circling that grave.

Tomorrow, the demon comes itself.

Tonight, I cannot sleep.

Recorded here tonight.