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.

While waiting, time seemed to crawl for Gu. He was tossing around in anguish when a commotion caught the attention of the graveyard. A burial was taking place. Gu could hear the sound of people stomping the ground above. They came, barely stayed, and left. The brevity of the event puzzled Gu and distracted him from his preoccupation with Qing Ming. He felt almost relieved that he could think about something else. Was there even a funeral? Where was the crying?

Then it started, with a child’s weeping that persisted throughout the night. The following day, a woman joined in, her initially controlled sobbing quickly escalating into piercing wails. Soon both were crying at the top of their lungs like blaring sirens. They seemed to be together, yet they sounded so far apart. This mournful chorus continued until the night enveloped all sounds of life. It repeated for days.

People connected the dots in the world underground. A child died. As customs dictated, the family laid him to rest quietly without a funeral. The woman, his mother, didn’t get to cry at the burial, which she was prohibited from attending. The loss was too much for her to bear. But she came later, all by herself.

“That woman should just let the kid go.” muttered Major Zhao, picking out a new stick to replace his rotted one. Gu helped collect the wood from around the graveyard, mostly off broken and deserted coffins.

Gu looked up from removing splinters. He pondered whether his mother clung to him so fiercely. It would have been nice.

As if sensing Gu’s thoughts, Major Zhao added, “It’s not right. We dead shouldn’t be lingering up there for that long. Kid had better come down before it’s too late.”;

Later, Gu lay in his coffin; his eyes closed as he fought off the dread that something awful had befallen the child. The night was too quiet without his weeping. Gu knew there was nothing he could do. The portal to the living world opened only once a year. He had planned to take advantage of this chance on Qing Ming, the only safe day to do so, like the rest of his community. Yet Gu was restless. He let his mind drift, hoping it would get exhausted and shut down, only to find himself slipping deeper into his early memories of being dead.

It was Grain Rain, the end of April, right before Gu’s first day of school. Despite his excitement, Gu was nervous about his father’s attempt to give him the haircut required for new students. His father struggled to trim the patch of hair on top of Gu’s head, leaving him with non-serious but painful cuts. His blades must be rusty, for the blood Gu wiped off spotted black. As a farmer’s son, Gu knew attending school had never been an option. However, he grew up as a companion to the landlord’s only son, who refused to go to school without him. Reluctantly, the landlord paid for Gu’s admission to please his most beloved. Gu knew he would be the oldest student in his class. The poorest one too. But he still very much anticipated the luxury none of his family had ever known, going to school with his master but also best friend, learning to read and write, and getting a proper name.

Gu was feverish and drowsy for days. When he woke, he found himself wrapped loosely in a mat of straw. He rolled himself out and sat up. In the distance, the sun had yet to rise. It was before dawn. To his right stood box-shaped silhouettes of various sizes. Gu moved closer. To his horror, he realized that some of the shadows were headstones, washed anew from a night of rain and glimmering under the faint moonlight. Others were coffins, but they were placed on the ground rather than buried underneath. Overwhelmed with the gruesome scene, he buried his head in his chest and began to weep.

Gu was so immersed in his tears that he didn’t notice the people emerging from their coffins and gathering around him. He shuddered at the cold touch on his shoulder and was startled to see the concerned faces looming over him.

“Poor child, what is your name?”; asked a lady who held him in her arms, her voice floaty and soothing.

It then occurred to Gu that he only had a nickname. He died. He died before he even went to school and received a proper name! The thought made him cry harder.

“How about we call you Grain, after Grain Rain.” The lady proposed. “A good rain brings forth a hundred kinds of grains. You have suffered enough in your past life. From now on, you will have all the grains in the world. You will never go hungry again.”

To be continued next week….