The Widow Zhou lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. The palm-leaf fan in her hand went pfft-pfft-pfft, nearly shaken to pieces by her restless grip.

She decided to get up for a drink of cool water. The moment she sat up, the mosquito net somehow collapsed with a whoosh, enveloping her in its folds. She scrambled free, flustered and sweatier than before. Reaching for the pull-chain switch by her bedside, she clicked it on — the yellowed bulb flooded the worn little house with light. One of her sandals under the bed had been dragged off by some cat or dog, so she padded barefoot toward the water jug.

“Meow… meow…”

A sudden burst of cat cries made the Widow Zhou recoil. She dreaded the sound of cats at night more than anything.

In the kitchen, after several gulps of cool water, she felt marginally better. She went back to straighten the mosquito net and lie down again. But the moment her head touched the pillow, the corners of her eyes began to dampen.

She had been married into the Zhou family at eighteen. Within half a year, she became a widow. Over ten years of widowhood — only she knew how she had endured it. She blamed the heavens for their cruelty, and hated her gambling-addicted father even more, who had married her off to the Zhous against all her protests. Carrying this resentment, the Widow Zhou drifted into a fitful sleep.

The Widow Zhou felt she had barely closed her eyes when the clamor of voices outside woke her. She dressed and creaked open the door. Sister-in-law Li was stumbling toward her, weeping. “Sister, have you seen Yongzi?”

Yongzi was Sister-in-law Li’s eight-year-old son. His father had beaten him the night before, they said, and by morning the boy had vanished.

The Widow Zhou adored Yongzi from the bottom of her heart. She often thought that if she had a child of her own, it would be about Yongzi’s age. Whenever she saw him, she couldn’t help teasing him playfully, and over time the boy had grown close to her.

Hearing that Yongzi was missing made her heart lurch. Just yesterday she had teased him that if she caught a big fish in the rice paddy today, they would roast it together. So she joined the other villagers in searching high and low for the boy.

Strangely, the village was barely the size of a fist, yet a living, breathing boy was nowhere to be found. Theories began to fly — had he jumped into a well and drowned? Had he wandered beyond the village and been snatched by traffickers? The villagers chattered and speculated. The Widow Zhou listened to the noise, her mind a tangle of confusion. Then, suddenly, she remembered the two cat cries from the night before. Looking back, those cries had been strange. It almost sounded like a person imitating a cat. Had Yongzi been near her house last night? She didn’t dare voice her thoughts aloud and could only mull them over in private.

By dusk, the police found Yongzi in the ancient tomb on the hill outside the village. But Yongzi could no longer speak. All he could do was mewl — “meow… meow… meow…” — like a cat. The boy had become a simpleton.

The village buzzed with theories, but most believed Yongzi had encountered something sinister in the tomb. Sister-in-law Li sought doctors and spirit mediums everywhere, but Yongzi showed no sign of improvement.

Ever since the boy turned into a meowing simpleton, Sister-in-law Li and Yongzi’s father fought constantly — small quarrels every three days, full-blown rows every two. The household was perpetually under storm clouds. Finally, after one explosive fight, Sister-in-law Li abandoned Yongzi and ran away from home.

With her gone, only Yongzi and his father remained, living hand to mouth, each day worse than the last. The Widow Zhou couldn’t bear to watch, so she brought Yongzi food whenever she could.

Simple though Yongzi had become, whenever the Widow Zhou visited with food, besides his customary “meow-meow,” he would wave his arms and stomp his feet with unbridled joy.

Another summer rolled around. The Widow Zhou was weeding the rice paddy when a few fish darted past her feet. Quick as lightning, she scooped up two palm-sized crucian carp. Looking at them, she suddenly remembered her promise from two years ago — to roast fish for Yongzi. But before the fish had been eaten, the boy had turned into a simpleton.

Midsummer was suffocatingly hot. Even dusk brought no relief, and everyone fanned themselves furiously with palm-leaf fans. Yet the Widow Zhou had kindled a fire in her yard, roasting fish with the simple boy Yongzi. She fanned him with one hand while watching him eat, her eyes full of affection.

“Meow… meow…”

Yongzi’s cries carried delight.

“Eat more if you like it.” The Widow Zhou handed him another fish. Yongzi’s mouth opened twice, but no meow came out. Thinking he had a fish bone stuck in his throat, she hurriedly patted his back and asked with concern, “Is something caught?”

The pat froze her with terror. From Yongzi’s mouth came a single syllable: “Ma…” It was soft, but the Widow Zhou heard it clearly. She whipped her head around — nothing but the hazy moonlight. In this pitch-dark night, had Yongzi seen a ghost? Goosebumps erupted across her entire body, every hair standing on end. Yongzi’s own mother had been gone for over two years.

