Corpse Retriever

There’s a saying: “No filial children before a long-sickbed.”

At funerals, the ones who wail the loudest, beat their chests, and put on the biggest show are rarely the ones who cared for the deceased day in and day out.

Those who truly tended to the dying, who bathed and fed them, who stayed through every fever and moan, are often the ones least able to cry at the end.

Anything that comes with “value” is finite—including emotion.

Drain it long enough, and it runs dry.

Just like Yin Meng now. She smiled. Not a forced grin, but one of release—of relief.

Her grandfather had been trapped in a coffin. She had been trapped in the coffin shop.

Each of them tortured in their own way.

Now, both were free.

She was also relieved—relieved that she had held on. She had never shown impatience, never revealed sadness. Every day she stayed sunny and diligent, changing his diapers, cleaning him, sitting by the coffin to talk with him.She knew it was her duty. After all, he’d raised her. Even when numbness and revulsion crept up from the depths of her soul, she’d feel disgusted with herself. Then came the self-rebuke. The re-education.

She was terrified of failing—of showing even a hint of something unworthy of a “good granddaughter.” Not even the smallest crack was allowed.

Now she had won.

Won herself a future free of guilt.

Tan Wenbin was the first to step forward, smiling as he said, “The old man passed peacefully. A good death.”

Runsheng added, “Let’s prepare for the funeral.”

The funeral was simple—because there weren’t any guests. Yin Meng didn’t have to kneel in the streets with black gauze and a white rope, begging people to attend.

Two white lanterns were hung beside the shop’s signboard.

A single wreath stood at the door, signed by three names. The elegiac couplet was written by Li Zhuiyuan—he had the best brush calligraphy among the four of them.

The shop already had an old stereo, which they placed outside to play funeral music.

But this was Fengdu. On Ghost Street. A coffin shop to boot. Even with all the funeral decorations, passersby didn’t assume anyone had died. They figured it was just a festive promotional gimmick.

For a time, more customers came in than usual, curious to see what was going on.

After dressing the old man in burial clothes, Yin Meng put on mourning garb and sat cross-legged in front of the spirit hall.

Tan Wenbin and Runsheng sat across from each other, burning spirit money.

Ash floated in swirls. The room was hot and smoky.

Just then, rain began to fall outside. Li Zhuiyuan closed the genealogy book, grabbed a small stool, and sat in the doorway.

The rain cooled the air and drove away the street’s foot traffic.

Runsheng asked, “What’s the funeral plan? How long will you leave the body?”

Yin Meng replied, “I want to bury him tonight.”

Runsheng frowned. “That’s against tradition.”

Unless times were desperate, no one buried the dead the same night they died.

Yin Meng said, “Tradition doesn’t matter anymore.”

Tan Wenbin chimed in, “She’s got the right. She already did everything during his lifetime. No need for performative grief.”

Runsheng asked, “Want me to push the coffin for you? Where’s your ancestral grave?”

Yin Meng shook her head. “We don’t have one. My family tradition is water burial.”

“Which river?”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know. Grandpa never told me the details.”

From the doorway, Li Zhuiyuan spoke without turning around. “Nine Bends River.”

Yin Meng turned, surprised. “Xiaoyuan, how do you know that?”

“It’s in your genealogy book.”

“I’ve read it—I don’t remember anything like that.”

“It’s in the notes at the back. One of your ancestors from the Ming dynasty recorded the entire burial process of his father. Very detailed.”

“Oh… That makes sense. I skipped the notes—too dense and hard to read.”

Li Zhuiyuan muttered, “Your grandpa really was careless.”

He’d grown old, yet left no clear instructions. Maybe he no longer cared about tradition. He’d even loaned out the family genealogy without hesitation.

With his son “missing without a trace,” and only his granddaughter left—and his health failing—perhaps he’d already accepted that the family line would end. He hadn’t even taught Yin Meng the method for Walking the Shade.

“Then… will you help me arrange the burial, Xiaoyuan?”

Runsheng interjected, “Call him ‘Ge.’”

