In the South, on the nights of a sweltering summer, we children like to sleep in the middle of the road. No cars pass by overnight; everyone plops their water-cooled bamboo beds outside, and the moment of excitement arrives. Ah, the corpse drivers! Ah, the Spider Demon King! Ah, the Milky Way! Ah, what we cannot struggle free of . . . The streetlights always went out at midnight, because there weren’t any cars, nor any pedestrians, so what need would we have for them? As they are extinguished, we burrow under our blankets and cover our heads, falling into deep sleep amid our fright. Many have heard the corpse drivers’ shrieks but no one dares peek out from their covers, apart from a boy named Little Fly. Little Fly is our night watchman.
Little Fly grew up under the tutelage of his mother’s whip. It was nearly every day that his neighbors heard shrieks shriller than those of a corpse driver coming from his home, and the boy’s calves were perpetually scored with wounds. His short-tempered mother often chuckled and told the neighbors, “I’m going to beat him to death!” It was difficult to tell what she thought of the small, frail boy, as she never spoke at length to her son. Nonetheless, she was a mother who supported her son’s sleeping by the road at night. Sometimes, she even took it upon herself to help him wipe the bamboo bed with cooling water. Could it be that she hoped the corpse drivers would snatch her son away? Little Fly’s companions suspected as much but they didn’t dare give voice to their thoughts, as it would only earn them a beating if they were overheard by the adults. Little Fly lay on his bed, staring up at the Milky Way. He wasn’t actually a night watchman; he simply couldn’t fall asleep. A night like this was made for journeying through the Milky Way—how could he possibly fall asleep? Of course, what he really yearned for was to encounter the corpse drivers. He had heard their cries before but had never once encountered them. He knew that he and those fellows were kindred spirits.
“Little Fly, your mother’s headed this way!” someone shouted.
Little Fly leapt off his bed at once, shrieking. But his mother did not come—he’d been pranked. He was surprised at himself: why had he shrieked? Was he in fact a corpse driver? “As if,” Momo said in response. But the child was still uncertain because, to his ears, the sound of his own shriek sounded remarkably like those of the corpse drivers.
“Why are you all afraid of the corpse drivers?” Little Fly asked Momo.
“Because, because we’re human,” Momo said.
After he spoke, Momo covered his head with his blanket and made no more sounds. Little Fly opened his eyes and saw a red star in the sky, the rose-red variety, an unusual sight. He wanted very much to discuss the matter of the star with someone but everyone around him had covered their heads with their blankets. Just then, Little Fly heard the taptaptap of footsteps, suggesting there were at least two corpse drivers approaching, though they ultimately never drew close. He wished he could get up and walk over to them but he wasn’t so bold. If Mother ever found out, he would certainly be whipped. He wasn’t afraid of the pain, but the humiliation was worse than death, which was why he screamed like his life depended on it.
Ah, the sound of their footsteps was growing distant again. They kept making rounds nearby, leaving Little Fly enchanted. He wished that every day was summer, so that he could always sleep in the road. He never simply fell asleep at night, as he wanted to journey—through the Milky Way, through the surrounding darkness. Momo was murmuring inside his blanket, which Little Fly found rather funny, as he couldn’t make out a word of what he was saying.
“Momo, your mother’s calling you to go home and sleep,” Little Fly yelled.
Momo immediately fell silent. They all knew how stuffy it was at home. It was like hell.
That night, the corpse drivers left and did not return so Little Fly at last fell regretfully asleep. But not long after, he awoke again. The night was deep around him, the children all muttering in their dreams. Little Fly got up while saying to himself, “I want to get lost for once. There are so many places I’ve never been to.”
He slipped his shoes on and began walking down a certain direction. The sky was so dark, and there were no streetlights on; Little Fly had no idea where he was going, only that he was getting farther and farther from the road. It was his first time wandering off in the night. Along the way, he called out for Momo once but the sound of his own voice worked him into a cold sweat, because it seemed even more frightening than the shriek of a corpse driver. At one point, he thought he was walking across a sand dune. For some reason, that led him to think of poisonous snakes and thinking of poisonous snakes made his legs go weak. Thankfully, the sand dunes soon gave way to asphalt, which meant he had probably returned to the road. The thought that he would end up back on the road no matter where he walked restored his high spirits. Really, he had such good luck.