That night, the Widow Zhou lay alone in bed, fanning herself furiously, her mind circling back to that one syllable — “Ma.” Gradually, her thoughts drifted to that night over two years ago. She struggled to recall the cat cries she had heard then, but no matter how hard she racked her brain, nothing came.

Morning sunlight arrived on schedule, and the villagers resumed their busy routines. The Widow Zhou carried her hoe to the cornfield to weed. Her plot bordered Yongzi’s family plot, where Yongzi’s father was already deep in work.

Spotting him, the Widow Zhou grew more watchful. “Hei Niu, has your boy gotten any better?”

Hei Niu — Black Ox — was Yongzi’s father. Everyone called him that because he was, indeed, dark as an ox and built like one too, towering around one meter eighty and packed with solid muscle. For all his hulking frame, Hei Niu was an educated man. He had studied at a medical vocational school in the county seat and should have become a doctor. But for reasons unknown, the school expelled him before graduation.

“No.”

A single syllable. Hei Niu didn’t even raise his head.

The Widow Zhou wasn’t surprised. Hei Niu had always been painfully introverted; he rarely exchanged more than a word or two with anyone in the village.

She wanted to ask more, but a widow chatting alone in the fields with a wifeless man — if the villagers caught wind of it, gossip would race through the village like wildfire. Best to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. She said nothing more and bent her head to her weeding.

A long while passed.

“I hear there’s a kind of chemical now,” Hei Niu said. “Spray it on the field and it kills only the weeds, not the crops.”

The Widow Zhou replied half-heartedly and kept weeding, intending to ignore him. But Hei Niu showed no sign of stopping. A few words here, a remark there — suddenly his mouth had sprung wide open.

Growing more cautious by the second — a widow’s doorstep attracts gossip like flies — she eventually swallowed even her noncommittal grunts. Whatever Hei Niu said, she held her tongue. Until he uttered a name: “Fire Chili.” Only then did the Widow Zhou look up, shocked. “How do you know my nickname?”

Only then did Hei Niu tell his story. He and the Widow Zhou had attended the same middle school for two years, though she was a grade above him. Back then, the Widow Zhou had been famous across the entire school — top marks, striking looks. But neither of those alone had made her a legend. It was her fiery temper that earned her campus-wide renown. Every student, no matter who, walked the straight and narrow around the Widow Zhou. Anybody who didn’t would soon regret it — and it wouldn’t be the Widow Zhou nursing the bruises.

Hei Niu kept recounting old tales of the Widow Zhou’s school days. She found herself drifting back to those years, and the words began to flow naturally between them. At moments they even burst out laughing together. In all these years, the Widow Zhou had never felt so at ease, so genuinely happy. She even forgot that she was a widow and ought to mind the image of a widow.

“Do you remember? You once stepped in to help me.” Hei Niu recounted the incident in vivid detail: it was his first year of middle school. He was small for his age and dark-skinned. One evening after study hall, several older boys cornered him in the stairwell, shoving and taunting him. Hei Niu could only shrink into the corner, terrified. By chance, the Widow Zhou passed by. She laid into those older boys — crack, bang, wallop — and sent them scattering. When Hei Niu reached this part of the story, the look he cast toward the Widow Zhou brimmed with admiration. But the dense corn leaves blocked his gaze, and she never saw it.

After that conversation in the cornfield, the Widow Zhou’s eyes began to linger on Hei Niu more and more. She didn’t notice the change in herself. Hei Niu, for his part, always seized the chance to chat with her. Back and forth they went, growing increasingly familiar. Of course, not once did the Widow Zhou’s thoughts stray toward romance — until that day by the river.

The sun was perfect for doing laundry. The Widow Zhou was at the riverbank washing clothes alongside Big-Mouth Zhang. They scrubbed and chatted idly. Just then, Hei Niu passed by with a hoe over his shoulder. Big-Mouth Zhang called out teasingly: “Hey, Black Ox — now that your wife’s run off, this black ox of yours has no field left to plow, eh?”

Everyone understood the adult joke. Hei Niu, already shy by nature, flushed crimson from his face to the tips of his ears in an instant. All he could manage was a timid mutter: “You and your big mouth, Zhang…” Whatever came after was too soft to catch.

Big-Mouth Zhang was not about to let such a prime opportunity slip. The more embarrassed Hei Niu became, the more delighted she grew. “How about we find you a new plot of land right here in the village?” As she spoke, her eyes kept darting meaningfully toward the Widow Zhou. When the Widow Zhou realized the joke had swung her way, she cut Big-Mouth Zhang off before she could go further.

