Corpse Retriever

Liu Yumei only introduced those two—clearly, none of the others were worthy of being named.

Li Zhuiyuan smiled and gave a slight bow. “Hello, Grandpa Zhen.” Another bow. “Hello, Grandpa Su.” And finally, a deep bow toward the gathered elders. “Hello, Grandpas.”

A chorus of cheerful replies broke out among the elders. Praises filled the air, but behind their kind smiles, each was inwardly puzzled—who is this boy?

They all knew the girl beside him was the last remaining bloodline of the Qin and Liu families. Could this boy be a foster groom that the Young Madam—or rather, the Eldest Miss—had deliberately brought up at her side?

But the elders were old enough to be ancient turtles in the Yangtze. They could clearly see the innate calm and dignity in the boy’s demeanor.

Clothes are easy to put on. Temperament is not.

They could tell what was learned, and what came from deep within. Their eyes couldn’t be fooled.

Even Liu Yumei herself was surprised by the boy’s composure.

She had only asked him to call the others because Ah Li couldn’t speak yet.

From the back, Liu Ting silently observed, eager to see how long her esteemed mistress could keep up her act.These kinds of meetings weren’t just about greetings—they were the passing of networks and human ties.

What “prospective disciple” ever received such treatment?

“I’m going to pay my respects to that old Ding.”

Liu Yumei walked from the front hall toward the back, and the elders followed behind.

The rear chamber housed a spirit hall, freshly tidied for her visit. Though the deceased had passed over a month ago, the room looked as though the wake had just begun.

Ding Lao’er and his eldest son came hurrying from a side corridor.

Ding Lao’er knelt on a prayer cushion, ready to return the courtesy. His son handed over the incense personally.

Based on how the elders had acted earlier, Li Zhuiyuan deduced that the Ding family had likely been servants to the Qin family in earlier generations.

Liu Yumei visiting the Ding household meant the master had entered the servant’s house. And as servants, they were obligated to kneel.

Outdated or not, some elders still honored the old ways.

But clearly, their respect wasn’t for the sake of “tradition.”

Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t help but wonder—what power did the nearly extinct Qin-Liu household still possess, that could make these old veterans willingly bow to dusty customs?

Liu Yumei lit incense and placed it in the burner.

She stepped back and looked toward the cushion.

Ding Lao’er immediately bowed and cried, “Young Madam, no—you mustn’t. My brother could never bear your courtesy.”

Several elders chimed in, insisting this would break custom.

Liu Yumei didn’t press the matter. Instead, she turned to Li Zhuiyuan.

“Little Yuan, this should have been Ah Li’s duty. Can you take her place just this once?

Ding the elder… he was a real man. Even I had to respect him.”

“Okay.”

Li Zhuiyuan stepped forward to begin the rites.

Truth be told, even someone as seasoned in funeral matters as Li Sanjiang couldn’t have conducted it more precisely.

One side followed local tradition; the boy followed studied, detailed ritual. All those books he’d read hadn’t been in vain.

When the offering ended, Ding Lao’er stepped forward to return the courtesy.

He raised his left thumb, clenched his right hand, lifted it upward, crossed both arms before him, then let them fall.

This was a traditional salute.

Liu Yumei had just opened her mouth to explain that Little Yuan probably didn’t understand these gestures—

But the boy responded flawlessly: pinky downward on his right hand, left hand clenched, a leaping motion downward, arms curved at the chest, then three nods in return.

Around them, the elders’ eyes lit up with admiration and nostalgia.

Liu Yumei’s expression shifted to confusion. Who had taught him that?

In fact, the opening pages of The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons detailed these movements. They were originally feng shui gestures for measuring direction and distance without instruments, later adapted into family salutes.

Ding Lao’er had given the salute of “Python swimming free.”

Li Zhuiyuan returned with “Flood dragon guarding the gate.”

Of course he’d known Liu Yumei would wonder how he knew it. That was deliberate. He’d already been accepted to Haihe University. Ah Li was recovering well. Sooner or later, things would come to light.

He intended to share his insights into The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons and The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi with Liu Yumei.

Tears welled in Ding Lao’er’s eyes—genuine ones, not for show.

That scene reminded him of his youth, kneeling beside his brother as they paid respects to the Qin elders.

He had never been a strong patriarch—easily swayed by affection, often unclear-headed. But at heart, he was deeply sensitive and emotional.

