Fairyland of Liaozhai

Let it be spoken and let it be heard, rain falls like silk upon bean trellises and melon vines. One might tire of earthly words, preferring instead the poetry sung by ghosts at autumn graves.

...

Shen Shi felt as if his face had shattered.

He barely managed to open his eyes, only to shut them again at once; even the slightest movement sent sharp pains coursing through every nerve in his face, radiating across his entire body, every inch aching as if torn apart.

After lying still for a while with his eyes closed, the pain eased somewhat.

Bearing the agony that wracked his whole body, Shen Shi struggled to sit up. His fingers told him, unmistakably, that he was lying on straw—there was no mistaking that texture.

Slowly gathering his strength, Shen Shi opened his eyes once more. Before him, a mottled brown locust with patterned wings twitched its antennae, its black, beady eyes glancing at Shen Shi with apparent disdain. It showed no fear, continuing to twitch its feelers.

Shen Shi grew furious.

He felt that the locust regarded him as nothing but a loser, and this contempt stoked his anger. He reached out and snatched the insect.

“Hey! You’ve come around? Don’t waste it—here, this is tastier than chicken drumsticks in a place like this,” came the voice of an old man.

Without thinking, Shen Shi shoved the locust into his mouth and chewed fiercely.

It tasted surprisingly good, with a faint salty flavor and juicy flesh.

As he chewed, Shen Shi tried to stand. All around him was unfamiliar—a blackened wall,