Chapter 9: The Older Cousin in the White Dress

The Older Cousin in the White Dress

Ten years ago, on that stifling summer night, the charred smell of burning gasoline seemed to have carved itself into my bones. Even now, whenever I think of it, I cannot help feeling sick.

My older cousin on my father’s side died that night. Her lover poured gasoline over her and burned her to death in a rented room. Not even her remains were left whole. In the end, it was my father and I who rushed to the funeral home in the middle of the night. Holding back the piercing smell, we collected her ashes bit by bit. I will never forget that scene for as long as I live.

My cousin had a bitter life.

When her father was young, my grandfather had him adopted out to relatives in the neighboring village, where he became another family’s adopted son. My cousin grew up there with her father. She was gentle by nature, yet she happened to trust the wrong people. After marrying her first husband, her life was unhappy. Later, she met that lover and thought she had finally found someone to rely on. Instead, she brought fatal disaster upon herself.

What chilled people even more was what happened after her death.

Her husband not only refused to go to the funeral home to claim her ashes, but also firmly refused to let her be buried in his family’s ancestral graveyard, saying she had disgraced the family. As for her natal family, she had long since married out, and her name had already been moved out of the clan genealogy. According to the village rules, a married daughter was like water poured away. The door gods might not bar outside ghosts, yet they barred her, the “outsider,” from returning home.

In the end, it was still her grandfather—my great-uncle, the one who had been adopted out—who secretly built her a small cenotaph on the barren slope behind the village. There was no tombstone and no proper status. It was left there alone, buried among the weeds.

We all thought the matter had ended there. Ten years should have been enough for pain to form a scar, and for a dead soul to rest. But none of us expected that ten years later, she would actually “come back.”

That evening, our family was sitting around the dinner table, eating in a warm and happy atmosphere. Suddenly, my father set down his chopsticks and said with a grave expression, “There’s something I need to tell you. Your cousin has come back.”

The bowl in my hand struck the table with a clang, and soup splashed out.

“Dad, what did you say?” I thought I must have misheard. My cousin had been dead for ten years. How could she possibly come back?

“She’s gone back to the neighboring village,” my father said, with a barely noticeable tremor in his voice. “She’s been back for several days. Every night, she goes to find her grandfather. Your great-uncle says she comes in wearing a white dress, and as soon as she enters, she starts crying. She says the fire hurts so badly, that her whole body is burning. She can’t be reborn. She has become a lonely wandering ghost.”

My mother’s face turned pale with fear, and she quickly asked, “How… how could that be? Could your great-uncle be getting old and hallucinating because he misses her too much?”

“At first, I thought so too,” my father said with a sigh. “Your great-uncle came to me and said your cousin told him she couldn’t enter the ancestral hall. The Chenghuang, the City God, wouldn’t let her in because her name wasn’t in the clan genealogy. She couldn’t return to her natal home because the door gods stopped her. Her husband’s side wouldn’t take her in either. She could only drift outside, tortured every day by the pain of being burned. Your great-uncle had been troubled by her for several days. He really couldn’t bear it anymore, so he came to ask me to think of a way. At first, I thought the old man was losing his mind, but he kept coming every day, and everything he said was so vivid and detailed.”

My father said that, to verify it, he drove to the neighboring village early the next morning.

As soon as he entered the village, he sensed that something was wrong. The village entrance, usually lively, was empty. A few elderly people who had stayed behind sat sunning themselves at the base of a wall, all with fear on their faces. My father went up and asked them about it. What those old people told him made his whole body go cold.

“What your great-uncle said is true,” Granny Wang from the village said, clutching my father’s hand, her voice trembling. “Your cousin really has come back. These past few nights, the village dogs have been circling your great-uncle’s house and barking every night. Their barking makes people’s hearts panic. I saw her once with my own eyes. I got up to use the toilet in the second half of the night and saw a young woman in a white dress standing outside your great-uncle’s house, crying. Her hair was very long, so I couldn’t see her face clearly, but that figure was exactly the same as your cousin when she was young.”

Another old villager echoed her. “That’s right. She isn’t the only one who saw her. Several households have seen her. One night, my grandson got up to pee and saw her standing under the old locust tree at the village entrance, crying so hard she could barely catch her breath. The child was so frightened that he developed a high fever that very night. Now, as soon as it gets dark, everyone in the village shuts their doors and windows. No one dares go out.”

My father said his scalp went numb as he listened. On the drive back, his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. He truly had not expected that the tragedy from ten years ago would repeat itself in such an eerie way.

To find out the truth, and also to comfort my great-uncle, my father went to the temple in town the next day.