The summer nights were so stifling that sleep felt impossible. The Widow Zhou lay wide awake, her mind flickering between Big-Mouth Zhang’s teasing words and images of Hei Niu. She even pictured his muscular frame, and let her imagination wander to the sensation of being held from behind by those strong arms. At this thought, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. For the first time in all those years of long, lonely nights, a pleasant fantasy had brought her a sliver of comfort.

Once a woman’s heart is stirred, she starts to care more about her appearance. The next morning, the Widow Zhou deliberately put on her prized white polyester blouse and bright red skirt — clothes she normally couldn’t bear to wear. She combed her hair with extra care. The Widow Zhou had always been beautiful, and dressed this way, no one in the village could compare. Though now past thirty, her charm rivaled any young girl’s. She stood before the mirror, admiring her reflection, twirling a few delighted circles, then stepped out the door.

“Well, well, Widow Zhou — you headed to town to see the movie too?” Big-Mouth Zhang called out. The Widow Zhou gave only a simple acknowledgment and kept walking. But true to her name, Big-Mouth Zhang plowed ahead regardless: “You’re dressed so beautifully today — is there some happy occasion?”

The Widow Zhou knew Big-Mouth Zhang’s personality well enough. She sidestepped the question. “Aren’t you going to the movie?”

“Of course I am! Only a fool would miss such a good movie.”

The word “fool” immediately brought Yongzi to mind. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the Widow Zhou parted ways with Big-Mouth Zhang.

She arrived at Yongzi’s house to find the boy sitting alone under the eaves, eyes vacant. She knew Hei Niu must have already left for town — they had arranged to meet outside the cinema. Yongzi spotted her and let out two “meow-meows.” She understood: this was his way of greeting her.

She crouched down, took Yongzi’s hands, and asked, “Want to go see a movie in town?” Yongzi answered with two more meows. She led him by the hand toward the door, but after a couple of steps, he stopped and hung his head. Only then did she notice he was wearing just one shoe. She guided him back inside to find the other.

The moment she stepped through the door, a strange odor met her nostrils — faint, but unpleasant. A house without a woman truly was a mess, she thought, searching for the missing shoe. She looked everywhere but couldn’t find it. What she did find were several medical textbooks and an assortment of odd glass bottles, some filled with liquids of different colors, a few giving off acrid smells. Unable to locate the shoe in the main room, she wondered if it might be in Hei Niu’s bedroom. Just as she reached for the door, Yongzi meowed loudly. He had simply been wearing the wrong shoe to begin with.

Autumn arrived. Lying in bed, the Widow Zhou replayed the day’s events in her mind, a smile tugging at her lips. Someone in the village had gotten married, and everyone had gathered to celebrate. During the feast, fortified by a few drinks and egged on by Big-Mouth Zhang, Hei Niu had confessed his feelings to her. Reflecting on all those years of widowhood, imagining Hei Niu’s strong frame — the Widow Zhou felt her happiness was finally on the horizon. Just as she was savoring the thought, cat cries rang out. Her heart jolted. She dreaded the sound of cats at night. Meow… meow… — two more cries. This time she heard clearly: it was Yongzi at the door. She hurriedly dressed and opened it. There he stood. Before she could ask anything, Yongzi seized her hand and pulled her outside. In the dead of night with no lantern, only the hazy moonlight to guide them, the Widow Zhou stumbled along — one step high, the next low — nearly falling more than once. Yongzi showed no sign of stopping, heading straight for the ancient tomb beyond the village.

The Widow Zhou was, after all, a woman. The further they went, the deeper her fear grew. She had no idea what Yongzi intended, only a gut feeling that something momentous was unfolding. She stopped and asked him what was wrong. Yongzi could only meow in reply. He simply tugged her onward toward the tomb. After what felt like an eternity, they arrived.

The wind on the hilltop cut especially cold, making the Widow Zhou wrap her arms tightly around herself. Any ordinary woman would have been paralyzed with terror by now. But the nickname “Fire Chili” had not been earned for nothing. Frightened though she was, the Widow Zhou kept her eyes keenly scanning the tomb.

The ancient tomb had long since been looted. Now it held nothing inside but a massive coffin — practically just a large cave.

The Widow Zhou was still puzzling over things when Yongzi meowed twice more. From deep within the tomb, a faint, weak sound echoed back. This truly terrified her. Her legs buckled, and were it not for her grip on Yongzi’s hand, she would have collapsed to the ground. Her only thought now was: ghosts. I have to run.

The sound drew closer. On the ground, a dark shape seemed to be crawling — no, two shapes, one behind the other.

The night was hazy, and something emerging from an ancient tomb — it was the stuff of nightmares.

The Widow Zhou’s mind had gone completely blank with terror. She barely registered what was happening before Yongzi was already crouched beside the shape, calling “Ma… Ma…” over and over.

