They had been busy all morning in a flurry of activity. The details were unclear, but under their Sister-in-law’s command, there hadn’t been a mont’s rest.
No sooner had they sat down on the sofa than Du Ping ca in with incense, joss paper, and offerings. "Stop sitting," he said. "Let’s go visit the graves now. If we wait until the people patrolling the mountain show up, we won’t be able to go up."
All Du Heng could do was get up with a resigned sigh. He went into the other room and dragged the reluctant Du Yi, who was pretending to read, out of the house. Even though his nephew pulled a sullen face, his mouth pouting, Du Heng didn’t let him off.
While packing things into bags, Du Heng casually ntioned, "Big Brother, didn’t the town announce that burning joss paper isn’t allowed anymore? Can we still go?"
Du Ping sneered contemptuously. "Are they going to control everything? Are they also going to dictate how we honor our ancestors? We’re about to celebrate the New Year. Don’t our ancestors underground also celebrate?"
With great care, Du Ping put the incense and candles into a plastic bag, then picked it up gently and was the first to walk out of the room. Behind him, Du Heng shoved all the offerings and joss paper into Du Yi’s hands, then hurriedly strode after Du Ping.
"During the New Year, the wind is strong," Du Heng said, catching up. "For over twenty years, our hillsides have been closed to facilitate afforestation. Add to this the nurous deserted lands, all covered with dry, yellow weeds. If a fire breaks out accidentally, it will be a disaster."
"It’s always people like you who make a fuss about nothing! People have been worshiping at graves here for generations, and no one has ever set the mountain on fire," Du Ping said, looking indignant. "I think whoever made this policy has a problem with their brain. Everyone burns joss paper for their ancestors, and we’ve all lived in these mountains our whole lives. Have you ever seen anyone burn the mountain down?"
Du Heng turned his head and waved to Du Yi, who was trailing behind loaded with bags, urging him to quicken his steps. He then walked quickly to Du Ping’s side. "It’s just a precaution. If there is an accident, the consequences could be terrible."
Du Ping glanced at Du Heng out of the corner of his eye. "You leader types may not need to visit graves because you don’t have ancestors. But ordinary people like us do. We need to recognize our fathers and mothers, to know where we co from and where we will eventually go. We also need to pass these understandings on to our children.
"And if you don’t want to go, just shut up and go ho. Stop nagging in my ear."
Upon hearing Du Heng being scolded, Du Yi, still holding two bags, ran to the front and made a face at Du Heng.
Du Heng raised his hand as if to strike him, and Du Yi quickly scampered further ahead of the two brothers.
As they left the village and rounded a large bend, they saw a blackened tal drum by the roadside. Taking a closer look, they could see it was covered with traces of smoke and fire.
Du Ping pointed at the drum mockingly. "See this? Since the first of October, they’ve stopped people from visiting the graves. They decided we should just burn joss paper in this big drum. I don’t even know whose ancestors end up receiving the offerings."
As the brothers passed by, Du Heng glanced at the drum and noticed traces of recent burning. However, he didn’t say a thing, fearing another scolding.
Their parents and grandparents were buried in the sa plot, not far away, just on their family’s land. A three-minute walk took them there.
Although his big brother was still farming this land, and it wasn’t deserted, the area around the graves was overrun with wild grass. The dry, yellow weeds not only covered the graves, but so had even grown taller than the four grave mounds.
Du Ping put down the incense and candles he was carrying and murmured softly to himself as he began clearing the wild grass from the graves. Amid the sound of the wind sighing past, Du Heng faintly heard Du Ping muttering words like, "Xiao Heng... getting married... accomplishnt."
Du Heng started to clear the weeds too, but his feelings were probably different from his big brother’s.
He had never t his grandparents, and he was too young to truly understand when his parents passed away. In the years that followed, the care he received from his big brother and Sister-in-law made him feel no different than if his parents had still been around. Though they were poor back then, his big brother and Sister-in-law were his entire world, shielding him from every storm.
The two brothers silently cleared the weeds while Du Yi arranged the offerings, incense, and candles. By the ti Du Ping and Du Heng finished, the stone table by the graves was already laden.
Burning joss paper was the final step of the ritual. As sheet after sheet burned, one’s mood would inevitably grow somber for a mont. Watching the ashes drift in the wind, Du Heng couldn’t help but think, Were his parents coming for the money? Were they also preparing for the New Year?
POP! A stray fla leaped out and scorched Du Yi’s hand. "Ouch!" he yelped, dropping the thick stack of joss paper he was holding directly into the fire. The paper smothered the lively flas, and a puff of greenish smoke billowed up.
Du Ping found a long stick and used it to spread out the joss paper so it would burn thoroughly, while also prodding pieces of joss paper that had scattered and were only half-burnt back into the flas.
This action, however, left Du Yi puzzled. Massaging his smarting finger, he quietly asked Du Heng, "Little Uncle, why does all the joss paper need to be burned completely? Can’t we leave half of it unburnt?"
The smoke from the burning paper was heavy, and the wind kept blowing it towards Du Heng. He found it acrid and took a few steps back.
