Corpse Retriever

Li Zhuiyuan raised the black-covered book and waved it toward the fish pond.

He wasn’t sure if “it” could see, but he had to at least make his intentions known.

There were many tasks and distractions at hand. One thing at a time.

“Runsheng-ge, come take your stuff.”

“Sure thing.”

Runsheng came over and hoisted everything onto his back. He gave it a testing bounce, then smiled with satisfaction.

Forget the array flags—this set of corpse-retrieval tools was his most beloved treasure. When he woke up today, he hadn’t dared to hope for it, and the thought of it had pained him.

“Xiaoyuan, where’d they go?”

“Home.”

“What about us?”“We’re going home too.”

Back home, Li Zhuiyuan went straight to the second floor and into his room.

The desk was neatly stacked with books. He pulled one from each of the six sets: Strange Records of the Jianghu, Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts, Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy, Theory of Fate Structure and Projection, The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi, and The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons.

He found a blank edge on each and used a craft knife to slice off a strip about thumb-width wide—six strips in total.

After a brief hesitation, he opened the newly acquired black-covered book and sliced off a strip from that too.

He wrapped the seven strips in order in a sheet of white paper, then placed the gold ingot into a black plastic bag.

With those in hand, he headed downstairs to the east room.

Liu Yumei had just finished her bath and was sitting by the tea table, her silver-white hair still damp.

Seeing him approach, she pointed toward the closed bathroom door. “Ah Li’s in the bath.”

“Granny Liu, I’m actually here to see you.”

“Oh? Then make some tea.”

Li Zhuiyuan set down the items and began brewing tea.

“Xiaoyuan, I quite enjoy watching you make tea.”

“The pleasure’s mine.”

After each took a sip, Li Zhuiyuan set down his cup and brought out the paper bundle.

“Granny Liu, I know you’re an expert with paper. I have some strips here—could you take a look?”

Liu Yumei’s favorite pastime was designing clothes for Ah Li. She was often seen sketching with a calligraphy brush. Though the sketches were of garments, the precision and flair rivaled retired art professors from the family compound.

No surprise Liu Ayi’s drawing skills were likely inherited from her. Ah Li’s artistic foundation was just as solid.

Masters of brush and ink often had deep knowledge of paper.

“Sure, let me see.”

Li Zhuiyuan first laid out two strips from Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy and Theory of Fate Structure and Projection.

Liu Yumei touched the strips and asked, “Do you want to know the material and method or the era?”

“The era.”

“You seem to know a bit about antiques. Can’t tell the age from old books?”

“You flatter me. I’ve only read a lot—not truly understood.”

“Books are a niche within antiques, after all.”

Li Zhuiyuan waited patiently.

“These two are from the Republican era.”

“The Republic?”

“If I’m right, the characters are neat and small, meant for documentation.”

“Sharp eye.”

He added strips from The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons and The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi.

These had no text, so he wasn’t worried Liu Yumei would recognize the titles. Even if the words were there, they’d be hard to decipher.

These books got increasingly abstract and messy toward the end. Early chapters still allowed for educated guessing. Later on, it was like decoding a personal system of invented glyphs.

Yet that messiness carried significance—it’s what made these “pirated editions” more valuable than the originals.

Liu Yumei rubbed and sniffed the two strips, then said, “Ming-Qing era.”

“I see.”

“If you’d brought the parts with text, I might have narrowed it down further.”

“Should I go get the books?”

She shook her head. “No need.”

Li Zhuiyuan smiled, expecting that answer.

Then he laid down three more strips—from Strange Records of the Jianghu, Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts, and the black-covered book.

These were his real concern.

He’d downplayed it earlier—he had a decent grasp of the previous four books’ era.

But he never could pin down the age of Wei Zhengdao’s writings. Judging by quality and preservation, he assumed they were from the Ming or Qing.

But the being in the pond was from the Six Dynasties—about fifteen hundred years ago.

The black book it gave him shared identical handwriting with Wei Zhengdao’s works.

Li Zhuiyuan could tell whether a text was authored or imitated.

Strange Records of the Jianghu and Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts both exuded a smug self-regard.

So did the black book.

Which meant all three were originals—not later copies.

But if they were really from fifteen centuries ago, their preservation was too miraculous.

Liu Yumei gave a cursory glance at the three strips, then froze. She grabbed them and asked, “Which books are these from?”

“You really want me to say?”

“Never mind.” She let go, let the strips fall, and poured hot tea over her hands.

“What era are these from?” he asked.

She smiled coldly. “That’s not paper.”

“…What is it?”

“Human skin.”

Li Zhuiyuan blinked. “Human skin?”

“Ever heard of human-skin parchment?”

“No.”

“Exactly. It’s a high-cost, labor-intensive material, rarely used outside special paths. There are many ways to preserve texts—this is one of the most extreme.”

“I see.”

“Do you really? Know which era this skin dates to?”

“Post-Eastern Han, pre-Tang?”

“I’ll be more precise.”

“Please do.”

“Southern Liang.”

“Granny, could you explain?”

“Emperor Wu of Liang, Xiao Yan, used the skin of three thousand people to copy Buddhist scriptures, hoping to witness the true Buddha.

“Before many could be used, Hou Jing rebelled. The parchments leaked from the palace and became known as Buddha-skin paper.

“Your three books were written on that.”

“Using human skin for scripture? Wasn’t he a devout Buddhist?”

“What’s strange about that? Emperors worship to prolong their own glory—not for compassion.”

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