He never heard her laugh. He never lost himself in her eyes. In life, boy never met girl, but in death they will now be united. The marriage is to take place today, in the grave they share. It is five in the morning, and Yang Xiong walks briskly along a muddy path. A small wiry man in his early fifties, Yang is a master of feng shui. He has already smoked a pack of cigarettes tonight, and the cigarette tucked behind his ear will soon be lit by the one that is currently in his mouth. It is still dark. From time to time the headlights of passing cars throw their bright light on the path, which leads to a hillock. Men stand smoking along the way, their faces prematurely aged.
They look on and say nothing….
Excerpt from Ghost Marriage, Text: Angela Köckritz for ZEIT MAGAZIN