The old man seemed to be blind and didn't notice anything amiss with the money.
It's truly a sign of the world going to the dogs and people losing their morals. This old man is so old, yet he still comes out to do business. It's not easy for him, and he actually got scammed with ghost money.
But I didn't pay much attention to it. This place was a bit eerie anyway, and maybe the old man could tell it was ghost money. He just liked collecting those things.
The transaction was complete. The young man stood up and quickly disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the bridge arch. The old man continued humming a tune, seemingly in a good mood, fiddling with his things.
"What are they saying?" Li Huai leaned close to my ear, his voice trembling slightly. "What's this about West Mountain and East Mountain? What kind of junk are they selling? And that young man was giving them ghost money, wasn't he?"
"It's probably soil or ash from a specific place, with a special purpose. As for how much money people pay when they buy it, that's none of your business."
I replied in a low voice.
There are also extraordinary people in the folk, and some of them know some magic to ward off evil spirits.
Those spells often require soil, ash, bone meal, and other materials from different places, so it's normal to sell these things.
We had chicken throat bone powder and grave soil in our hands, so we didn't need these things and continued walking to the second stall.
The second stall was run by a middle-aged woman.
She had a perm with big waves, wore an old cotton-padded jacket with a red background and white flowers, had a sallow complexion, and high cheekbones.
I couldn't help but glance at her a few more times. The temperature here was indeed a bit low, but surely not enough to warrant wearing a thick cotton-padded coat?
The things she sold were both strange and normal in a way: dozens of paper-cut figures.
However, these paper figures are different from those sold in normal funeral homes. They are only the size of a palm and are roughly made of white paper, depicting men and women, young and old.
Each paper figure had a red dot on its chest made of cinnabar ink, and there seemed to be some words written on its back.
The writing was too small for me to read.
Moreover, they are very different from normal paper figures in that their faces are painted with lifelike expressions, and their eyes are also highlighted.
A gust of cold wind blew by, and the paper figures seemed to turn around in unison, all looking at me. I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine.
The woman was bowing her head, holding an extremely fine brush in her hand, dipping it in dark red ink from a small dish beside her, and carefully drawing eyes on a blank paper figure.
She painted very slowly and carefully, and after finishing one eye, she would examine it against the cold light for a while.
I couldn't help but wonder, when normal people make paper figures, the focus is on the shape of the paper figure. They are all made of bamboo and are the same size as normal people, so they look no different from normal people from a distance.
But once you get close, you can tell from their expressions that they're not real people.
She did the opposite; the paper figures she made were only the size of a palm, and they were made rather haphazardly, with loose and flimsy bodies. Only the expressions and eyes were extremely lifelike.
Just then, an old woman dressed in conspicuous funeral clothes, with a hunched back, walked shakily to the stall.
Luo Tianhe, Li Huai, and I exchanged bewildered glances.
Why would someone wear a funeral shroud in public?
The old man was carrying a photograph on his back, a black-and-white portrait of a woman, which should be her own.
I know that some elderly people in rural areas have the habit of taking their own funeral photos in advance, but I have never seen them wearing their funeral clothes in public!
Are you coming to a place that makes paper figures to buy one for yourself?
Isn't this a bit too much of a precaution?
The old woman greeted us, and we quickly returned the greeting. She gave us a smile as bright as a blooming chrysanthemum, then turned her head away shakily.
"Sister, how much are these paper figures?"
No, you're almost old enough to be her mother, and you're still calling her "big sister"?
I couldn't help but mutter to myself, while Luo Tianhe and Li Huai also widened their eyes in surprise.
The woman didn't even look up, continuing to paint her eyes, saying calmly:
"Little sister, I'm not selling paper figures here. If you want to buy paper figures, go check out the other stalls."
An old woman called a middle-aged woman "elder sister," and the middle-aged woman called the old woman "younger sister." This scene was somewhat strange.
We silently took two steps back and watched in silence.
Upon hearing this, the old man carried the portrait to other stalls.
Soon, a middle-aged man walked over quickly. He went straight to the stall, so he must have known what was sold there.
He pointed at one of the women who was crying, his voice hoarse: "How long can this thing last?"
The woman didn't even look up, and said indifferently, "It depends on how tight things are over there. If it's loose, it'll take three to five years; if it's tight, it should be two or three months. As usual, pay half the deposit first, and the rest after it's done."
The middle-aged man was silent for a moment, then pulled a dirty red cloth bag from his pocket.
He opened it and found a small strand of hair tied with a red string, along with a few clipped fingernails that had dried and turned black. He carefully placed the items on the middle-aged woman's stall.
The middle-aged woman then stopped what she was doing, glanced at the hair and nails, nodded, and then handed her crying paper figure to the middle-aged man.
The middle-aged man took it, carefully put it in his pocket, looked around, glared at us who were staring at him, and then slowly walked away.
Putting aside the bizarre currency they used for transactions, even their conversations seemed extremely strange.
"Replace what?" Li Huai's eyes widened, clearly thinking of something bad.
“A substitute, a substitute for death, a substitute for disaster…” My voice was dry.
This is a widely circulated evil practice that uses paper dolls with birth dates or personal items to take the place of living people and bear disasters or even death. I never expected to witness such a transaction here.
It seems this ghost market is indeed very eerie.
We shivered and decided not to linger.
If this middle-aged woman discovers our birth dates and times and turns us into paper effigies, then we're doomed.
The third stall, however, exuded a completely different kind of liveliness, just like a daytime market, which piqued our interest.
The stall owner was a bald, fat man with his shirt open, revealing his round belly, seemingly unconcerned about the cold.
He had a gold chain as thick as his little finger hanging around his neck, and he was talking animatedly to the three or four people surrounding him.
"Look, look! This is the real deal, brought over from Southeast Asia! Blessed by a high monk, it has boundless magical power. Carry it with you, and evil spirits will be driven away, bringing you great fortune!"
He held a small wooden plaque, threaded with black silk and carved into a hideous ghost face, and waved it in front of the group.
That thing could scare a child to tears, and it's supposed to be a talisman? That's way too outrageous.
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