Corpse Retriever

Pan’er and Lei’er had once boasted to Li Zhuiyuan that some celebrities were so vivid in their minds, they could imagine them naked even when fully clothed.

Now, looking at the very much alive Ding Dalin and Secretary Jin standing before him, Li Zhuiyuan’s mind was filled with images of their skinned, blood-red bodies, twitching grotesquely.

It was summer, a bright and sunny morning—yet he suddenly felt cold enough to shiver.

Ding Dalin bent down slightly, a kindly smile on his face. “What’s wrong, don’t recognize me?”

Li Sanjiang chuckled. “How could he not? This little fellow was just talking about you earlier. Said…”

Li Zhuiyuan felt a jolt of fear shoot up his spine.

But the words were already at Li Sanjiang’s lips, unstoppable.

“…Said you gave him such a fat red envelope last time, praised you as the kindest grandpa ever.”

“Oh, really? Heheheheh.” Ding Dalin laughed heartily.

Li Zhuiyuan felt dizzy, like he’d narrowly escaped death.Li Sanjiang ruffled his hair. “My little fellow here, he remembers everyone who treats him well. Not like other kids—no matter how good you are to them, they forget you the moment they turn around, don’t even know who you are.”

Ding Dalin nodded. “That’s how people are.”

“Exactly. Some kids are just born ungrateful—can’t be raised right.”

“Sanjianghou,” Ding Dalin straightened up and shifted his gaze to Li Sanjiang, “come, let’s go sit at my place. Have lunch with me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“What’s to be shy about? We had a big feast yesterday—plenty of leftovers. Come help me finish it off.”

There were always leftovers after a feast. If the household was small and couldn’t finish them in time, they’d host a follow-up meal the next day, inviting only close relatives.

These follow-up meals were casual affairs. Cold dishes piled up, hot ones reheated—unrefined in presentation, but still high quality.

Li Sanjiang said, “But for lunch, there’s no rush to head over so early.”

By now, Li Zhuiyuan had managed his expression, making sure his voice wouldn’t tremble. He was about to offer an excuse to get his great-grandfather out of this invitation when he looked up—only to meet Secretary Jin’s gaze.

She was smiling, but her eyes were hollow and cold.

Most people wouldn’t notice, but Li Zhuiyuan had always been observant. After studying the Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy, he’d become adept at reading microexpressions.

The defensive walls he had just rebuilt began to crumble again.

She hadn’t spoken. Maybe he was imagining it. Yet he felt a wordless warning loud and clear.

Was it aimed at him? His great-grandfather?

Or… anyone who could see through their disguises.

“I’m looking to lease a contracted plot of farmland,” Ding Dalin said. “Paying the rent upfront, but it’ll need to be in your name.”

“How big a plot?”

“Ten to twenty mu.”

“For how long?”

“Thirty years.”

“Then we definitely have to go.”

Ding Dalin laughed and scolded, “You rascal, already betting I won’t live that long?”

“Thirty years is a stretch at our age. If we lived that long, our skin would be falling off.”

“Hah, we’re not kids needing to look good. Skin peels? Patch it up and keep using it.”

Li Zhuiyuan’s heart skipped.

He genuinely feared his great-grandfather might say the wrong thing and provoke something terrible.

Even though his great-grandfather had a stroke of fortune protecting him, Granny Liu had warned: fortune depended on the situation. Meet the wrong kind of trouble, and that luck wouldn’t help.

What happened last night at the bearded man’s house had already gone beyond Li Zhuiyuan’s darkest imaginings.

And what he was going through now was pushing that horror to a new level.

Against this backdrop, he doubted even his great-grandfather’s fortune could hold.

“Alright, let’s go.” Li Sanjiang rubbed his chin, then looked down at Li Zhuiyuan. “Perfect time to draw up my will.”

“Well now, Sanjianghou, you old codger with no kids, who’re you leaving it to?”

“I’ve got no children, but I’ve got a great-grandson. When I go, everything goes to our Little Yuanhou.”

Ding Dalin bent down again toward the boy.

Li Zhuiyuan recoiled inwardly from the gesture but managed a bashful smile.

That kind of expression really worked wonders for a kid—whether dealing with people… or with ghosts.

“Little Yuanhou, look at that—your great-grandpa really dotes on you. When you grow up, you better treat him well.”

“I will.”

Ding Dalin straightened, and paused.

Secretary Jin reached out to support him.

Li Zhuiyuan noticed: her right hand gripped the back of his neck, her left braced his lower back. Not a supportive touch, but a firm claw, fingers stretched taut.

As if forcibly holding something cracked together.

“What’s wrong, Linhou?”

“This old back’s not what it used to be.”

“Maybe roll around less in bed at night.”

“Sanjianghou, you old rascal. Come on, let’s go.”

With that, Ding Dalin extended a hand to Li Sanjiang.

Li Sanjiang took it, now supporting him.

The two old men walked off, shoulder to shoulder, chatting as they went.

“Coming, little brother?” Secretary Jin placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I still haven’t finished my summer homework…”

“Your great-grandfather wants to make his will. You have to come.”

“…I haven’t bought a new eraser. Lost the old one somewhere.”

“Come, auntie’ll buy one for you.”

“No need, I’ve got money.”

They passed by Aunt Zhang’s shop on the way to the bearded man’s house. As they neared it, Secretary Jin stopped.

Li Zhuiyuan stepped up to the counter, about to ask for an eraser, when a figure leapt out from behind the shop’s tarp.

It was Tan Wenbin.

This guy had taken a shortcut, cutting across the fields instead of sticking to the village path.

“Hey, Little Yuan-ge, what’re you buying? Let me pay.”

“An eraser.”

“Auntie, one eraser—and a bottle of medicated oil too.”

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