Corpse Retriever

Li Zhuiyuan had only one thought left in his head:

Was the Homecoming Net still working?

Even though he couldn’t see Runsheng or the net, he should still be within its coverage.

The shadow at his feet slowly stretched forward, wobbling slightly to the left—it was walking toward him.

The boy’s internal torment and fear kept mounting.

Li Zhuiyuan lifted his head again to look at Brother Bao and Zhao Xing, still kneeling and howling in pain. But their eyes weren’t fixed on him.

Luckily, he was squatting, and not tall to begin with. The figure casting the shadow behind him was much taller. So even if they were in the same line of sight, it was clear from the “two’s” gaze that they were looking past him.

That meant the Homecoming Net was still effective. It couldn’t see him!

But the problem was—it was getting closer. In a few more steps, it would collide with him.

Li Zhuiyuan remained squatting, inching his feet carefully, trying not to make a sound.He moved toward Runsheng’s location. He couldn’t go in any other direction—leaving the net’s coverage would mean immediate exposure.

He felt like a crab, scuttling sideways.

At the final step, just as his foot cleared the spot, another large, unfamiliar foot thudded down. A second later, and they would have touched.

Then, both feet came into his view. The feet were highly decayed, but where flesh should have fallen off, yellowish-white tumors had filled in the gaps.

The tumors looked exactly like the taishui in the water vat.

So this was how the Jiang family’s so-called life-enhancing treasure came to be?

They not only consumed the taishui but also used water from the vat to make tea and cook meals every day.

Li Zhuiyuan’s gaze slowly rose. The figure wore no clothes, just like the two skeletons unearthed from the pond. Clearly stripped before burial.

Jiang Dongping had been clothed and wearing a watch. That confirmed this dead sinker was indeed a victim.

The rest of its body was the same as its feet—rotten, with taishui-like substance binding the skin and bones together like glue, keeping it relatively intact.

Its left leg was bent outward—crippled. That explained the slow gait and leftward sway.

In front of the tombstone, it stopped.

Then, it knelt.

Only now did Li Zhuiyuan take a good look at the tombstone. Earlier, he and Runsheng had just noticed it was larger than the others—good for hiding.

Now he saw it was a double grave, a couple’s burial site.

Scanning the inscription, he noticed the husband’s surname: Zhou.

So this dead sinker was likely the man Brother Bao buried with his own hands, now kneeling before his parents’ grave.

He had been murdered and buried by Jiang Dongping, transformed into a dead sinker, exacted his revenge, and returned here.

Li Zhuiyuan noted the death dates: two years ago. The elderly couple had died just a month apart.

Unless one took the official channel, most movie posters at the time were printed on calendars to boost practicality.

And the biggest, oldest Wang Zuxian poster at Sister Mei’s video parlor was dated two years ago.

That implied Brother Bao probably made a killing helping Jiang Dongping with murder and burial. With that money, he and his girlfriend Sister Mei opened the video parlor.

The dead sinker didn’t kowtow—just knelt silently. No sound came from it. All around were the wails of Brother Bao and Zhao Xing.

Now Li Zhuiyuan understood: they weren’t killed immediately because the torment and howls of their enemies made the best offering.

But then, the dead sinker’s head twitched.

It sniffed, then slowly began turning toward Li Zhuiyuan’s direction. As if it had sensed something.

The boy’s heart leapt into his throat. He had come out tonight to test his skills—but he’d chosen Brother Bao and Zhao Xing, the ghost-substitutes who’d dared to provoke him.

With Runsheng’s help and the newly crafted professional tools, they should’ve been manageable.

But this dead sinker, capable of commanding ghost-substitutes, was out of his league. Starting at this level of difficulty was daunting.

Worse, this one had been a victim. If it had been Jiang Dongping, fine—he could fight it. But going after this one felt... wrong.

Just as it was halfway through the turn—nearly locking eyes with him—black mist rose from its body. Like steam escaping, water vapor evaporating.

The dead sinker turned back toward the grave.

A rasping sound came from deep in its throat. The taishui covering its body began to tremble.

Li Zhuiyuan had seen this before—with the cat-faced granny. After he offered a revenge plan, her resentment had started to fade.

Wei Zhengdao wrote in Strange Records of the Jianghu:

“Dead sinkers are born from the resentment and filth of the underworld.”

“If their resentment remains unresolved, they wander marshes and harm the living, and must be destroyed by the righteous path.”

Li Zhuiyuan had paid close attention to that second line, especially “resentment unresolved.”

If dead sinkers were born from resentment, then dissolving that resentment should dissolve them, right?

Like that black cat—it was nearing vengeance, nearing release.

So perhaps the “resentment unresolved” meant the target was gone or unreachable, and the sinker had no outlet. It would endlessly wander water systems and endanger the living. Hence needing to be dealt with.

Was it really that simple?

Then why never mention “resentment resolved”?

The Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts only listed ways to destroy dead sinkers, as if “resentment unresolved” were the only state.

But Wei could’ve skipped that phrase. The sentence still worked.

Li Zhuiyuan suspected it was a product of political correctness of the time—evil things like dead sinkers must not harm the living.

Wei didn’t dare go against that, but slipped in a backdoor.

Because if “resentment resolved” were possible, you wouldn’t need a method—just help the sinker get revenge.

But helping an evil thing hurt a human? That’s aiding evil.

Righteous folk wouldn’t do that.

Don’t talk about justice or retribution—if political correctness could be shaken like that, it wouldn’t be called political correctness.

Still, Li Zhuiyuan realized: every case he and his great-grandfather had faced... they’d all taken the “resentment resolved” path.

Clearly, the road they walked wasn’t the “righteous path.”

…

Interrogation of the Jiang family was underway.

Death itself wasn’t rare—illness, accidents, the occasional disappearance—in a dense enough population, death was routine. No deaths would be suspicious.

But murder was different. Public attention soared. It could easily spark mass panic.

So unearthing three corpses from a single pond was a huge deal. Even the city bureau was watching. Tan Yunlong figured a special task force would soon arrive.

If this turned out to involve organized crime, there’d be a citywide crackdown.

But that was for later.

Tan Yunlong stepped out of the chief’s office, rubbing his nose. A case this brutal brought pressure—not just to the station, but the entire county. The only fix was to solve it fast and stand out.

Pressure flowed downward. It all landed on Tan Yunlong.

He lit a cigarette and entered the interrogation room. He’d personally question those Jiang relatives who tried to block the pond excavation.

The interrogation went smoothly. First, they lacked psychological endurance or expertise—the Jiang clan had relied solely on Jiang Dongping. Without him, the rest were just bottom feeders.

Second, Tan used coaxing—hinting Jiang Dongping was dead, and now was the time to confess everything and pin the blame on the deceased.

It was against the rules. But if Tan had followed all the rules, he wouldn’t have been demoted to this town’s precinct.

Regardless, the case had made a major breakthrough. They’d named many others, and arrests were underway.

One victim, surnamed Zhou, was still missing. His leg had been broken—a cripple. The two skeletons didn’t match; no broken bones.

According to the Jiang clan, Zhou had been a business rival of Jiang Dongping. So Jiang conspired with a friend from Shijia Village surnamed Zhao to lure him out under the pretense of celebrating his son’s birthday—and murdered him.

That Zhao had already been arrested. Apparently, he’d recently lost a son too. The other officers all called it karma.

Tan Yunlong didn’t believe in that stuff—but he didn’t mind it either. If every criminal got swift retribution, no one would be happier than the police.

Still, how were they supposed to explain the missing Zhou and Jiang Dongping’s mysterious death?

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