11
I jolted awake, eyes wide open, and realized I was lying in my own bed, my hand still clutching something that felt cold.
They were my mother’s eyes.
It had only been a dream.
The courtyard was quiet. I crept over to the storeroom door and bent to peer through the crack.
Mother stood beside the woodpile, her eye sockets empty. As if she sensed me there, she murmured, “Ngân Tử, is it daylight yet?”
I was about to answer when I suddenly turned around and saw Father sitting beneath the old locust tree, staring intently at the eyes in my hand.
“Ngân Tử, why are you out here in the middle of the night? Tell me.”
He got up, beckoned to me, and strode toward me.
I turned and ran for the door, but he grabbed me by the throat.
He slammed me to the ground.
“That woman isn’t human, is she? You’re all in on this, trying to hurt me! You think I don’t know?”
Father’s eyes were bloodshot. It felt as if my neck would snap at any moment.
“Help! Help…”
I screamed in desperation.
“Boom!”
“Boom!”
The storeroom door shook violently as Mother heard my cries.
The huge padlock kept her from getting out.
Father glanced toward the storeroom, tightening his grip.
“Tell me! What is that woman, really? Tell me!”
I couldn’t breathe, but the thought in my head kept answering: “She’s… my mother…”
The door was kicked open, and villagers carrying clubs rushed in.
12
In the darkness, I passed out.
When the terrible pain brought me to, I found myself lying on the large platform at the village entrance. A Daoist priest in yellow robes stood before me, holding a peachwood sword, his face full of rage.
Countless torches lit up the night as bright as day.
Mother knelt before the Daoist priest with her head bowed. The villagers stood at a distance, their eyes full of fear.
“Today, this monster has thrown Tiểu Tang Village into chaos and brought disaster upon its people. I must uphold Heaven’s justice and slay this monster!”
Some of the villagers cheered. I saw Father standing in a shadowy corner, his eyes full of hatred.
“Kill it! Kill it!”
One of Mother’s ears was gone, and the skin on her face hung like a torn garment.
She just kept murmuring, “Ngân Tử, Ngân Tử, is it daylight yet?”
The Daoist priest spat a mouthful of liquor onto the peachwood sword, and it suddenly burst into flames.
“Stop!”
I moved my battered body in front of Mother.
“My mother isn’t a monster!”
The Daoist priest sneered.
“Oh, so the monster has a stubborn child. I’ll slay you both today! You’ll have a companion on the road to the underworld!”
I clung to Mother. She recognized me and smiled happily.
“Ngân Tử, is it daylight yet?”
I felt inside my pocket. The two fake eyes were gone.
Tears streaming down my face, I laid my head on Mother’s shoulder.
“Mother, it’s daylight. It’s daylight…”
With that, I reached up and took out my own eyes.
13
I felt my way as I fitted the two eyes into Mother’s empty sockets.
Someone began throwing torches at us. The flames burned my shoulder.
Mother’s body gradually grew warm, then scorching hot.
Her whole body went up in flames. Her flesh charred and became disfigured, giving off a foul stench.
I heard the Daoist priest cry out in panic.
“The monster’s revealed! The monster…”
Before he could finish, I heard flesh being torn apart, and foul liquid splattered across my face.
Mother growled in fury and hurled something away.
In the courtyard below, everyone panicked at the sight of things that filled them with terror.
Countless bodies lay torn apart, and the crying stopped abruptly. The monster they had seen was engulfed in flames, venting its fury.
I quietly knelt, waiting for everything to return to normal.
The flames burned the mangled corpse to ashes.
Mother came over to me and knelt on the ground.
She stroked my face with her charred hand.
“Ngân Tử, come on. Let’s leave.”
Tears streamed from my bloody, empty eye sockets.
I stepped into the old carpenter’s dilapidated house.
The old carpenter sat in a chair, as if he had been waiting for me a long time.
I sat down beside him.
He put something around my neck.
His voice grew weaker and weaker.
“There’s no one left in the village. No one will come asking me to fix things anymore. I should go, too.”
He stood up and patted my shoulder.
“Thank you, old carpenter.”
I searched for his hand and held it tightly.
Outside, sounds like music suddenly rang out.
“It’s time.”
He smiled faintly.
“Life and death are ordained. We can’t defy Heaven anymore. Remember that. Remember.”
With that, he picked up the bag on the table and walked away.
His footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
At the door, he suddenly turned back and added one more thing.
“Oh, there’s a candle on the table. If you’re afraid of the dark, go ahead and light it.”
I smiled to myself. I was blind now—what would I need a candle for?
15
I continued living in the village through countless winters and summers. Ten years passed like a single day.
People came and went, and the once-desolate place was filled with laughter and conversation again.
The villagers liked to call me the carpenter.
Though I couldn’t see, my craftsmanship was highly skilled.
Whenever a villager’s belongings broke, I’d fix them for just five coins.
Once, two Buddhist monks came to the village begging for alms. It was pouring rain, so I gave them shelter.
That night, the young monk said it was too dark in the house and he couldn’t see anything.
The old monk rebuked him for his disrespect.
I remembered there was a candle that hadn’t burned all the way down. I didn’t know if it would still work after all these years.
At my direction, the young monk found the candle.
The old monk lit it. I could almost see the candlelight illuminating the two men’s reverent faces.
“Amitabha.”
The old monk chanted the Buddha’s name and murmured sutras.
The young monk leaned back in his chair and fell fast asleep.
I stroked the wooden eyes hanging against my chest.
Slowly, I placed the eyes in my sockets.
Suddenly, light appeared. The candle flame flickered, and a figure circled the wooden table and sat beside me.
“Ngân Tử…”
I lifted my head and smiled happily.
“Mother…”
—THE END—