Little Fly raised his gaze to the sky, but the sky was pitch-black and nothing was there so he lowered his gaze to the ground, but the ground too was pitch-black and nothing was there. But he knew his body was there; his touch confirmed as much, and he could feel his feet planted on the asphalt road. He had the urge to hide, but where was he to hide in such a wide stretch of space with nothing in it? Would it count as hiding if he squatted where he was? He gave it a try, and instantly felt at ease, like his body had melted. He was unable to resist a satisfied snicker or two, after which he let out another shriek. His shriek was much more impressive than a corpse driver’s. It even seemed to shatter the darkness around him into distinct pieces—ah, what a feeling! Well, might as well lie down, who knows, perhaps in a moment it would no longer be possible for anyone to find him—the highest form of hide-and-seek. As he lay down, the asphalt cheerily embraced him as if to say, Go on, go to sleep, sleep now and you will have it all. Little Fly wanted everything, so he fell asleep.
“My mother lets me sleep in the road,” Little Fly proudly told Sang.
“Of course she would, it’s not like you’re afraid of anything.” As Sang spoke, he sneaked a shy glance at him.
Little Fly thought to himself: all of us are sleeping in the middle of the road so what makes them so afraid of certain things? Why is it that despite being afraid, they still choose to wrap themselves snugly in their blankets and sleep out here, refusing to go home? Is it just for their irrelevant chatter right before the lights go out? The substance of their discussions was very nebulous but they took it quite seriously.
“As long as we don’t peek, the corpse drivers won’t snatch us away. We just have to bundle up in our blankets.”
“Do you think we ought to try revealing ourselves at the same time when the wind is strong?”
“I know someone who went to the Milky Way at night and returned with an olive in their mouth.”
“Take three steps forward, then two steps back, and no one will be able to track you down.”
“The sun won’t take any pity on us. It’ll bake us all half to death.”
Little Fly listened attentively but couldn’t make sense of the meaning in their words. He figured it was because he was still too young and easily distracted. He rarely focused long enough on an idea to get to the bottom of it but his companions could. No wonder they called him a night watchman. They knew what they were afraid of so they hid under their blankets and dared not peek outside. He didn’t. His thoughts jumped all over the place, up and away from the matter at hand. “Oh, you . . .” A small shadow spoke to itself, emulating the air of a corpse driver. The tone was somewhat stunned and somewhat fond, and he couldn’t resist chuckling.
Three beds to the left of Little Fly slept Greenie, a sinister fellow. He was speaking now.
“If the lights don’t go out tonight, am I going to have to fight him to the death?” Greenie sounded perplexed. Fight who? Little Fly wondered. But Greenie said no more. At that moment, the Milky Way revealed itself once more and the streetlights went out. Little Fly heard Greenie sigh and then start snoring. These matters weighed heavily on his companions’ hearts yet they fell asleep in an instant—what easygoing fellows! The small shadow thought back to Sang’s shy gaze and he realized that Sang wasn’t shy, he just didn’t want Little Fly to know of the secrets in his heart. Now the children were all snoring. The starlight was scintillating, though no one noticed. They noticed the other things, things Little Fly tended to ignore, hence his becoming the night watchman. During the day, Little Fly was whipped again, and he sat at the entrance of his house, sobbing. His neighbor, Third Auntie, came over, affectionately patting his head as she said to his mother, “Your Little Fly is such a good kid. If only I had a son like him.” Mother laughed sharply and replied, “This person’s going to accomplish great things in the future.” Little Fly watched as Third Auntie’s face dropped, and she retracted her hand, scurrying off with an embarrassed “Oh.” A smug feeling washed over him. Who asked her to stick her nose in anyway? But being whipped was indeed hard to bear. And he had no desire whatsoever to accomplish anything great; why couldn’t his mother understand that? Even as he resented his mother, he was undoubtedly grateful toward her in one regard. She left the hours of the night to his own discretion, never interfering with his activities. It was true—every nightfall, his mother vanished entirely from his life. Was that why he had become so admired by everyone as a brave figure? When Papa was still around, Little Fly was rarely beaten nor was he allowed to sleep in the road. He felt no yearning to return to those muddleheaded days, because there was nothing in them to look forward to.
Aha, another rosy comet streaked past. In the same moment, there came the shrieks of at least three corpse drivers. Little Fly joined in with shrieks of his own. What delight!
An old beggar approached, peering closely at Little Fly, sizing him up.
“And whose child are you?”
“The Guiren family’s,” Little Fly responded coolly.
“Guirens! No wonder you wander about this area every night. What do you think of this moonlight?”
“The moon is very bright, Gramps. Are you saying my papa’s a corpse driver?”
