Corpse Retriever

Everything felt like it had gone back to a time long past.

Four brothers, led by their parents, used to go work at the river together, just like this.

That was probably why Li Weihan was so invested in this river-dredging effort. His sons had all started families of their own and had kids to raise. These days, they were each busy with their own households, and that inevitably led to some friction.

Only at times like this—when they carried tools on their backs, pushed carts side by side, and returned to being nothing more than individuals with a common goal—could they recapture a glimmer of those old feelings and memories.

Still, this warmth was bound to be fleeting. In large families with many mouths to feed, money was always tight, and the same conflicts inevitably arose. Maybe once times improved and they got older, they could finally let go of their grudges and schemes, and reconnect for real as a family.

Or maybe, they’d never let go. Maybe they’d drift apart for good, brothers in name only.

As the group moved steadily forward, the uncles kept pointing things out to Li Zhuiyuan, Panzi, and Leizi.

”This levee? We built it back in the day. We were just kids then, so we could only help carry dirt from the back.”

”This reservoir too—we built it. It was so cold then, the water was all frozen over.”

”And this ditch? We dug that. Panzi and Leizi were still tiny back then, haha.”Listening to them, Li Zhuiyuan kept peering out from the cart. Something stirred in his heart. He’d always thought all this infrastructure was just supposed to be there—but now he realized it hadn’t always existed.

All these waterworks, now found in every village, were imprints of a fading era. Crystallized from sweat and labor, they were the legacy of a generation that had shouldered shovels and buckets without complaint.

As the Siyuan Village team marched on, they merged with groups from other villages. The crowd grew until you couldn’t see where it started or ended.

Each village leader carried a flag with their village name, while township leaders held even larger flags and bullhorns.

The flags were tattered, the characters barely legible, and the bullhorns didn’t even work anymore, rusted through. But their symbolic value remained. The habits and self-discipline forged over decades were etched into every heart.

Li Weihan’s tools had been split up among his sons, so he had the luxury to light his water pipe. The smoke drifted up, blurring his gaze—maybe from the smoke, maybe from something in his heart being stirred.

“I remember when we were rushing to finish the work,” he said. “The arts troupe came to perform, cheer us on. One of them—I don’t remember who—said something like:

If we don’t build this levee now, if we don’t dig this river, if we don’t build this reservoir, then it’ll be up to our kids to do it. Better we eat this bitterness now, so they won’t have to.

Looking back now, they were right.

Panzi, Leizi—they won’t have to dredge rivers like this anymore.”

The uncles all nodded in agreement. Life really was easier now than it used to be.

The worksite was far. Teams from several towns had to set out early in the morning, and only reached it around noon.

There were temporary shelters at the site, and nearby homes had been requisitioned to provide hot water and dry food.

You could go fetch hot water anytime. Dry food was distributed in batches by the village teams.

The Li family sat together, eating scallion rolls. The uncles took out salted sauce and pickles from home.

“You like it, Little Yuanhou?” asked Uncle Sheng.

“Yeah. It’s really good.” Li Zhuiyuan tore into the roll, savoring the blend of scallion and dough.

“Nowadays they feed us. Back when I worked rivers with your grandparents, we brought our own food. Couldn’t even get hot water—we had to boil it ourselves.”

After lunch, there was no time to rest. The officials started assigning work sections.

Soon, Li Zhuiyuan saw the floodplain fill with people, tools over shoulders, carts rolling into a half-dried riverbed. They looked like ants.

But they weren’t small or pitiful. They were awe-inspiring.

Divided into little teams, they shouted out work chants and threw themselves into the job with fiery energy.

Li Zhuiyuan hadn’t been brought to work—he was too young. He wasn’t assigned a task. Nearby, a bunch of kids who’d also come with their parents were playing, some still munching on rolls.

But Li Zhuiyuan didn’t feel like playing with them. He followed Panzi and Leizi, pushing carts and hauling dirt.

That’s when a group of college students came over, asking Panzi’s group to help tie a string for measurements. Li Zhuiyuan got assigned to hold a wooden stake.

Beside him were two students—one measuring, one recording. From their conversation, he learned their names: Xue Liangliang did the measuring, Zhao Hequan took notes.

