Chapter Thirty: The Spirit of the Hairy Demon

Just as Zhang and Cui were frantically searching for a way to stop Dazhuang’s uncontrollable laughter, something even stranger occurred. Zhang Hao, sprawled on the ground with drooping eyes, grabbed a clump of mud and shoved it into his mouth, chewing vigorously. As he ate, he kept mumbling, “Mmm, delicious, truly delicious,” his face awash with blissful satisfaction.

Witnessing this scene, Cui Yue froze in place, thinking these two rascals were taking their act too far—were they really still pretending at this point? But looking at them, it didn’t seem like an act at all; one was about to choke himself to death eating dirt, the other seemed on the verge of laughing himself to death.

Cui Yue couldn’t care less about propriety now. With a running start, he delivered a powerful kick to Zhang Hao’s back, sending him flying two yards away, where he landed face-first in the mud. Yet Zhang Hao struggled to his feet and, just as before, kept shoveling handful after handful of earth into his mouth, his cheeks bulging more and more until his whole face turned a deep purplish-red, muffled groans escaping his lips.

Fearing Dazhuang might truly laugh himself to death, Cui Yue steeled his heart, raised his arm, and slapped Dazhuang again and again, so hard that his own hand was left throbbing with pain. Dazhuang’s face was swollen and covered with bloody scratches, blood even seeping from the corners of his mouth, but still he laughed—a chilling, unceasing laughter that made Cui Yue’s hair stand on end.

He dared not pause for even a moment. Seeing Zhang Hao now completely silent, convulsing on the ground, he could only try to scoop the dirt out of Zhang Hao’s mouth with his hands. No sooner did he remove one clump than Zhang Hao crammed in two more. Clearly, this couldn’t go on.

Terror gripped Cui Yue’s heart, but even in this moment of crisis, he wasn’t the kind to abandon his friends. An idea flashed through his mind: what if he knocked them both unconscious? That way, they’d be unable to harm themselves further, and he could go find someone for help.

With resolve, Cui Yue found a half-broken iron pick handle by the path, gripped it tightly, and aimed at the back of Dazhuang’s head, ready to strike.

But just as he was about to bring the handle down, his vision blurred. Staggering, his sight dissolved into a white haze, a buzzing filled his ears as if all outside sound had been abruptly cut off, not a thing could he hear. A sharp pain stabbed his chest, as if pierced by needles, as if cut by knives, as though his chest was about to explode—the agony twisting his mouth into a grimace. The world spun; the sun in the sky seemed to wobble and shift.

Cui Yue flailed his arms in the air, grasping for something to steady himself, but found nothing.

He felt himself collapsing to the ground. Suddenly, he sensed a heavy blow on his back, as if someone had clapped him hard on the shoulder. A wave of heat rushed through his back, the searing pain in his chest vanished, and his senses returned. The world gradually came back into focus, and the ringing in his ears faded away.

He saw a pair of large hands waving before his eyes—a tall, thin middle-aged man anxiously questioning him, “Young man, young man, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Cui Yue exhaled deeply, now able to see clearly the words “Qingyang County Fertilizer Plant” stitched on the man’s work jacket. Though the clothes were worn, they were spotlessly clean.

“And you are?” Cui Yue asked.

“Oh, I’m Old Duan, warehouse manager at the fertilizer plant. You’re with the Security Department, right? I think I saw you at the main gate during the last staff meeting.”

Hearing this, Cui Yue found the man’s face somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t be sure he’d met him before.

“Uncle, my name is Cui Yue, from the Security Department. Please, help—my friends, they’re possessed!”

Only then did Cui Yue remember Zhang Hao and Dazhuang.

The two hurried over. Zhang Hao now lay motionless, only occasionally twitching, his cheeks bulging with earth, his face a ghastly blue, eyes rolled back, breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Dazhuang was faring no better. His entire body was curled up tightly, white foam frothing from his mouth as he grinned stiffly, facial muscles twitching uncontrollably.

Old Duan immediately saw the danger—they could die at any moment. He quickly took the stick from Cui Yue’s hand and wedged it between Dazhuang’s teeth to stop him from biting his tongue during convulsions.

Then, with Cui Yue’s help, he propped Zhang Hao up, tied his hands behind his back, and painstakingly cleared all the dirt from his mouth, pounding his back and pressing on his chest until, finally, Zhang Hao could breathe again and the bluish tinge faded from his face. Still, he lay on the ground moaning, and if not for his hands bound with a belt, he would have reached for more dirt.

Cui Yue, drenched in sweat, paced anxiously, at a complete loss.

“Uncle, what’s happened to them? What kind of possession is this?” he asked desperately.

Old Duan glanced around, his eyes settling on the little earthen mound at the end of the field, and at once seemed to understand. “You young lads are too bold, meddling in things you know nothing about. Did you take something from someone’s property?”

Cui Yue’s face turned crimson with shame. At this moment, he felt like nothing more than a petty thief in the eyes of this seasoned worker.

In a barely audible voice, he pointed at the watermelon rinds on the ground. “Yes, Uncle. We were thirsty and playful, so we stole a watermelon. We never thought…”

Old Duan cut in, “Never thought what? That this would happen? Haven’t you heard the elders say not to touch other people’s things, especially in the countryside? You’ve angered the Hairy Spirit—now you’re in real trouble.”

He jerked his chin toward the spot on the field embankment where incense offerings were still burning. “Almost every household here worships the Hairy Spirit. You barged in without a clue—now you know the consequences.”

Only then did Cui Yue recall the strange incense and offerings on the embankment. He’d seen such things before at a classmate’s house as a child, where he was told in secret about the Hairy Spirit. Now he realized this wasn’t mere superstition—it was frighteningly real.

The Hairy Spirit, also known as the Cat Spirit, is found mainly in remote villages of Gansu and Shaanxi. Some say it’s a minor local deity, others say it’s a household familiar, and still others claim it’s a black cat raised and worshipped until, over time, it becomes a spirit. The host family offers incense and food daily, always sharing their meals with the Hairy Spirit before they themselves eat.

Protected by the Hairy Spirit, the family might find their grain stores mysteriously increased, sometimes even with different types of grain, or extra water in their tanks, or the family might come into small windfalls. The Hairy Spirit doesn’t usually harm people, but it is notoriously petty: outsiders must never take anything from the host household—not even a trifle, let alone steal or rob. If you bully anyone in the host family, the Hairy Spirit will retaliate, making trouble for you. It won’t usually cost you your life, but it will punish you, making you suffer some physical torment.