The old beggar chuckled hoarsely then departed with an odd gesture of his hand.
Little Fly left his bamboo bed—he wanted to wander, he felt it was impossible to sleep right then because in his mind there had appeared a prison and the iron bars of its cells. The moonlit path led directly to the prison.
As he walked farther along the line of everyone’s beds, he realized that their bodies were wrapped in snowy white blankets, each identical to the others. What was that about? Before, their blankets had mainly been muted shades of brown, green, deep blue, and dusty yellow. Could it be that they were also . . . ?
Little Fly refused to pursue the thought. He broke into a run, putting a large distance between himself and his companions. He ran and ran, the familiar road never-ending. Suddenly, he saw that before him, in the middle of the road, stood a person wearing a headscarf, observing him. Little Fly slowed as he approached.
“You’re the kid from the Guiren family?” He had a resonant voice.
“I am.” Little Fly walked up to the speaker.
“You left them all behind and ran off on your own, didn’t you?”
“Well, they, they’d all fallen asleep,” Little Fly replied haltingly.
“How are you so sure? It’s hard to tell with this sort of thing, isn’t it?”
Little Fly squirmed under the gleam in his gaze. Abruptly, he heard the man loudly say, “Perhaps they’ve outrun you instead! Look at those dark clouds rolling in from the South—the moment is already upon us! Yet you’re dillydallying here and have heard nothing at all!”
Having finished, the person disappeared. Little Fly didn’t dare look to the southern horizon, but he heard some footsteps approaching. Had his companions caught up to him? That person just now had meant to instill in him a sense of urgency—was something bad about to happen? The rhythm of the footsteps drawing nearer matched those of the corpse drivers. His mother’s catchphrase popped into mind: “See a pair of claws, and you have seen the world.” What kind of animal did those claws belong to? Were they like the claws of an old monkey? He ran on and on, afraid to stop. He didn’t know why he was afraid; it was probably because that person had said the moment is already upon us. At the very least, he couldn’t let the footsteps draw any closer.
From the east there beamed a ray of light, a good omen. Little Fly no longer felt fatigued and walked with a spring in his step, not having to run toward any particular destination. He even felt that he had synced his gait with that of the corpse drivers behind him. The beam of light near the horizon jumped, somewhat dizzying to look at but marvelous all the same. In his head he said to his mother, I’ve seen the claws but what of it? I’ve seen the entire world . . . but I’d still like to thank you. I’d like to thank you for letting me go off in the night.
Little Fly stopped at the outskirts of town. He saw a bus swiftly approaching. The sun had come up.
How comfortable it was to take the bus home. The driver was also wearing a headscarf; could he have been the person from earlier? He glanced back at Little Fly, joking loudly, “You’ve all gotten on the bus now, eh? Now that’s what I call a big catch!”
But there was clearly only one person on the bus, Little Fly thought. Or had his companions got on the bus and hidden themselves?
Yet the bus didn’t make any stops or open its doors, driving directly to the street where Little Fly lived. As the bus finally came to a halt, Little Fly lingered a moment in his seat, waiting for his hidden companions to disembark first.
But the bus driver hollered at him, “What are you waiting for? Scram! Did you think they were all like you, you fool?”
Little Fly scrambled off the bus. As he walked, he nervously wondered just what kind of people his companions were. In his mind, there resurfaced the image of the row of snowy white blankets of vaguely human shape, so white as to be blinding . . . where were his companions right now?
The moment he reached home, his mother shouted for him to come and eat.
“No matter what, you still have to eat,” she said wisely. “You’ve got plenty of fun adventures ahead of you. Humans don’t walk this earth purely to suffer. Hmph.” She seemed to be coldly chuckling.
As Mother spoke, she waved brusquely to the air, inspiring in Little Fly for the first time in his life a sense of respect. He posed a question to his mother but she had gone inside to sole some shoes; she needed to craft shoes for herself and Little Fly.
Little Fly went to wash the dishes after eating. Amid the sound of running water, he heard Mother call out from the other side, “You’re my lucky star, Little Fly!”
As the autumn winds settled in, it became impossible for us children to sleep in the road. That made it more unlikely for anything particularly exciting to happen. And so, all the children, including Little Fly, began to entertain wistful thoughts of the corpse drivers. They only came on the beautiful days of summer, hiding away in the winter—what strategic fellows they were! During every quiet moment as Little Fly sat at home, he relived his summertime adventures. He would stare at the door in a daze, and as he stared, he saw the door open just a sliver. “Perhaps it’s the wind,” he said. But it wasn’t the wind; rather, a blindingly white mask had appeared. Excitement bubbled within Little Fly.
