"I thought he'd never go," said Fengzi.
"And I suppose we should, as well."
"Not yet." She stepped around to the other side of the abandoned desk and began pulling on the scroll resting on the writing surface. Only now did Wen realize that the scroll had no beginning and no end; as Fengzi pulled back, older bits of the scroll emerged from the floor in front of the desk, while the newer bits seemed to vanish into the floor between the desk and the demon's stool.
"Damn." She stepped away from the desk, pushing at the scroll in disgust; it rucked up in unruly curls, threatening to spill over onto the floor. "I can't read this," she said. "It's in a script that won't stay still."
"I have the same problem with that pass, or whatever it was, that you showed to get us in here," said Wen. "Can you read that?"
"Well, yes, but I wrote it. This"—she gestured at the offending scroll—"is different. Not only can't I read it, I don't know how to go about getting the ability to read it."
Something smacked against the back of Wen's head. He'd felt that type of impact before, but here it felt much more solid. "Hello, Number One Grandfather," he said.
"You could have waited for us at the main entrance, you know," Number One Grandfather said. Here in hell he looked much more as he must have in life. Wen was surprised that the family had never risen any higher, with this thin, aggressive old stick providing incentive. He was accompanied by six old men of similarly decrepit status, and Wen remembered that the tradition was to perform the rituals directly for only the preceding seven generations. There were six grandfathers here; Father would be number seven, could they find him. And Number One Grandfather, though not included in the Seven Generations Tradition, would have had a fit had anyone suggested he not be involved.
"We had no way of knowing how long it would take you to reach us, honorable one," said Fengzi. She bowed deeply, and for a moment Number One Grandfather preened. Then he grumbled something that an optimist might take for thanks or at least acknowledgment, and turned back to Wen.
"Do I have to remind you, scoundrel, that this is all your fault? None of us would be here had you performed the rituals. Instead, your father reached here with incorrect paperwork, and now not even the demons can find him."
"Xia," Fengzi whispered, as the old man continued to complain, "give him this." She reached for his hand, and pressed something into it. Wen looked down—receiving another smack on the side of the head for his presumptuousness—and saw a piece of pale yellow paper, folded into the shape of a dumpling, sitting on a flat piece of red paper. I don't understand, he thought. But then again I don't understand anything down here, whereas Fengzi seems to. Time to show a bit of trust and faith, I suppose.
"Grandfather," he said when the old man paused for breath, "we have a gift for you, and please also let me apologize for locking you away. I didn't know what I was doing." As he handed the paper objects to Number One Grandfather, they suddenly took on weight and heft, and by the time the old man had them firmly in his grasp, the red paper had become a platter and the yellow a pile of sticky-rice dumplings.
"Wonderful!" one of the grandfathers shouted. "It's the Dragon Boat Festival all over again!"
For a moment Number One Grandfather was speechless. This, however, was only because he had stuffed a dumpling into his mouth and was chewing away at it. Next time I encounter him, thought Wen, I'll be sure to have plenty of glutinous rice on hand.
When eventually the old man was able to speak again, he smiled at Wen. "It wasn't so bad in there, you know," he said. "The pork was delicious, and it lasted a good long time. When you're dead you don't have much of an appetite. Next time, though, think twice before you defy me. Us. I meant what I said before: none of us would be going through this right now —"
"If I'd only performed the rituals. I know, I know. In my defense, though, Grandfather, nobody told me Father had died."
"And whose fault is that? The life you've chosen to lead is a violation of all that's sacred in the filial bonds!"
"And I'm not going to change," Wen said. "After all, Grandfather, who and what were you when you founded our line? What filial bonds did you break?"
For a moment Wen was afraid Number One Grandfather was going to choke to death on his dumpling. Then he realized how stupid such a fear was. "Would it be possible," he asked Fengzi, "for an ancestor to choke himself back to life?"
"Wouldn't it be amusing if things down here worked that way?" she replied. "But no. Sorry, Wen, but likely all that would happen is that he'd become more angry, and fall off the karmic wheel."
"Don't feed me that Buddhist nonsense!" Number One Grandfather shouted—to the evident distaste of Great-Great Grandfather Fu, who evidently had been quite fond of the Buddha in his day.
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