At that moment, Zhen Mubai and Su Wenluo glanced at another old man—his surname was Sheng. He had once sat at the far end of the hall. Originally, his family had served the Lius.

Old Sheng subconsciously wiped sweat from his forehead. Then he turned and motioned to his son.

The son—already graying—stepped out from the crowd and gave Li Zhuiyuan the Liu family’s traditional salute.

Li Zhuiyuan noticed Liu Yumei’s eyes had narrowed.

She was clearly angry.

When a lion is tested, no matter how it responds, in outsiders’ eyes, it’s already shown weakness.

That’s how the martial world worked—big fish eat little fish, and little fish eat shrimp. Even respectful words hid undercurrents.

Those two elders had prodded the Sheng family to test Liu Yumei’s stance on the boy’s identity.

Liu Yumei’s fury melted into a smile. “Little Yuan, why’re you standing there? Return the gesture.”

Though she didn’t know where he’d learned the Qin salute, she trusted that if he knew that one, he’d know the Liu version too.

Since Granny Liu had spoken, Li Zhuiyuan respectfully returned the high-rank salute to the white-haired man.

The moment it ended, Zhen Mubai and Su Wenluo straightened their backs unconsciously. The other elders held their breath, reappraising the boy.

There was no doubt now. For him to publicly perform both the Qin and Liu salutes—then the Young Madam, or Eldest Miss, clearly intended for him to inherit both households.

Ding Lao’er now bowed deeply and whispered, “Young Madam, may we begin the meal?”

Liu Yumei nodded.

Everyone took their seats. The head seat—of course—belonged to Liu Yumei.

The older generation filled two tables. The younger folk took two more.

Li Zhuiyuan originally intended to eat with Ah Li in private, but Aunt Liu gently gestured for him to sit at the table instead. She took Ah Li with her.

For her sake, he sat.

He was at the main seat, flanked by Zhen and Su’s grandchildren. Everyone else at the table was older.

The banquet was lively. Tables were close, and conversation flowed easily.

The elders’ table spoke with true finesse. The younger ones mimicked that finesse, not always successfully.

Li Zhuiyuan quickly realized they were trying to fish for information—especially the boy and girl beside him, calling him “Brother Zhuiyuan” with practiced sweetness.

These two were precocious. Thinking they had him pegged, they slyly tried to draw him out—and couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at their lips when they thought they’d succeeded.

They asked about mundane things. Li Zhuiyuan responded openly, recounting his past life in detail.

As he spoke, the elders at the other table leaned in closer and closer, ears perked.

But the more they listened, the more disturbed they became.

His stories—told in the offhand way of a child—described a life no ordinary boy in the capital could possibly have lived.

Unease rippled through them. They exchanged glances, each silently confirming what the others suspected.

Could the Young Madam truly have arranged a marriage between her granddaughter and a powerful figure’s son?

Liu Yumei was listening too—hearing many details for the first time herself.

But she knew exactly how sharp the boy was. Perhaps he was playing them all for fun.

Amusing, really.

Three cups of wine later, Liu Yumei turned her glass over.

Those three cups were already an enormous gesture of respect.

Flipping the cup signaled clearly: the wine was done, and so was the talk.

Everyone fell silent.

Before they’d arrived, most had prepared “gift lists”—plans to divide their family holdings. If Liu Yumei was going to revive the Qin-Liu household, they were ready to pay the price.

But now? Her posture said plainly: no need for gifts. She had no intention of reopening the game.

Yet instead of feeling relief, the elders felt dread.

No one believed she’d come just to mourn Ding the elder—he’d been buried over a month ago.

But if she wasn’t here to stake a claim, then what?

Surely she hadn’t come all the way to Shan City just for a casual stroll?

Liu Yumei rose. “Little Yuan.”

“Coming, Grandma,” Li Zhuiyuan replied, rising to follow.

As the two left the table, the elders stood again in unison. This time, Zhen Mubai and Su Wenluo dropped to their knees, even shuffling forward on them.

We’re just sticking to the old ways. If you’re angry, please don’t flip the table on us.

“Young Madam…”

“Eldest Miss…”

Liu Yumei’s frosty gaze swept across them, instantly silencing their pleas.

She then pointed at her upturned wine cup on the table.

And with that, she took the boy’s hand and walked out.

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