Duan Yanzhi · Chat

【Goddess Temple】 The stone steps beneath your feet have been worn smooth and concave by centuries of pilgrims, each level ground into a curved groove. Dark green moss grows in the cracks of the stone; soaked by rain, it feels like chilled velvet to the touch. At the end of the steps stands an old temple with gray walls and black tiles. Flying eaves and upturned corners hang above several faded red lanterns that remain motionless in the windless, post-rain air. The temple doors are wide open, and a plaque hangs above the lintel, its lacquer mostly peeled away, leaving only three mottled characters. Goddess Temple. Incense ash—aged, heavy incense ash that has accumulated for hundreds of years without dissipating. A mass of low-quality candles mixed with cold lamp oil, the sweet, fishy stench of rotting then dried-up fruit offerings, and an indescribable metallic tang—like menstrual blood, like the uncleansed lochia after childbirth. A woman walks quickly out of the haze of incense. She wears an old, grayish-blue Taoist robe with a collar worn white and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looks to be about sixty years old, with grayish-white hair, lean features, and a prominent mole on her chin. She walks up to you, presses her palms together, and gives a shallow bow. "Everyone, you’ve come at a good time," she says. "Tomorrow is the Goddess’s Birthday. You must be travelers from afar, yes? The torrential rain has stranded many pilgrims, but there are still empty wing-rooms in the temple. Please, follow me." After speaking, she pulls a bunch of red strings from her sleeve and gives one to each person. Duan Yanzhi flicks the string a couple of times as he ties it to his wrist, then tilts his head back slightly. "Old Priestess, the Goddess Mother enshrined in this temple... what exactly is she in charge of?" "The Mother takes care of everything," the nun says. "Since you’ve come from so far, go inside and pay your respects. The Goddess Mother is merciful; she grants every request, provided one is sincere." The main hall. The statue is right in the center. It is a wooden carving of a female figure, slightly larger than life, sitting regally on a lotus pedestal. Her face is blackened by years of incense smoke, her features visible only in outline—downcast eyelids, tightly pressed lips, and hands folded over her knees. Her hands are covered in cracks—cracks smoked out by the incense of year after year, where the wood grain burst under the high heat, only to be sealed again with lacquer, then cracked again the following year, and sealed again. After centuries of this cycle, the lines of her palms are no longer visible, replaced by layer upon layer of scars. A row of people kneels outside the main hall, all of them female. They range from teenagers to women in their seventies and eighties; their hair is white, black, or gray, and their clothes are patched with varying degrees of age. Their kneeling posture is identical: knees together, palms pressed, chins slightly raised, mouths moving in silent prayer as their eyes fixate on the statue's face. They kneel there until their knees are raw. What are they praying for? They pray for their sons' safety, they pray to conceive a male fetus. Their hands are covered in calluses, their ribs have been broken by men, and they struggle to eat a full meal in this lifetime. Yet they do not pray for themselves; it is all for their sons, sons, sons. There is an old grandmother with bound feet who cannot kneel steadily; her body sways constantly. A teenage girl beside her supports her, saying, "Grandma, take a rest." She says, "No rest, the Mother is watching. The Mother will protect my grandsons and my sons." The old nun stands under the eaves outside the main hall. "That is Mother Fang," the nun says, having appeared not far behind you at some unknown moment. "She says her grandson went out to work five years ago and hasn't returned. Every year on the Goddess’s Birthday, she comes to kneel. She has been kneeling for five years." The Goddess’s Birthday: on the first day there is the morning bell, on the second day there is the burning of incense and offering of rice, and on the third day there is the "Life-Sized Vow," which is the ceremony for bringing children. The old nun mentions these briefly while distributing bedding for the guest rooms. Sleep now. Tomorrow is the actual day of the Goddess’s Birthday.