Zhao Hequan said with a grin, “We won’t see many projects like this anymore. The younger students won’t get sent to construction sites like us. Lucky them.”

Xue Liangliang called out a number, then shook his head and replied:

“No, there’ll only be more projects like this. But the country won’t need to mobilize mass volunteer labor anymore. The hardest days are nearly behind us. Things will only get better.”

“Xue Liangliang, what are you talking about?”

“You don’t believe me?” Xue Liangliang smiled. “Just wait. One day, projects like this will be so small they won’t even register.”

“If they’re that insignificant, why are we still out here?”

“I said they’ll become insignificant. Not that they are now. Nantong is right by the Yangtze’s mouth. All these waterworks—first for transport, second for irrigation, and most importantly, for flood control.

Without this groundwork, there’d be no future development.”

“Heh,” Zhao Hequan laughed, thinking his partner a bit of a fool.

When they finished, Xue Liangliang straightened up, stretched, and looked out at the organized chaos of the worksite. He couldn’t help but say:

“Great people, creating great history.”

“Wake up, man. I almost thought I was back in political class. What, are you secretly prepping for finals?”

Xue Liangliang just smiled and said nothing. He glanced down and saw Li Zhuiyuan looking up at him, grinning. He ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Hey kid, came with your family?”

“Uh-huh,” Li Zhuiyuan answered. “Even kids are part of the people.”

“Hahaha!”

Xue Liangliang burst out laughing, bent down and gave him a hug, then pulled out a few White Rabbit milk candies and stuffed them into his pocket.

He found the boy amusing. Li Zhuiyuan thought this big kid was pretty interesting too.

Especially when he spoke like that—it reminded Li Zhuiyuan of his Northern Grandpa.

Then, a commotion broke out up the slope. Someone ran over, shouting:

“They found something! Dug something up!”

That kind of thing was common during construction. Most people didn’t bother going to look—they had work to do.

But the college students, free after their tasks, had more leeway. Zhao Hequan pulled on Xue Liangliang’s arm.

“Come on, Liangliang. Let’s see what they found.”

Word spread fast. Apparently, it was a tiny temple, no bigger than a household outhouse.

Nothing unusual by itself. This was an alluvial plain, not the Central Plains—ancient sites were sparse. Still, small landlord tombs or family shrines did occasionally get unearthed.

But in those politically sensitive times, archaeology had to step aside. Anything in the path of progress got dug up or bulldozed.

Unless it belonged to someone powerful, it wasn’t worth sparing.

In Xi’an or Luoyang, even minor nobles got ignored—those cities had ancient ruins to spare.

But this temple was strange. Word was it held a statue of a female Bodhisattva—bound in chains. The chains were nailed into the temple’s corners.

People found it eerie and didn’t dare touch it.

Two students from Haihe University eventually broke the chains and toppled the statue with hammers, so the project could move on.

By dusk, the teams had all exceeded their quotas. The earlier they finished inspection, the earlier they could head home or find a place to sleep.

That’s when the Li family’s strength in numbers paid off.

They didn’t have to build a shelter or sleep on grass mats by the river. They snagged a corner of a requisitioned house’s yard.

It didn’t have a wall, but the ground was flat. There was a well and a toilet nearby. For camping, it was pretty decent.

The uncles divided the chores—hot water, dry food, straw for bedding. Li Weihan sat with Li Zhuiyuan, Panzi, and Leizi to rest.

A few bare bulbs lit the yard. They helped people see, served as markers. It was also a hot water station, and a barefoot physician was stationed here too.

Li Zhuiyuan spotted Xue Liangliang and Zhao Hequan again. Their group of twenty-plus students, led by a teacher, would sleep here too.

But they had better conditions—sleeping indoors.

From their makeshift beds, the uncles pointed at the students and lectured the boys:

“See, kids? That’s why you need to study hard.”

Li Weihan coughed on his water pipe smoke. Wasn’t that exactly what he used to tell his own sons?

Same scene. Same lesson. Same heartfelt tone.

But in the end… it didn’t do much.

Li Weihan had come to understand, and to accept: people don’t learn from being told. Only from experience. Once is enough.

No matter how much others warn you, you won’t get it until you step in the trap yourself. But by then… what’s the use?

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