After a long while, the Widow Zhou recovered her senses somewhat. She blinked hard and just barely made out the shape’s outline. It was a person — a person with matted, disheveled hair, filthy and gaunt, skin and bones. From Yongzi’s repeated cries, she guessed: this was his mother.

With Yongzi’s help, the figure slowly sat up from the ground. Yongzi brushed the hair from her forehead, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Auntie Zhou.”

Yongzi spoke. Before his mind had broken, this was how he had always addressed the Widow Zhou. Trembling, she asked, “Is this… your mother?”

Yongzi only gave a throaty acknowledgment and leaned his mother against his own body.

“Sister-in-law Zhou, don’t be afraid. I’m not a ghost. I am Yongzi’s mother…” The voice was weak, but the Widow Zhou heard every word clearly.

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting its silver light generously across the hilltop and the ancient tomb. The Widow Zhou clutched the fabric at her chest, straining to hear Yongzi’s mother tell her story.

In the beginning of her marriage to Hei Niu, things had been neither good nor bad — tolerable enough to get by. She didn’t know exactly when it started, perhaps not long after the Widow Zhou had married into the Zhou family — but Hei Niu began to change. Whenever he was upset, he would use her as a punching bag. Sometimes he beat and cursed her without any reason at all.

Yongzi’s mother recounted all this calmly, as though telling someone else’s story. Hei Niu had a perverse streak — he enjoyed tormenting her during sex. She often couldn’t bear it, but the slightest resistance was met with fists and clubs. Worse, Hei Niu became most excited during her time of the month. Eventually, she decided she could no longer live this way and asked Hei Niu for a divorce. But Hei Niu refused and threatened to kill her and her parents if she dared go through with it. Under the weight of his menace, she never mentioned divorce again.

When she reached the part about that fateful night, Yongzi’s mother gripped the boy tightly. The Widow Zhou saw tears glistening in her eyes. That evening, Hei Niu had tried to force-feed her a homemade potion. She refused. A vicious beating followed. She had hoped the beating would be the end of it. But Hei Niu still insisted she drink. Yongzi, unable to watch his mother suffer, grabbed the bowl and gulped down several mouthfuls before his mother could knock it from his hands. Within moments, the boy went berserk, flailing and thrashing, meowing from his mouth like a cat. His mother was terrified. But Hei Niu was delighted by Yongzi’s reaction and intended to force the rest of the potion into him as well. Only through his mother’s desperate resistance did Yongzi manage to escape and hide in the ancient tomb. Even after all this, his mother dared not expose Hei Niu’s crimes.

The more the Widow Zhou listened, the more monstrous Hei Niu became in her eyes.

Yongzi’s mother lifted her gaze to the moon. Her throat moved a few times, and she continued recounting the years of suffering she had endured.

The other dark shape remained silent and motionless to the side.

The Widow Zhou could never have imagined — this other shape was none other than her own husband, Wang Gui, dead all these years.

Gazing at her husband, the Widow Zhou didn’t know what to feel.

Wang Gui sighed weakly and told his story. After the marriage, Hei Niu had often invited him out drinking in town. Every time, Hei Niu would bring his own homemade liquor. Then one night, drunk, Hei Niu leaned close and whispered into his ear: for the past six months, he had been slipping a slow-acting poison into the liquor. If Wang Gui didn’t leave the Widow Zhou, he would die. And if Wang Gui breathed a single word of this, the Widow Zhou would be poisoned too.

Terrified into silence, Wang Gui had hatched a plan to save his own life and protect the Widow Zhou from harm. He commissioned a special coffin from a carpenter in town. On the appointed day, he swallowed several pills that induced a temporary state of suspended animation, faking his own death. After the funeral, alone inside the coffin, he used the hidden tools to pry it open, clawed his way out of the grave, and fled to the ancient tomb to hide. He never dared emerge by day. Only at night did he creep back to the village to scavenge for food.

Hearing all this, the Widow Zhou’s fear slowly gave way to fury. She clutched Yongzi tightly to her. She understood now — Yongzi had feared she too would become Hei Niu’s plaything. That was why he had brought her here.

Without a moment’s delay, the Widow Zhou carried Sister-in-law Li and Wang Gui back to the village on her back. She summoned the villagers and exposed Hei Niu’s crimes. The police were called, and Hei Niu was arrested and taken away.

Having walked the line between life and death, Wang Gui came to understand something: what matters most is to live, and to live according to one’s own heart. He knew the Widow Zhou had never truly loved him, so of his own accord, he divorced her.

Free at last, the Widow Zhou left that place. She took Yongzi with her, and together they built the life she had always wanted.