After hearing the whole story, the monk in the temple shook his head and said, “This girl’s resentment is too heavy, and she has nowhere to belong. She has become a lonely wandering ghost. We cannot suppress her here. This matter still has to be handled by your clan. The clan head of her original family must open a ritual altar and ask the Chenghuang and Tudi Gong of their village. Only then can a solution be found.”

My father had no choice but to drive back to the neighboring village and find the clan head of my cousin’s original family.

The clan head was an old man in his seventies who had believed in ghosts and gods all his life. After hearing my father’s account, even he was startled. He quickly gathered several elders of the village to discuss the matter.

The elders all agreed that my cousin’s fate had indeed been pitiful. She had nowhere to go after death, and that was why she had come back to trouble her relatives. According to the rules of the village, a daughter who had married out could not enter the ancestral hall. But she had died a wrongful death, and her husband’s family had also shut her out. Her case was special.

In the end, the clan head decided to follow the monk’s advice. They would open a ritual altar and worship the village’s Chenghuang and Tudi Gong, asking them to show mercy and give my cousin a way out.

On the day the altar was opened, I went along too.

Nearly everyone in the village came. They gathered outside the ancestral hall with solemn expressions. The clan head wore ritual clothing and held a peach-wood sword in his hand, muttering chants before the offering table.

On the offering table stood my cousin’s spirit tablet. Although she had not been admitted into the ancestral hall, the clan head had specially made a temporary one for her. There were also incense, candles, paper money, fruit, and other offerings.

The ritual lasted for the entire afternoon. The clan head’s voice grew hoarse, and his forehead was covered in sweat. It was not until dusk that a slight breeze suddenly rose. The flames of the incense and candles inside the ancestral hall swayed violently several times, then gradually steadied.

The clan head opened his eyes, let out a long breath, and said to everyone, “The Chenghuang and Tudi Gong have spoken. The girl died a wrongful death, so her situation is understandable. In consideration of her grandfather’s sincere devotion, and because the clan has come forward to plead for her, she is allowed to attach herself for the time being to the cenotaph on the barren slope behind the village. On the first and fifteenth days of every lunar month, we must burn paper for her and make offerings. Once her resentment fades, underworld officers will naturally come to guide her to reincarnation.”

When everyone heard this, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

My great-uncle was even more overcome, tears streaming down his old face. Facing the ancestral hall, he kowtowed again and again, murmuring, “Thank you, Chenghuang. Thank you, Tudi Gong. Thank you, Clan Head. My granddaughter finally has somewhere to go.”

From then on, the crying woman in the white dress never appeared again in the neighboring village. The village dogs no longer barked madly in the middle of the night.

On the first and fifteenth days of every lunar month, my great-uncle would go to the barren slope behind the village to burn paper money and light incense for my cousin, and to talk with her for a while. My father would often take me there as well, and we would add a few offerings for her.

Standing before that small cenotaph and watching the paper spirit banners flutter in the wind, I felt a tangle of emotions I could not describe. My cousin had lived a hard life, died a terrible death, and after death still had to suffer the pain of having nowhere to belong. She was truly too pitiful.

All she wanted was a place to rest. All she wanted was to escape the pain of being burned. Yet such a simple wish had to go through so many twists and turns.

Sometimes I wonder whether ghosts and gods really exist in this world.

If they do, why must someone who died a wrongful death suffer so much torment? If they do not, then how should we explain the old villagers’ sightings, the dogs barking madly, and the peace that came after the altar was opened?

Perhaps when it comes to ghosts and gods, they exist if you believe, and do not if you do not. But I would rather believe that this was my cousin’s wronged spirit asking us for help, that it was her attachment to this world and her unwillingness to accept what had happened. What we could do was give her a little comfort, a little place to rest her hopes, and let her know that someone still remembered her, and someone still cared about her.

Ten years have passed. My cousin’s cenotaph still stands alone on the barren slope behind the village, but it is no longer a lonely grave that no one asks about. It has become a place that carries the longing and concern of her relatives.

I think that with these things, my cousin should no longer be so lonely in the other world.

This matter also made me understand that people should keep kindness in their hearts, revere life, and respect every soul. Whether alive or dead, everyone longs for a place to belong, and everyone hopes to be remembered. Those seemingly illusory stories of ghosts and gods may simply be people’s reverence for the unknown, their longing for loved ones who have passed away, and their hope for justice and fairness.

Now, whenever I pass the neighboring village, I instinctively look toward the direction behind it.

I know that there is a woman in a white dress there, a woman who once endured too much pain and injustice. But now, she has finally found a temporary place to belong.

And we will always remember her, until she truly lets go of her obsession and sets out on the journey toward reincarnation.