MidReal Story
Echoes of the Forgotten Village
Scenario: In an isolated village, a mysterious cave suddenly appeared after a heavy rain, which led to the past of the village's massacre by the Jiangtou Shi 500 years ago, and unveiled the mystery of the village.
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I was born into a village that was shrouded in sorrow for as long as anyone could remember.
The villagers called it the Jiangtou Shi massacre, and it was an event that haunted us, even five hundred years later.
Our village had been thriving at that time, nestled in a valley surrounded by lush forests and flowing rivers.
But all that prosperity was shattered in an instant when every man, woman, and child in the village was killed.
Even the livestock was not spared in that massacre.
Bodies were strewn everywhere, some decapitated, some with their guts spilled out, and some with their hearts ripped out of their chests.
Some corpses were so mangled that they were unrecognizable, while others looked like they were peacefully sleeping.
The blood pooled around them stained the ground red, and the stench of rotting flesh filled the air.
The sight was so horrifying that even the birds in the sky stopped singing.
No one knew who had carried out the massacre or why it had happened.
But ever since that day, our village had never fully recovered.
There weren’t as many families as there should have been, and there were more empty houses than there should have been.
The villagers who remained were all broken and defeated.
It was as if the tragedy of five hundred years ago still lingered in our midst, preventing us from ever truly healing from its wounds.
The memory of the Jiangtou Shi massacre was so painful that no one spoke of it directly.
It was only ever mentioned indirectly, in hushed whispers when they thought no children were around to listen.
But I knew about it anyway.
I knew because I was the daughter of the village chief, and I had heard my father discussing it with the elders when he thought I wasn’t around.
I knew because of the way we built our homes in this village, with no windows facing east or south so we would never have to face the direction where that tragedy had occurred.
I knew because of the rituals we practiced every year to commemorate those who had died, as if that could atone for our sins and set their spirits free.
As I grew older, I became increasingly curious about what had happened five hundred years ago.
I knew that there were stories about it—stories that had been passed down from generation to generation.
But they were just stories.
No one actually knew what had happened or why it had happened.
And that only made me more determined to find out.
“Maya, are you sure we should be doing this?”
Zhang Wei asked nervously as we approached the cave.
There were only three of us—me, Zhang Wei, and a historian from the city named Liu Chen who had come to our village to research its history.
As the village chief’s daughter and a childhood friend of Zhang Wei, I took it upon myself to show him around when he first arrived.
In the process of doing so, I learned that he actually had a lot of knowledge about the history of our village.
So I decided to bring him to the cave to see if he could help me uncover the truth about what had happened here five hundred years ago.
The entrance to the cave was shrouded in darkness.
The mouth of the cave is always dark, even in the middle of the day, because the sunlight can’t reach it.
I took a deep breath.
Truth be told, I had never actually entered the cave before.
The villagers said that it was a cursed place, and that anyone who entered would be possessed by the spirits of the dead.
But I didn’t believe in curses, and I didn’t believe in ghosts.
What happened five hundred years ago was a tragedy, but it was just a part of history.
It couldn’t hurt us now.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The first thing I noticed was how cold and damp the air was inside the cave.
The ground beneath my feet was slippery, and there were a few small puddles of water scattered around.
“Be careful,” Liu Chen said, shining his flashlight around.
“It’s easy to get lost in here if you’re not careful.”
I nodded and walked further into the darkness.
The sound of dripping water echoed in the distance, coming from deeper inside the cave.
There were also strange noises that I couldn’t quite place, like whispering voices or faint cries that seemed to be coming from all directions at once.
I shivered, feeling goosebumps erupt on my skin.
“Let’s hurry,” I said, picking up the pace.
After walking for a while, we finally reached a fork in the road.
To the left was a narrow tunnel that seemed to go on forever, while to the right there were a few stairs leading down to a lower level.
“The altar is this way,” I said, pointing to the right.
“Don’t worry,” Liu Chen said, stepping in front of me.
“I’ll protect you.”
We walked for a few more minutes before we finally reached the altar.
It was a large open space with a few stone tables scattered around, each covered with fresh flowers and burning incense.
In the center of it all stood a tall stone altar built of rectangular bricks neatly stacked on top of one another.
On the twenty-first day of the third lunar month—also known as Qingming Festival—the entire village would come here to lay offerings at the altar and pay respects to the souls of those who had died in the Jiangtou Shi massacre.
My father, the village chief, would also be here, dressed in traditional garb and carrying a censer as he led the procession.
As the smoke from the incense filled the air, he would kneel before the altar and recite a prayer for the souls of the dead.
His voice was deep and resonant, carrying far across the assembled crowd as everyone listened intently to his words.
For as long as anyone could remember, our village had maintained this tradition without fail, even though five hundred years had already passed since that tragic day.
The blood had long since been washed away by rainwater, but the memory of what happened had never faded from our hearts.
I closed my eyes and knelt before the altar, offering up my silent prayer.
The villagers around us did the same, their faces etched with sorrow as they paid their respects to the dead.
After a while, I opened my eyes and stood up, feeling a heavy weight on my chest.
I had never known any of those who had perished in the massacre, but every year, on this day, I felt their sorrow as if it were my own.
I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if they had lived.
Would our village still be a shadow of its former self?
Would we still be forced to live in fear?
My father had always told me that I was special, destined for great things.
But what good were those things if they came at such a high price?
I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away before anyone could see.
Just then, something caught my eye.
Standing at the entrance of the square was a figure dressed in black robes and a silver mask, watching us from a distance.
I couldn’t see their face, but something about them sent shivers down my spine.
“I have to go,” I said, taking a step back.
“It’s dangerous to go alone,” Liu Chen said, reaching out to grab my hand.
I shook my head and pulled away from him.
“I’ll be fine.”
Before he could say anything else, I turned and ran toward the figure.
But by the time I reached them, they were gone, as if they had never been there at all.
As soon as Qingming Festival ended, all of us went home to rest for a while before we started preparing for dinner.
The next day, our village was buzzing with excitement as we waited for a renowned historian from the city to arrive.
His name was Liu Chen, and he had come here to research our history.
To welcome him, my father had prepared a feast, and even had some of our women dress up as traditional dancers to perform for him.
It was a big deal for our small village, so everyone was looking forward to it.
“Would you like to meet him first?”
my father asked me when he saw me walking toward his room.
“Sure,” I replied, taking a seat next to him on the bed.
When Liu Chen arrived, my father introduced us to each other, and as soon as I saw his face, my heart skipped a beat.
He was tall and lean with short, messy hair and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, giving him a scholarly air that was both charming and endearing.
But it was his eyes that drew me in the most—large, round, and dark like two black holes that threatened to swallow me whole.
For a moment, we stared at each other in silence, and it felt like time stood still around us.
There was something about him that seemed familiar, as if we had met somewhere before in another lifetime.
“Maya, this is our guest from the city,” my father said, breaking the spell between us.
“Liu Chen, this is my daughter, Maya Lin.”
