Chapter 2: The Phone Call

More than ten years have passed, and many people have forgotten what happened back then, but I cannot forget, because my entire village was on that boat—I must find them. Throughout these years, whenever the night falls and all is silent, I study the "Great River Suppression Manual" that my grandfather left me. The deeper I delve, the more puzzled and fearful I become about the "Wealth" incident. This ancient tome encompasses feng shui, divination, traditional medicine, and even sorcery; mastering it would allow one to deal with almost any sinister presence the Yellow River might harbor.

To better learn from the "Great River Suppression Manual" and to uncover more about the sinking of the "Wealth," I became a river warden after graduating from university. I spent my days feeling out the temper of this ancient waterway, while safeguarding the ecology of the Yellow River.

The learning process was arduous and lonely. Without my grandfather’s guidance, I could only puzzle out those bitter and cryptic words on my own, seeking answers from the river itself. Over the years, I often rolled alone in the waters of the Yellow River, and would frequently come upon corpses—some human, some animal—lying submerged. Through years of studying ancient texts, I gradually gained the ability to see things that others could not, to discern the causes of their deaths. At some point, I found I could even hear the faint whispers of the dead, and, if I wished, converse with them. But I never did—such things are unspeakably dangerous.

I once thought I would never find a clue about the sinking of the "Wealth," until the day I received a call from a woman.

That day, I was surveying the hydrology of a river section when a call from an unfamiliar number came through. It was a woman. She asked if I was "Pi Yangxi," and told me to meet her at midnight on the bridge at "Little River Mouth," saying my grandfather had arranged a marriage for me. Before I could ask for details, she hung up. I called back immediately, but her phone was already switched off.

I found it very strange. Ever since I was old enough to understand, I had never heard of any marriage arrangement from my grandfather. Could it be something he arranged after he disappeared? And besides, it is strictly taboo for outsiders to approach the Yellow River’s mouth after midnight.

At first, I thought someone must be playing a trick on me. But something in my gut told me it wasn’t that simple. So, before midnight, I went early to the bridge at Little River Mouth, waiting quietly for the woman to appear.

At night, the Yellow River roared, its muddy waters slapping the banks with a sound both ancient and desolate. I sat on the shore, smoking a dry pipe and glancing at my pocket watch from time to time. This watch was a parting gift from my grandfather before he boarded the boat. Its frame was rusted, but it still worked, allowing me to keep a small piece of him with me.

As midnight approached, I saw a figure emerge from the direction of the village entrance. The person’s head swayed and he limped as he walked. Even from afar, I recognized him as Pi Sansha, who had been mad for over a decade. Pi Sansha was the only one from the boat who ever returned to the village. Over the years, I’d sought him out several times, but whenever the sand-dredging boat was mentioned, he would curl up in terror. I’d even tried methods from the ancient manual to restore his mind, but whether from my own lack of skill or some other cause, nothing ever worked.

Pi Sansha stopped beside me. When I saw his face, I was stunned. His complexion was ashen, and his mouth and nostrils were packed with silt—the unmistakable sign of someone drowned in the river.

"Uncle Pi… what happened to you?" Though I was used to seeing the dead by the Yellow River, this time was different. I couldn’t help but feel afraid.

I had thought this madman of ten years would not answer, but his eyes had lost their usual cloudiness. He reached behind him and produced a wooden box, handing it to me. "Your grandfather asked me to give this to you," he said, his tone flat and lifeless, like the autumn river, devoid of vitality.

I took the box—it was heavy in my hands. Opening it, I was instantly stunned. Inside lay a "Ghost-Whipping Whip," crafted from silk, hemp, and copper coins, resting quietly under the moonlight. This was the ritual tool of the River Suppressors, the symbol of the Yellow River Dragon King. My grandfather’s power over the Yellow River had depended on this very whip. He once said that the "Ghost-Whipping Whip" was the lifeblood of a River Suppressor; as long as the person lived, the whip would remain with them. How had it ended up in Pi Sansha’s hands?

"Uncle Pi, are my grandfather and the others still alive? What did you all encounter on the 'Wealth'?" I stowed the whip away, looking at Pi Sansha, my voice trembling with both anxiety and hope.