Hearing Du Yi’s question, he patted the boy’s head and relayed what Du Ping had once told him. "Only when all the paper is burned can Grandma and Grandpa receive it. Then they can buy delicious food and drinks and have a good New Year’s celebration down there.
"If we only burn half, they’ll only get half. How can they spend half a banknote?"
Du Yi seed to understand, yet not quite. He nodded blankly, watching the paper ash drift in the wind. Then he had a new question. "Little Uncle," he asked, "you said that Grandpa and Grandma are down below. Where exactly is ’below’?"
Du Heng was taken aback. Suddenly, he didn’t know how to answer. None of the words he could think of seed to accurately express his aning, and saying the word ’ghost’ felt disrespectful to his parents.
Just as Du Heng was in a quandary, Du Yi asked again, "Little Uncle, if Grandpa and Grandma are down below, then why is the paper ash floating up to the sky?"
Du Heng was once again stumped by a question from the seven-year-old.
At this mont, Du Ping, wooden stick in hand, gave the burning joss paper another poke. He used a bit too much force, sending ash flying wildly. As ill luck would have it, a gust of wind swept by, carrying so still-burning joss paper onto the nearby weeds.
In an instant, with a CRACKLE!, the dry, yellow weeds on the grave ignited, and the fire quickly began to spread.
It was hard to tell whether the wind had coincidentally picked up just then or if the fire itself had created the draft. Regardless, the wind carried the flas, and the fire, fanned by the wind, began to burn more and more fiercely.
Du Heng, with no ti to consider his nephew’s questions, hurriedly ran over to stamp at the flas, hoping to halt their spread.
His big brother, Du Ping, however, didn’t panic. He ran a couple of steps, snatched up a battered iron shovel lying on the ground, and by the ti he rushed back, he had already scooped up a shovelful of earth and flung it onto the flas. With just two such moves, he extinguished the budding fire.
Shovel in hand, Du Ping looked disdainfully at a disheveled Du Heng. "You went to university, and you thought you could stamp out a fire with your feet? What were you thinking?"
Du Heng forced a couple of dry chuckles, then hurriedly stomped his feet and brushed the ash off his clothes. "I was just panicking! Look at the edge of the land above our family’s graves—see how long that dry grass is? If the fire had spread up there and been caught by the wind, all that grass would have caught fire too!
"Besides, the area up there is wasteland, and the grass grows taller than . If that had caught fire, we wouldn’t have been able to put it out!"
"Even if you’re panicking, you can’t stamp out a fire with your feet!" Du Ping retorted. "And you were standing upwind, right in front of it! The fire hadn’t even reached the land above before you almost got yourself burned."
As long as Du Heng didn’t do farm work, he was a good younger brother in Du Ping’s eyes, soone who brought honor to the family. But the mont Du Heng tried to help with any chores, Du Ping found fault with everything he did; even the way Du Heng held a shovel looked awkward to him.
After saying a few more words to Du Heng, Du Ping took the shovel over to the still-burning fire pit and used it to pat out so of the joss paper that had tumbled out.
Du Heng brushed so ash off his clothes and sighed at his burnt pant cuffs. These are ruined, he thought.
Their family’s gravesite was at the foot of the mountain, not far from a large gully eroded by years of rainwater. When they set off firecrackers, the sound echoed through the winding bottom of the ditch, carrying far into the distance.
From the mountainside and the peak, the sound of other firecrackers also echoed from ti to ti. Following the sounds with one’s eyes, one could see plus of bluish smoke from burning paper.
Nibbling on a piece of mutton leftover from the offerings, Du Heng looked up at the surrounding mountains. He gazed at the scattered plus of smoke and watched as other families bowed and set off firecrackers. He wondered if the deceased truly received the sentints of their living relatives.
There was a custom in Central Lake: items brought for worship could not be taken ho. They were either left entirely at the gravesite as offerings, or distributed among everyone present to be eaten. Moreover, when eaten, everyone had to have at least a little.
Du Heng’s family hadn’t brought much, so only a few slices of at and two pieces of fruit remained. The three of them each had a bite, and it was gone.
After checking the spot where they had burned the joss paper and ensuring no smoldering embers remained, Du Ping began to pack up the trash, preparing to head ho.
Du Heng and Du Yi shared the last banana and also prepared to leave.
But as Du Heng lifted his head, he saw thick smoke billowing from the mountainside opposite them.
"Big Brother, is that a fire over there?" Du Heng quickly called out to Du Ping.
Du Ping glanced back, then turned and continued walking nonchalantly. "That’s Ma Yuanghai’s family grave," he said. "They don’t visit for Qingming or on the first of October. They only co at this ti of year, and when they do, they burn all the grass off the grave mound."
"Oh," Du Heng replied softly, but his gaze was still instinctively drawn to the mountainside opposite them.
It was just as Du Ping had said, though; the fire was confined to that one grave plot and hadn’t spread elsewhere.
Just as he was about to turn his head away, the fire raging on the grave plot suddenly swirled and changed direction, the main body of the flas rolling towards the edge of the adjacent land.
Du Heng’s heart lurched. Before he could utter a sound, the tongue of fire reached the edge of the plot, leaped upwards, and he saw wisps of bluish smoke begin to rise from the weeds on the land above.
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