Niu Bao drank his wine and smoked his cigarette as he told me about the events of that year:

That summer, I followed my grandfather up the mountain to gather firewood, and we happened to see a group of people from the mountain's coal mine walking down.

The leader was walking in with the mine owner, Wei Daqiang, saying, "This time we've finally found the place! Trust me, just set off a couple of blasts over there, and you're guaranteed to hit a rich vein. You can just lie at home and count the money!"

Originally, I thought meeting Wei Daqiang was just an accident.

But now I see that my grandfather had been leading me around the same area, specifically waiting for Wei Daqiang!

That day, we ran right into Wei Daqiang and his group.

Wei Daqiang, being the show-off he was, looked at my grandfather and said, "Old Niu, still running up the mountain? Come work for me watching the stockpile. I'll give you four hundred a month, better than scraping for wood."

My grandfather acted as if he hadn't heard, walking up the mountain with his hands behind his back, not even glancing at Wei Daqiang. It made Wei Daqiang flush red with embarrassment.

One of Wei Daqiang's men got angry. "Old codger doesn't know what's good for him, Brother Wei, I..."

I knew things were about to get ugly, so I quickly looked over at Wei Daqiang.

"Shut your mouth!" Wei Daqiang snapped at the man, then said, "Grandpa Niu, I'm just trying to help you out. You're getting old, and it's not easy raising a kid."

"I'm not short of a few bucks. Come watch the stockpile for me. It's better than working yourself to death digging in the dirt."

"I can't spend your underworld money," my grandfather said, nearly choking the man with his words.

This time, even Wei Daqiang's face darkened.

But my grandfather acted as if nothing had happened, walking up the mountain with his hands behind his back and his sickle in hand, muttering, "Nine enter the earth, eight become ghosts; seven ghosts lead the way, do not follow. Drink the Yellow Springs water beneath your feet, and you may yet return from the Netherworld."

I didn't understand what my grandfather meant, but the others got agitated. One of them pointed at my grandfather and cursed, "Are you out of your mind? Who the hell is going to become a ghost?"

I glanced at the group of people; weren't there nine of them? Was my grandfather saying they would become ghosts?

When I turned to look for my grandfather, he had already reached the halfway point of the mountain.

Wei Daqiang pleaded and threatened, finally managing to lead the group down the mountain.

My grandfather and I wandered around for a day, and when we went down the mountain, we were greeted by a barrage of curses from the villagers.

At first, I didn't know what was going on, but then I understood that they were accusing my grandfather of being jealous of others making money and cursing them to die.

They said the nine people and eight ghosts thing was just showing off, talking nonsense, and pretending to be a fortune teller.

Even fortune tellers didn't speak so plainly. What else could it be but intentionally cursing people?

Niu Bao paused here to catch his breath. Even after so many years, he still felt angry when he thought about the villagers' insults.

But I felt that Niu Tianlu had deliberately left those nine people a way out with those words.

His plan must have been to kill, but whether out of guilt or some other feeling, he had given those nine people a chance to live.

It was just that no one had understood it at the time!

Niu Bao finally caught his breath and continued:

Rural people are good in many ways, but they don't hold back when they curse. The words became more and more vile. I was so angry that I cried, repeatedly asking my grandfather to tell them that he wasn't pretending to be a fortune teller.

Originally, my grandfather hadn't taken them seriously, but seeing me cry so hard and the others cursing so viciously,

someone pointed at my grandfather and shouted, "No wonder your son and daughter-in-law are dead, it's because you've done too many bad deeds!"

My grandfather's expression immediately darkened. He raised his sickle and, with a whoosh, plunged the sickle head into the wall.

Although our outer wall wasn't a cement wall, it was made of stones cemented together. Usually, you couldn't even drive a nail into the wall seams. My grandfather had embedded the sickle in the wall; how much strength did that take?

With just that one move, my grandfather silenced all those who had been cursing him.

My grandfather pointed at the sickle: "When the sickle head falls off, I'll make you cry so hard you won't be able to find your tune."

The old women who had been following us were also frightened by my grandfather. No one dared to say a word, and they all sheepishly returned home.

The next day, my grandfather began to bring wood home to make coffins. He made eight coffins one after another and stored them in the yard.

The villagers all knew that my grandfather was making coffins, and more and more people cursed him. Many people broke off contact with our family, and even the children in the village wouldn't play with me anymore.

I was furious when others spoke badly of my grandfather. I knew that my grandfather wasn't the kind of person who would curse others to die just because he was jealous of their wealth.

But none of the villagers paid attention to me, so I ran outside the yard every day, checking three times a day to see when the sickle head would fall off.

About a year later, I went outside and saw that the sickle handle had fallen off, leaving only the sickle head stuck in the wall.

I rubbed my eyes twice and ran back, shouting before I even saw my grandfather, "Grandpa, the sickle head has fallen!"