The next day, the village chief came early with people to help, arranging everything in an orderly manner.

Grandma walked unsteadily to my side and handed me a plastic bag.

I opened it and saw a messy, dark, pungent-smelling mixture.

"Give it to your father, it works."

I frowned and held the bag away from my body. Grandma became anxious, "It works, give it to him."

The village chief, seeing this, chimed in, "Bone-healing remedy, more than a dozen herbs ground together, a secret recipe of Miao medicine. Difficult to make, worth a try!"

I nodded reluctantly, but I felt it was unreliable. My father's leg had already recovered quite well with modern medical technology; he didn't need such a folk remedy.

I should quickly finish the arrangements and go back to take care of him. My wife was also waiting for her shift.

The process went smoothly. Most of the people who came were middle-aged and older, seemingly indifferent to whose funeral it was, treating it as an opportunity to eat and drink together.

Master Yang put on his mask again and wore a brown animal skin, circling around the coffin and performing Nuo opera.

The elderly man in his nineties danced until he was exhausted.

Another elderly person, also in his nineties, a white-haired person bidding farewell to another white-haired person, I brought a chair for her to sit and watch.

I thought she would shed a few tears, but she didn't.

The wrinkles around her eyes extended haphazardly, like a dried-up pond with no water left inside.

No one cried throughout the entire funeral.

When it came to lifting the coffin, it was made of solid wood and quite heavy, so the village chief found six strong young men to carry it.

The coffin was placed in the hall, and the main entrance was slightly narrow.

The village chief arranged for the recently fed and energized young men to line up in front of the door and enter one by one.

I stood nearby, breathed a sigh of relief, and watched my uncle being taken to the grave. That should be the end of it.

But then, Grandma went crazy.

As the young men entered the door, she suddenly stood up, moving so fast that she didn't look like an old lady at all, muttering words in her mouth.

"Yī lā xià yí má sè, dāo zāo."

"Má dǎ, yī lā xià yí má sè."

"Yī lā xià yí má sè, dāo zāo."

"Má dǎ, yī lā xià yí má sè."

...

With her hands folded on her abdomen, she recited these lines, bowing to everyone present like a robot, with a standard and precise manner.

Combined with the coffin in the room, the scene became extremely eerie, and the young men were all stunned.

I rushed over and hugged Grandma, trying to stop her, and shouted at the village chief, "Continue, bury him quickly! I'll handle her."

Finally, the burial proceeded peacefully, without any more strange incidents. Due to her hysterical episode just now, Grandma fell asleep exhausted.

After finishing up, the village chief came over to bid me farewell and led everyone down the mountain.

Except for Master Yang, who sat on the chair where Grandma had been, closing his eyes to rest.

Grandma lay on the bed, tilting her head and pursing her lips, looking like a child.

He was buried, but it seemed like the matter was far from over.

I rubbed my head, unable to understand.

Among the people present, I should have been the only one who understood what she was reciting—it was Japanese.

"Welcome, please have a seat."

Bowing.

"Welcome, we hope to see you again."

Bowing.

"Welcome, please have a seat."

Bowing.

...

Things seemed to be getting beyond my comprehension.

Grandma, what have you experienced?