Chapter Twenty-Four: The Specter Among the Feast

Little Pepper was a soldier from Sichuan. He was not tall, but possessed the region’s characteristic wit and eloquence. But after returning from the infirmary, it was as if his very soul had changed. He became taciturn and forgetful, and most alarming of all, when alone in his room, he would mutter indistinctly to the wall, repeating a word that sounded like… “Meizi, Meizi.”

At first, when people caught him in this state once or twice, they thought little of it. But as it happened more often, it inevitably drew attention and suspicion. It especially unnerved Zhao Hong, who shared a bunk with Little Pepper. Zhao was utterly frightened by this sudden new “habit.”

A few days later, Zhao Hong hurried up to me, his face anxious. He said Little Pepper had been acting very strangely these days—not only talking in his sleep at night, but sneaking out to steal food.

I didn’t quite get it and asked Zhao Hong, “What’s so strange about sneaking food? Didn’t Batu the seafood lover do the same when he first arrived?”

“It’s not that simple!” Zhao Hong whispered, waving his hand. “I can’t quite describe it. But every night he runs to the kitchen. You… come to the kitchen with me tonight and see for yourself. You’ll understand.”

Prodded by Zhao Hong’s suggestion, we made plans to set an ambush that night to see what exactly Little Pepper was up to and why he kept running to the kitchen at night.

That night, Zhao Hong and I snuck into the kitchen of the mess hall under the pretense of getting up to use the bathroom. We found a large steamer basket, upended it over our heads, and hid quietly, waiting for Little Pepper to appear. But no matter how long we waited, there was no sign of him.

Time slipped by, and before we knew it, it was already past eleven. Just as we were about to give up, the kitchen door suddenly creaked open.

A small, thin figure stepped in from the darkness outside.

In the gloom, Zhao Hong and I kept ourselves hidden behind the steamer basket, peering through its holes. Though we couldn’t see clearly, we could make out enough to be sure it was Little Pepper.

His silhouette hunched in the darkness, and he didn’t search for food as I’d expected. Instead, he picked up a potato and began... peeling it?

The act was curious. Little Pepper had long been responsible for peeling vegetables in the mess, but what business did he have doing it in the dead of night? Was he perfecting his skills? And why not turn on the light—wasn’t he afraid of cutting himself?

But as I watched, I was horrified to realize that he wasn’t peeling a potato at all… he was peeling his own hand!

In the dim light, Little Pepper gripped a gleaming kitchen knife, and first slit open his own wrist. Then, before our very eyes, he began to painstakingly peel back his skin, his muscles, his veins, his bones…

Even in the darkness, I could sense the stench of blood, and I saw the involuntary, crazed grin that tugged at his lips.

That scene left me stunned and breathless. It was the first time I’d ever witnessed someone mutilate themselves, and with mounting excitement, at that. I was so shocked I didn’t dare breathe.

But at that moment, Zhao Hong, even less composed than I, suddenly screamed out, unable to bear the psychological pressure.

“Mother of God!” Zhao Hong’s cry was as piercing and chilling then as it is in my memory years later. But even more terrifying were the events that his scream set in motion.

The moment Little Pepper heard Zhao Hong’s shout, he dropped his self-harming act, seized the knife with a skeletal hand, and lunged to hack at Zhao Hong. The attack was so abrupt and swift that we were both petrified, too stunned to resist or evade.

Just as I thought Zhao Hong was doomed, the kitchen light flickered on.

With the sudden brightness, the frenzied, knife-wielding Little Pepper vanished like mist.

In his place stood the severe face of Sergeant Iron.

Sergeant Iron lowered his hand from the light switch and glared at us, two trembling figures beneath the steamer basket. In a stern voice, he demanded, “You two! Why aren’t you in bed?”

Zhao Hong was so frightened he could barely speak, while I, at least, retained the power of speech. After all, I wasn’t the one almost stabbed.

I stood up, my breath ragged, and said, “We just saw Little Pepper trying to kill himself.”

Sergeant Iron glanced at us, then pointed to the barracks adjoining the kitchen. “Isn’t Little Pepper asleep in there?”

His words lodged in my throat like a sponge. Instinctively, I rushed back to our bunks and saw Little Pepper lying peacefully in bed, as if he’d never left, much less slashed his own arm.

I was dumbfounded, and even more so when Sergeant Iron suddenly appeared behind me, patted my shoulder, and motioned for Zhao Hong and me to follow him to the kitchen.

Once there, both of us were still shivering, too rattled to think straight, just staring at Sergeant Iron, our eyes wide and blank.