“You have the wrong address—this is the Guiren family,” he said to the mask.
The person came inside but stayed at the entrance, one hand resting on the door, which was still ajar. Little Fly observed that his hand too was frighteningly white. Without knowing why, Little Fly blurted out, “To come at such a time . . . what are you here for? Don’t you see that it’s too late? Summer is already over, and winter is on the way. . . .”
“I’m a member of the Guiren family too,” he interrupted. “I’m the eldest son, you’ve just never seen me before. I ran into Mama out on the street just now and she’s gotten so much thinner, have you been stressing her out? Papa and I are doing well but we still get lonely.”
“So you were my brother! I never knew about you. Please, sit, I’ll pour you some tea. If it’s lonely over there, why don’t you live here at home with us? We can go out together at night, and you can hide in the back room during the day—”
As he drank, he flashed two rows of long, pearly white teeth yet Little Fly felt no fear toward him.
“My little brother is so kindhearted. I’d like to live at home too, but Papa wouldn’t allow it. He has a personality like steel. Strangely enough, you’re nothing like him. Ah, could that be why Mama often gets upset? But I think your temperament is perfectly all right.”
After drinking, he disappeared beyond the door. Little Fly didn’t see him leave or even hear his footsteps but he did hear him call from outside, “Let’s reunite in the summer!”
Little Fly burst outside in pursuit but came up empty.
What a wonderful game, he thought. Brother had suddenly appeared yet he departed soon after without leaving so much as a trace. Right, he drank from the cup just now but the cup was still full of tea. Evidently, not everything about his life over there was satisfactory. Little Fly had often lumped himself in with those who lived over there, but now it seemed they were very different after all. Two members of the Guiren family lived over there—whenever he thought of it, his pulse would quicken and his heart would yearn.
Someone opened the door again—a deathly pale mask. . . . No, he’d gone blurry eyed; it was obviously his mother who had just returned, her face sallow.
“You spoke with your brother, Little Fly?”
“I did. He refused to stay at home.”
“Ha, who would want to stay at home if they had a good place to stay? Aren’t you the same? I regret not beating him to death! He ran off with your father to gather herbs and they tumbled down the side of a cliff, it was no joking matter.”
Little Fly was shocked because Mother rarely spoke so much but now she seemed to be in a fit of excitement, a sinister expression crossing her features as she spoke. He thought she might beat him again, so he darted outside. He had only gone a few paces when he slammed into somebody.
“What’s the rush? You’re better off contenting yourself in the present.”
It was the bus driver. He was still wearing a headscarf arranged strangely.
“No matter how far you run, you’ll still be at home, isn’t that so?” The driver spoke in a compelling tone.
“I don’t like being beaten,” Little Fly said, his head lowered.
“Who does? No one likes it. But you can’t avoid these things. Besides, where would you run off to? Where could a kid from the Guiren family even go?” He seemed rather cheery.
The bus driver then asked Little Fly whether he would be willing to go with him. Little Fly asked where they were going.
“Who cares? You weren’t even thinking of where you were running just now, isn’t that so?”
Little Fly deliberated for a moment then decided to follow him.
The two of them arrived shortly at a squat, tile-roofed house. The door was unlocked so it opened with a push of the bus driver’s hand. Inside, the room was a bit gloomy and on the table and windowsill were clustered numerous little puppets. Little Fly stared at them.
“Drawn to them, aren’t you?” the bus driver asked, leaning down.
Little Fly nodded. He sensed that the man was unusually restless.
“Do you know why you feel drawn to them?”
Little Fly shook his head, glancing back in confusion.
“It’s because they all belong to the Guiren family! The moment night falls, they set off from my place on a walk. You see—the Guiren family’s secrets are all here in my home. I told you as much on the bus last time but you didn’t understand.”
The driver was smiling faintly as he spoke, his eyes gazing in different directions—one was looking at Little Fly, another at the corner of the wall. Little Fly snuck a glance at the wall, discovering what appeared to be a wooden puppet that was moving. He heard the driver continue: “The hour’s still early but this little fellow from the Guiren family is already practicing. What a hard worker.”
“Did my papa fall to his death while gathering herbs?” Little Fly hadn’t spoken aloud but he heard his question echoing throughout the room.
