Nestled amidst the rolling emerald hills of southeastern Guizhou lies my rustic homeland, a secluded enclave far removed from urban bustle.

At the tender age of thirteen, I embarked on my inaugural journey into the mountains, trailing the footsteps of village elders on a foraging expedition. As spring danced into the arms of summer, the verdant slopes bestowed upon us a bounty of fungi, coveted treasures in city markets where denizens reveled in the taste of untamed wilderness.

A troupe of us adolescents followed in the wake of our elders, our youthful spirits soaring as we ascended Hook Mountain, its silhouette a familiar backdrop to our daily lives.

While the elders diligently gathered mushrooms, we amused ourselves in the periphery, chasing after elusive treasures—bird nests and groundhogs—our faces adorned with smudges of earth, yet our laughter echoing through the hills with unabashed joy.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted among us, led by a lad known as Fatty, his excitement palpable as if he had unearthed a long-lost treasure.

Intrigued by his fervor, we converged as he theatrically parted the foliage, revealing a diminutive serpent, barely a foot in length, its emerald scales shimmering in the dappled sunlight, its crimson eyes a stark contrast against its verdant visage.

Admittedly, serpents were no strangers to us denizens of the mountains, but a creature of such ethereal beauty, with eyes ablaze like rubies amidst an emerald sea, was a sight to behold, evoking murmurs of awe among us.

Fatty, brimming with pride, claimed ownership of his find, deeming the serpent his quarry. Intent on dispatching the creature and presenting it to his father for the brewing of potent elixirs, he barely finished his proclamation before the jade serpent, as if imbued with sentience, cast a knowing glance in my direction. Stirred by a sudden surge of empathy, I implored Fatty to show mercy.

Yet, the obstinate Fatty, refusing to heed my pleas, nearly came to blows with me. By the time we regained our senses, the elusive jade serpent had vanished into the labyrinth of undergrowth.

As fleeting as childhood memories can be, I soon shelved the incident into the recesses of my mind.

Little did I anticipate that, half a moon cycle later, destiny would orchestrate a reunion between myself and the enigmatic jade serpent once more.

That night, with the moon veiled in darkness and the wind howling, after the lights in the house were extinguished, I stealthily slipped out into the courtyard, making my way to the old locust tree at the village entrance, where seven or eight figures were already squatting.

Leading the group was Zheng Jun, three years older than me and regarded as the king of the village children. Tonight, it was his proposal to venture into the Ghost Weep Ravine.

This Ghost Weep Ravine, it was said, was originally just a small mountain gully, but after enduring the tumult of the Republic of China era, with corpses strewn across the fields year after year, the ravine, which was also the boundary between neighboring villages, had become a makeshift burial ground in accordance with local customs.

Even to this day, tales of strange occurrences in the Ghost Weep Ravine could still be heard from time to time.

In short, that ravine was decidedly eerie.

After trekking several miles, we arrived at the Ghost Weep Ravine and peered down.

Under the stark white moonlight, the ravine was littered with low mounds of earth and some broken coffins. As for the more rudimentary ones, there were corpses wrapped directly in straw mats, scattered at the bottom of the ravine. Occasionally, one or two wild dogs could be seen frantically digging at the mounds, dragging out a few human bones before gleefully running off.

We exchanged glances, and everyone saw the fear in each other's eyes.

In truth, Zheng Jun was also extremely frightened, but he insisted on going down into the ravine to prove himself as the true king of the children.

At this point, none of us dared to show weakness, so we reluctantly followed Zheng Jun's lead and descended to the bottom of the Ghost Weep Ravine.

Afterwards, Zheng Jun coughed twice and assigned tonight's task: each of us had to pick up a piece of human bone. Those who could do it would become sworn brothers, and we would be considered to have lived and died together. Those who couldn't do it would not be considered brothers and would not be allowed to play with us in the future.

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I was somewhat resistant to the idea of picking up human bones.

Seeing me standing still, Zheng Jun asked, "Yang Cheng, are you chickening out?"

Actually, I really looked down on Zheng Jun. I always felt that this kid had a crooked heart and liked to engage in sneaky behavior. But in order to avoid being called a coward later on, I reluctantly went along with them.

Like everyone else, I casually picked up a piece of bone and returned to report. I didn't even know which part of the human body it was from.

Standing in the middle, Zheng Jun inspected each item we presented to him like a leader, nodding in satisfaction.

With that, tonight's adventure came to an end, and we began to retrace our steps back. However, after walking for a short while, Zheng Jun, who was leading the way, stood frozen in place with his mouth agape.

Clearly, after passing through this small grove of trees, we should have reached a muddy path that led directly to the village. However, at this moment, the scene before us was completely different from what we remembered, with several new forks in the road appearing in the grove.

For a moment, all seven or eight of us were at a loss, completely unsure of what to do. The more timid ones were so frightened that they began to cry.

Zheng Jun, being older and wiser, said that we might have encountered what the adults called a "ghost wall." As long as we stayed put, there would naturally be a way out when daylight came.

After sitting in place for a while, I suddenly heard the sound of gongs and drums, accompanied by the music of suonas and erhus, as if someone was performing a grand opera.

Strange, isn't it? It was the middle of the night, how could there be someone singing in this mountain forest?

The others also heard the commotion, curiosity being a child's nature after all, and everyone wanted to find out what was going on. So, we followed the direction of the sound.

Soon, a clearing appeared before us. From a distance, we could see a sizable stage set up in the center, where several people dressed in flashy costumes were enthusiastically performing.

The performance on stage never stopped, and there were even more people seated below the stage. Inside and outside, at this late hour, the theater was packed to the brim.

Seeing that it was indeed a theater troupe, we were extremely excited and hurriedly rushed over.

In an era without televisions, when a traveling theater troupe came to perform, it was undoubtedly the liveliest event for miles around.

Amidst the crowd, we jostled our way to the front row. At this moment, the play being performed was "Mu Guiying Takes Command."

The actress portraying Mu Guiying was charming and lovely, her singing powerful and melodious, her diction clear and round, immediately eliciting rounds of applause.

After the play, a group of skinny old men in black robes descended from the stage, each carrying a plate.

I knew it was time for gratuities, feeling somewhat embarrassed as I awkwardly patted my empty pockets and discreetly stepped back, taking the opportunity to observe the audience. To my surprise, their attire varied, with some wearing long robes and others wide-sleeved gowns. In short, among the old and young, there wasn't a single villager I recognized.

As the old man in black approached, a woman in a cheongsam in front of me said with a sneer, "The performance was good, here's your gratuity!"

As she handed over the gratuity, I saw two golden objects fall to the ground and roll away.

Upon closer inspection, they turned out to be a pair of golden earrings.

Before I could react, Zheng Jun beside me lit up with excitement. Swift as lightning, he stooped down, picked up the earrings, and swiftly tucked them into his pocket.

I gritted my teeth in anger, secretly cursing my clumsiness for letting Zheng Jun snatch such a huge windfall.

Perhaps spurred by the gratuities, the performers on stage sang even more vigorously. However, their voices became increasingly ethereal, almost distant, despite me standing right below the stage. The more I tried to focus and listen carefully, the more muffled and indistinct the voices became. Gradually, my consciousness began to blur, and my eyelids grew heavy as if engaged in a battle, longing to simply lay down and fall asleep.