He looked at our frightened faces and spoke first to comfort us: “Enough! Remember this for the rest of your lives: ‘Doubt kills the heart, fear breeds in the mind.’ The more afraid you are of seeing those ‘evil spirits,’ the more they’ll harm you.”

He then scolded Zhao Hong, “What’s the use of being scared? If you’d just kept your cool and turned on the light like I did, there’d be nothing to worry about! Even if you couldn’t turn on the light, what could a dream do to you? Even if it were real, weren’t you protected under a metal steamer? Haven’t you learned any combat? Can’t you fight? Little Pepper’s so short—do you think you’d lose a fight with him?”

“In a dream?” I asked in surprise. “You mean we were dreaming just now?”

Sergeant Iron shook his head. “Not you two—Little Pepper was dreaming! You just happened to get dragged in…”

His words suggested he knew exactly what had happened.

My fear faded, and I poured out everything I’d seen, asking him what was wrong with Little Pepper. Why had we… entered someone else’s dream?

Sergeant Iron told me frankly, “Some things can make dreams manifest as reality… Little Pepper is fine for now, but before long he won’t be able to distinguish dream from reality. And the things you saw in his dreams may well become real.”

“What?!” Zhao Hong and I exclaimed, shocked.

Sergeant Iron then asked me for a cigarette, and after a slow smoke, told us, “Tomorrow at this time, get everyone in the mess hall together and follow my instructions! We’ll draw out the ‘evil spirit’ from Little Pepper, and his dreams won't affect himself or others anymore. But first, we have to…”

Sergeant Iron’s plan was, honestly, a little underhanded.

…The next day, we went through our usual routine of training, cooking, and standing guard. The only difference was that, before Little Pepper went to bed, I secretly slipped two and a half sleeping pills into the water he habitually drank at night, and tricked him into drinking it all!

I was sure that, even if we beat him senseless that night, he wouldn’t wake up.

Around eleven o’clock, Sergeant Iron woke everyone in the mess hall right on time.

Before the operation, he reminded us, “Doubt kills the heart, fear breeds in the mind. No matter what you see, don’t be afraid! If you don’t want to see it, close your eyes. If you don’t want to be involved, step aside now—if the ‘evil spirit’ takes advantage, it’s no laughing matter.”

As expected, only Zhao Hong and I stayed behind.

I knew everyone else was hesitant. With such matters, those who experience them want to see, those who haven’t are better off staying away. Especially in the army, with its strict discipline, most believe less trouble is better.

Which, I suppose, was exactly what Sergeant Iron wanted.

Sergeant Iron then brought out half a white candle for illumination, and placed a raw egg on Little Pepper’s forehead.

Next, he somehow produced some moldy glutinous rice, told us to crush it and roll it into a paper cigarette, then lit it and had Little Pepper inhale the smoke.

That was when Sergeant Iron told me for the first time, “Glutinous rice is magical. The elders say fresh rice can cure corpse poison, moldy rice can draw out malevolent spirits. With this, we have everything we need—except for the ‘eastern wind.’”

I asked Sergeant Iron what the ‘eastern wind’ was. He smiled mysteriously, pulled out a pair of chopsticks from his pocket, and said, “This is the eastern wind! We’ll need these to ‘banish the demon.’”

I eyed the red chopsticks, thinking he must be joking. They were just ordinary chopsticks—nothing special.

Sergeant Iron didn’t explain further, but let his actions speak for themselves.

He cracked the raw egg at the base and balanced it on Little Pepper’s head, then lit a cigarette and smoked silently in the dark. In his right hand, he gripped the red chopsticks like a cook ready to fish out fried dough. He alternated between watching the egg and the glowing tip of his cigarette.

In the hush, we watched as the egg white slowly oozed out, trickling down Little Pepper’s forehead, over his nose, his philtrum, and finally… into his mouth.

Sergeant Iron observed the flow, and when the egg white entered Little Pepper’s mouth, he raised the chopsticks and ordered, “Hold down his arms and legs—no matter what you see, do not be afraid!”

We didn’t know what he meant, but obeyed without question. Once Little Pepper’s limbs were secured, we stared fixedly at the egg, just as Sergeant Iron did.

With our response, Sergeant Iron leaned close to Little Pepper’s ear and began repeating a word over and over.

That word was the same one Little Pepper had been mumbling in recent days: “Meizi, Meizi…”

Moments later, just as the last of the egg white drained away, we suddenly saw Little Pepper’s sleeping mouth slowly open wide!

His mouth widened mechanically, bit by bit, until to our astonishment, it gaped large enough to swallow seven or eight eggs at once.

We all understood immediately: the thing Sergeant Iron called the “evil spirit” was about to emerge from Little Pepper’s mouth.