On the fourth day of the Lunar New Year, according to custom, families visit relatives and bring their daughters home for the New Year. Grandma's father and brother came, and since the family could only eat porridge made with dried sweet potatoes, they couldn't afford meat. Normally, they add plenty of water, just enough to avoid starvation. This time, since Grandma's father was coming, they added an extra generous amount of dried sweet potatoes.

But just as the family was eating the porridge, the smell of meat wafted in. It was incredibly fragrant, something I'd never smelled before. My father, still a child at the time, ran out when he smelled the meat, but Grandpa brought him back and locked him inside.

Grandma, curious, asked whose family the meat was from. Grandma's father replied, "What a sin! I've smelled that before! It's human flesh." The whole family was so shocked they couldn't even eat their porridge.

A few days later, a woman surnamed Liu from the village was heard crying, and onlookers realized that it was Liu Laoba who had eaten his own grandson that day. Liu Laoba's sons had all fled, leaving the family without food or friends. On New Year's Eve, Liu Laoba starved all day. On the second day of the Lunar New Year, his grandson ran over ten miles to his grandfather's house to ask for food. Liu Laoba was delighted and immediately fetched two large jars of water. His grandson asked what he was doing, and Liu Laoba replied, "I'm cooking for you." The grandson, delighted, asked what his grandfather was making. Liu Laoba smiled quizzically and said, "You'll know in a moment."

When the water boiled, Liu Laoba skinned his grandson and ate him.

A few days later, Liu Laoba's daughter, noticing her son's absence, came looking for him. Liu Laoba said his grandson hadn't come, but after seeing his son's tiny shoes and a pile of bones behind the door, she understood what had happened and cried uncontrollably at Liu Laoba's door.

This incident caused quite a stir. From then on, adults forbade their children from visiting relatives.

Since the destruction of the Huayuankou Dam on the Yellow River during the Anti-Japanese War, the Huanghuai region has become a floodplain. The Yellow River floodplain is characterized by a dense network of rivers and heavy silt, with rivers appearing everywhere. This was the reason Huang Wei's troops struggled to execute their operations during the Huaihai Campaign. After the founding of the People's Republic of China, the state undertook a major renovation of the Huanghuai region. On one hand, reservoirs were built across Henan Province, and on the other, river channels were dredged, diverting water from the Ru River and Huai River into the Yangtze River and reducing waterlogging.

In the 1950s, productivity was relatively backward, and without machinery, river dredging had to rely on manual labor, commonly known as "dredging the river."

The hot summer heat and the rainy season made it unsuitable for construction, so the task of dredging the river naturally fell into late autumn. Every household was required to contribute labor, and those without labor were required to contribute half the labor. Normally, no one wanted this hard labor, but that year, the canal diggers were given a food subsidy of entirely cornmeal, so the effort was overwhelming, with nearly every undisplaced village laborer taking up the task.

The project lasted three months, until the Lunar New Year. During the Lunar New Year holiday, the construction site closed for an extended period. This was partly due to the Spring Festival, and partly because the weather was so cold that the riverbed froze over, making it impossible to dig. After the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the village began digging the river again. Back then, digging often involved working in groups. A few people would share a plot of land, chatting and laughing as they worked, then resting after finishing. The village officials weren't fools; they had estimated the workload, so everyone was working hard.

My grandfather was quite strong, and everyone wanted to dig with him. Being a simple man, he agreed without much thought. Later, he noticed that the others were slacking off, so he was the only one working hard. It wasn't their fault, really; they couldn't even get enough to eat, so how could they have the energy to work?

That day, everyone had diarrhea from stale food, so they all found excuses to go home and rest. Only my grandfather's group continued digging. At dusk, the village officials saw my grandfather's group still working, and were moved. They praised them publicly. Word spread throughout the village, and except for my grandfather, the others were all scolded by their wives, who accused them of wasting their time. The person being praised wasn't happy, so he left work early the next day without finishing it. Grandpa was left alone to work. At 11 p.m. on the 20th day of the first lunar month, the work was finally finished, and Grandpa wanted to pee. Normally, he could have done it right there, but he was a frugal man. As the saying goes, "Good water should stay in the fields," even if it wasn't his own land, he'd pee in the fields, ensuring every drop of urine went where it was meant to go. In modern parlance, it's called "peeing in the fields."

At that time, a half-moon shone on the riverbed, and the shadows of the trees were sparse. Grandpa crossed the weir and groped his way toward the wheat field. Suddenly, his left foot missed a step and he fell into a pit, his upper body wedged outside. Gradually, he climbed out with his hands, turned on his flashlight, and discovered he'd stepped into a deep, seemingly freshly dug hole.

It's said that while our ancestors avoided discussing the past, they were frank with their descendants. Li Chengfeng and his family settled in Anhui and left shortly thereafter. My grandfather was still young at the time, and he relied on his great-grandfather to teach him many things. He had some theoretical knowledge, but his practice was always limited. By the time my grandfather arrived, even the theoretical knowledge wasn't as strong as it used to be, he'd only retained his courage.

