Ancient Chinese invented solar terms by meticulously observing the natural world in relation to solar movements. Even today, farmers in different parts of China rely on them to guide their agricultural practices throughout the year. While this story is fictional, it incorporates some elements that deviate from traditional Chinese customs. The story is for the season of spring, which has now fully blossomed. It consists of six parts, each named after one of the spring solar terms, namely Beginning of Spring, Rain Water, Awakening of Insects, Spring Equinox, Pure and Bright, and Grain Rain. I hope you enjoy it.

Spring

Part I: Awakening of Insects

Gu could barely stay still. Awakening of Insects was here. He could feel it through the ground, which softened after the long winter. The gentle yet incessant rain drenched the earth and soaked Gu’s tiny but tidy coffin. Usually, he would be irritated that his clothes would not dry for days. But the rain promised a significant event for the dead at this time of the year. The sporadic thunders vibrated the ground, loosening the earth and waking up the hibernating insects. In moments of silence, Gu could hear earthworms wiggle through the soil and gently brush against the walls of his coffin. Even as a dead boy, he felt alive. He felt spirited.

The excitement was palpable among Gu’s fellow graveyard mates from this ancestral burial ground in Zhao’s Village. The village’s origins dated back to a farmer named Zhao, who settled on the land hundreds of years ago and started a family. Over the generations, the family had grown so large that today, despite sharing the same ancestor and family name, most members of Zhao’s Village did not consider each other blood relatives. The ancestral graveyard, located tens of miles from the town center, was shared by a handful of families who claimed to be the direct descendants of the first Zhao.

Even underground, life was no less tumultuous than it was above. Spending eternity together didn’t make things any easier for the villagers. The reasons to hate each other followed them six feet under; clashing personalities, annoying habits, crossed boundaries, manipulated decisions, old bickers that continued into the afterlife, and new disputes between individuals born ten generations apart. Yet, people set aside their conflicts at this time of the year. Qing Ming, the only day when the dead could safely return to the world of the living and celebrate with their family, was fast approaching. Every deceased looked brighter. Conversations ran deep into the night about which relatives would visit, what tributes they hoped to receive, and most frequently, the various dreams they planned to send to their loved ones, hoping they would come true.

Strictly speaking, Gu was not “in” the graveyard. He passed away at a young age, just eight years old, towards the end of the Ming Dynasty. Traditions forbade a minor to lie within the ancestral graveyard, so Gu’s final place was just outside its borders, marked by a mound of earth that had long since flattened. None of his direct families rested there, but Gu did not mind. As an orphan, he had garnered the affection of many of the graveyard residents. They granted him access to almost every corner of the underground world, a live replica of the world above, albeit without its living participants. Despite the similarities, life underground was ghostly due to the lack of Yang. Gu did not mind either. He relished the freedom he had never known during his short life as a peasant son. Every day, he roamed around, exploring new places he hadn’t discovered. Sometimes he revisited his favorite spots and spent hours figuring out what had changed since his last visit. As a perpetual eight-year-old, Gu was never tired.

To be continued next week….