“Tsk, don’t speak such nonsense.” The driver patted him on the head, “Your papa’s an old hand. Not even a lifetime of adventure is enough for someone like him. Ever since he walked through my door, though, his life has become far more routine. There is much that he taught me—ha, there he goes, gone outside! He got excited after seeing you. You really are his son, after all!”
Toward the end of his speech, he gestured to the puppets on the windowsill. Little Fly was still somewhat skeptical. As he scrutinized the puppets again, he noticed they had all faded in color, becoming stiff.
“Take a guess, how old do you think I am?” the driver asked Little Fly.
“Forty,” Little Fly said.
“Actually, I’m even older than your papa. How else could I have come to collect so many puppets from the Guiren family? They’re not just puppets—they’re real people!”
As the driver mentioned “real people,” his eyes strained wide, and Little Fly’s pulse hammered with fear. He immediately averted his gaze from the man’s face.
The driver pointed outside and told Little Fly that the hour was late now so all the little people inside were growing restless, itching to go out. Little Fly was amazed.
“But how come I don’t see them moving at all?”
“That’s because you aren’t really seeing them. These ancient things are brimming with agitation. One autumn, they nearly destroyed my house because I hadn’t let them out in a timely manner! Now, out of the way, out of the way, you little rascal! Didn’t you hear me?”
The driver pushed Little Fly against the wall, and Little Fly heard the draft passing through. It was only after a while that he heard the driver speak again.
“They’ve all gone outside. You can tell just by looking at the windowsill. They’ve got fierce temperaments.”
The windowsill looked empty, the table as well, giving off a desolate air.
“Why does my mama allow me to go meet them in the night during the summer?”
“You’ve probably figured it out already. Why doubt yourself?”
Walking home, Little Fly contemplated: Was Mother still upset with him? Or was she perhaps not angry at all but instead trying to encourage him? After all, hadn’t the bus driver said earlier that the members of the Guiren family all had fiery temperaments . . . ? Numerous childhood riddles seemed right on the cusp of being unraveled yet in the end none of them were. The image of his companions bundled in snowy white blankets under the moonlight reappeared before his eyes. Or maybe those weren’t his companions, maybe his companions had long since gone home, and within the blankets were bundled the deceased of the Guiren family.
Little Fly saw his mother by the kitchen chopping firewood. Mother had a thin, small frame yet she wielded such a large axe. He remembered how the coal-stoked fire blazed all through the night in the winter at home and how his mother was always seated by the fire. He wasn’t sure if she even slept or not. Could it be that she was also a night watchman? Ah, so that was how it was?
“You’re back,” Mother said while wiping her face with a towel.
“I went to the bus driver’s house.”
As Little Fly walked to his room, he heard Mother speak from behind him: “That person knows our family inside out, which makes him a menace.”
Little Fly remained silent; he was unused to speaking with his mother. It was impossible to forget the years of resentment and humiliation. He recalled his older brother’s words—his brother seemed greatly concerned about him falling out with their mother. His brother must have deeply wanted to keep the family together. They were an odd bunch: two of them over here, and two of them over there, but they supported one another from either side, as though they were living for each other’s sake. Little Fly was overcome with emotion and his resentment for his mother seemed to lessen a little. He heard her get into bed from the next room over, snoring in no time. His mother had never caught a break, he thought.
When he emerged from his room, Little Fly received a scare, because there was a stranger sitting on their living-room sofa reading an old, yellowed newspaper.
“I was picking tea leaves on the mountain in 1978 when I heard the news,” he turned and said to Little Fly.
“Are you a relative of ours?” Little Fly asked.
“I’m a distant uncle of yours. I come over every year, you never noticed?”
“Can you tell me more about how you felt back then?”
“How I felt back then? I remember feeling like my arm had fallen off, leaving my left sleeve empty. But I got used to it. How are you, little fellow? You’ve been reborn by watching over the night, is that right?” He chuckled amiably.
“That’s exactly right, Uncle. Are you about to leave? Don’t go, we have room at home.”
In the end, the old man left. The newspaper lay forgotten on the sofa. Little Fly held the pages up to the light, discovering numerous drops of water between the lines and the shadow of a rose. He brought the paper up to his nose but all he got was a whiff of firewood smoke.
“How wonderful that everyone still remembers Papa and the others. I’m sure that they can feel it.”
Little Fly spoke too loudly, waking his mother in her room. She inquired as to who had just come over, and Little Fly replied that it was a distant uncle. He heard his mother cackling, the sound remarkably strange, yet sincere.