This was actually a robber's hole, but my grandfather had never seen one. He assumed it must be a tomb, but he wasn't sure if it was ancient. He threw a stone down, and from the sound, it was five or six meters deep. Without a rope, he plunged down, found a stone, blocked the hole, and then covered it with dirt and hay before leaving. Now I think of it as if my grandfather was Anhui's "Living Lei Feng." If anyone had been working down there, they would have suffocated.

After returning, my grandfather ate, drank, and worked as usual, without missing a beat, as if nothing had happened. The next afternoon, the production team leader arrived and said, "Changde, Uncle Guangsheng is sick, and the women's cooking isn't very good. I heard you're a good cook, so you should cook from now on and just step away from the canal digging."

Grandpa didn't say anything, but his teammates weren't happy. Everyone wanted the most capable person to leave, but their words were useless, so Grandpa went to the stove anyway. He cooked during the day and sat on the weir at night, watching everyone dig the canal. He kept trying to find a chance to go down the tunnel, but when work was over, the villagers would slump over him, clamoring for him to go home together, and he never found a chance.

This went on for days, until Grandpa finally came up with an idea. At the end of the day, he deliberately knocked over the peanuts on the stove, spilling them all over the floor. Everyone had long been annoyed by Grandpa's idleness at the weir, and with no one to help him, he picked up the peanuts alone until late at night. After everyone had left, Grandpa took out the rope he had prepared, strapped a kitchen knife to his waist, and, armed with a flashlight and spare batteries, headed down the tunnel. In the fading darkness, Grandpa found the stone. He moved it and shone his flashlight downward, revealing a thief's hole that sloped downward, bottomless. The shovel marks along the edge of the hole were clear and obvious, indicating it was dug by someone, not a natural cave.

Ordinarily, if someone had been inside before, there was no need to go back. But back then, we were so poor, and the family had no valuables, so we had to go. Besides, since Grandma married into the family, she'd been running the household, and Grandpa hadn't made any significant contributions, so he wanted to show off and bring home some silver coins.

Whatever happened, I went in first.

In our hometown, there's a tradition of gleaning wheat fields. After the harvest, we always look back and collect any remaining wheat. With that in mind, Grandpa went down the hole.

He tied a rope to a tree as thick as a bowl, made a knot, and tied the other end around his waist. The rope was incredibly thick, and it took several minutes to chop it with a kitchen knife. After tying it, a sudden gust of wind blew over, causing Grandpa to sneeze loudly. He was a bit scared. After all, he was going down to the tomb alone late at night. Although he often visited mass graves, he had never been alone. After a moment's hesitation, he steeled himself and went down anyway. He thought, "Who cares if there are ghosts? Let's just wait and see with the kitchen knife."

Sliding down the rope, after a minute or two, he reached the bottom of the cave. Who knew the robbers had dug a hole above the tomb chamber, leaving his feet completely suspended in the air? If he hadn't braked in time, he would have fallen. No wonder there was almost no echo from throwing stones; the tomb chamber was so deep. Gazing down with the flashlight, he saw a square shape, covering over 20 square meters, with a massive coffin in the center, its lid intact. It was a large tomb, but he had never heard of anyone building one this large. Without giving it a second thought, Grandpa followed the rope down to the bottom. As he landed, he felt something strange beneath his feet. He instinctively shone his flashlight down and gasped. Beneath him were two dead bodies. They were none other than Liu Lao Ba, the man who had eaten his grandson, and the village scoundrel.

Grandpa was startled and immediately considered darting back to the surface, but the tomb walls were slippery, and he lost his grip on the rope, falling onto the scoundrel. The scoundrel was Liu Lao Ba's nephew, a lazy and gluttonous man, and his association with Liu Lao Ba had led to nothing but bad behavior. Grandpa scrambled away from the scoundrel. After calming down a bit, he saw that Liu Lao Ba and the scoundrel had no obvious injuries, but the ground was covered in blood, a horrific sight.

The cause of death was unclear. Grandpa figured, since he was already inside, he'd have to get the jar of foreign currency before leaving. He walked around the tomb and found numerous sharp, upright blades arranged in a rectangular pattern at the four corners of the wall. Grandpa suddenly realized that Liu Lao Ba and Lai Pi Han might have died on the rectangular blade. If Lai Pi Han and Liu Lao Ba hadn't been lying there, he would have been pierced.

Shining his flashlight into the tomb, Grandpa saw two lines of traditional Chinese characters on the white wall: "I'm leaving. Don't miss me too much." Grandpa chuckled, thinking, "I don't even know who you are, how could I miss you?" Then he realized it was for his children. But there was no grass on the grave, so his children probably had no idea how long they'd been dead.

Next, Grandpa saw a mural next to the two lines of text. It was all Buddha images. The Buddhas had strange expressions, and Grandpa had the feeling they were watching him, as if they were trying to take him away. Suddenly, he felt something pressing against his lower back. He was so frightened that he didn't move for a long time. Turning around, he realized he had bumped into a coffin.