The Sacred Land - Guardian Ghost

My maternal family owns a vast piece of land, part of which was divided among the children after my grandfather passed away. My mother lives in Hanoi, while Uncle D. and Uncle C. each have their own homes. My grandmother resides in a small house at the back of Uncle C.'s yard, where she tends to the ancestral altar. In 2005, Aunt T. returned to build her house, creating a family gathering space. However, an eerie phenomenon looms over this land: except for my mother and Aunt T., who gave birth to sons while living in Hanoi, everyone residing here has only had daughters. Uncle D. has two daughters, and Uncle C., despite struggling with infertility for years, eventually had two daughters as well.

In 2006, the family of Uncle C.'s brother-in-law and Aunt T.'s sister-in-law moved into the area, and they, too, gave birth to four daughters. Even among my grandmother's siblings, only the eldest—who gave birth to a son in Thanh Hoa—escaped this pattern; the rest also only have daughters. When Linh, Uncle D.'s daughter, got married and became pregnant, everyone predicted it would be a girl—and they were right. Some people speculate that the gender of children is influenced by the energy of the land, claiming that daughters belong to the Yin realm...

In 2002, while in 10th grade, I returned to my hometown to pay respects at the ancestral graves. While wandering, I noticed a gravestone with Chinese inscriptions. Curious, I asked my mother about it, and she revealed a family secret, a tale that occurred when she was just 12 years old.

My grandfather worked at the Hong Ha ballpoint pen factory and often worked late shifts, sometimes returning home as late as 1 or 2 a.m. My grandparents' old house was a single-room structure typical of the countryside, with a bed on the right side where the five children huddled together to sleep.

One drizzly night, my grandmother and mother were chatting, waiting for my grandfather to return. Suddenly, they heard noises from the garden, faint at first but growing louder—a rhythmic clatter, like horse hooves. Alarmed, my grandmother rose to light a candle and check who might be entering the yard on such a rainy night. Before she could act, the wooden door latch fell, and the door swung open, letting in a cold, biting wind. Uncle D. and Uncle C., just 8 or 9 years old at the time, woke up and clung to her in fear. The chilling sound of horse hooves grew louder, and then a figure on horseback burst into the room.

My mother screamed—it was a general clad in a military uniform, brandishing a saber. But his head was missing. The horse neighed violently, its cry freezing them in terror. Just then, they heard the gate latch click. The headless general turned his horse and galloped toward the river as my grandfather entered the house.

Hearing the family's panicked account, my grandfather, without hesitation, rolled up his pants, grabbed a sandal and a machete, and ran after the ghost. My grandmother screamed at him to stop, but he ignored her. That night, he didn’t return.

The next morning, he came back with a single sandal in hand. He refused to speak about what happened that night, maintaining his silence until the day he passed away. The events of that rainy night remain a haunting mystery.

After his return, my grandmother hastily invited a shaman and monks to perform an exorcism. They led her to the bamboo grove by the riverbank and instructed her to dig 1.5 meters down. Following their guidance, the family unearthed the remains of a horse and a headless man in a military uniform. A ritual was performed, and from that day forward, our family began worshiping the headless general as a guardian deity. Remarkably, in times of hardship, we often found ourselves inexplicably overcoming challenges.

Mentioning my grandmother is like invoking a living legend—a woman surrounded by mystery and enigma. Her story is far from over, and I will share more about her in the future...