Tan Wenbin set an example: “Xiaoyuan-ge, what do you want for lunch? I’ll go buy it.”

Yin Meng stood, walked to Li Zhuiyuan, squatted beside him.

“Xiaoyuan-ge… help me, please.”

He nodded.

She exhaled in relief and turned to shout at Tan Wenbin, “Go to Auntie Wang’s braised food shop. I want pig’s trotters!”

Tan Wenbin popped open an umbrella and disappeared into the rain.

He returned not long after, lugging a big bag of food.

No alcohol, but plenty of meat and dishes.

The four sat in a circle. The plastic bags were laid on the ground like a makeshift feast.

The rice came from the house. Runsheng had cooked it himself—he wouldn’t let Yin Meng lift a finger.

The pot was heaped full. Yin Meng and Li Zhuiyuan each got a half bowl. The rest—almost untouched—was left to Runsheng and Tan Wenbin.

As they ate, Tan Wenbin asked, “What’s next? You gonna keep running this coffin shop?”

Yin Meng paused, pig’s trotter in hand, glanced slyly at Li Zhuiyuan.

“I already called him ‘ge.’”

“Huh?” Tan Wenbin didn’t get it.

Runsheng explained, “She’s attached herself.”

Yin Meng kicked him under the table.

Tan Wenbin was surprised. “You want to come with us? That’s a long way to Nantong.”

Yin Meng shrugged. “I’ve got no family now. One person’s full, the whole household’s fine. I’ve got no friends. Just you three.”

Tan Wenbin scratched his head. “But I’m already eating my fill at Li-dage’s place…”

“I can help with chores—cook and stuff.”

Runsheng: “…”

Tan Wenbin: “…”

Even Li Zhuiyuan had to speak up. “When we get home, you can do nothing at all. Just don’t cook. Please.”

Even Tan Wenbin’s iron stomach couldn’t handle her food. If she cooked a single meal, she’d probably send both him and the old man to the grave.

“You’re really letting me come?” Yin Meng beamed. “Then I’ll go with you to Nantong!”

“Mm. Alright.”

Old man, your granddaughter is a lot sharper than you thought.

…

After the meal, the funeral music still played from the speaker outside.

The group sat in front of the spirit hall, playing cards.

They started with four-player Dou Dizhu. After a few rounds, the three of them tacitly excluded Li Zhuiyuan and switched to three-player mode.

By afternoon, the card game ended.

The shop needed to be cleared out. Most of the trinkets weren’t worth anything and could be given away. The real valuables were the coffins. The old man had used one—four remained.

Fortunately, coffins were hard currency in these parts.

Everyone had elderly family, and most of them would prepare a coffin before death.

To sell quickly, Yin Meng slashed the price in half. The four coffins sold fast—for cash.

Runsheng and Tan Wenbin delivered them with a cart. None of them left Ghost Street—they were all bought by local businesses.

No one worried that placing coffins outside would scare customers. Around here, they were as common as a lucky cat statue.

Yin Meng sat counting money. “Good thing the rent’s not due yet. I’ll leave whatever’s left in the house to the landlord.”

Runsheng tossed the lunch leftovers into a pot and made a giant stew.

They ate their fill. By then, it was fully dark outside.

Yin Fuhai’s coffin was placed on the cart.

Runsheng pushed from the front. Tan Wenbin from the back. Yin Meng walked beside it. Li Zhuiyuan sat on top of the coffin lid, holding an umbrella.

Not because the boy was lazy—but because the burial route was treacherous. He needed the high vantage to plan their path.

A night-time burial. On Ghost Street. A single misstep could lead to… anything.

They’d be heading home tomorrow. Li Zhuiyuan wasn’t about to risk a surprise encounter tonight.

They left the street. Exited the county. Passed the village. Reached the riverbank without incident.

Ahead lay Nine Bends River. Locals called it Nine Dragons Bend. As the name implied, the river twisted and turned through this stretch.

Beyond those curves, the river ran straight and true, all the way to the Yangtze.

In feng shui terms, this area was a place of convergence and buildup—a basin of cleansing force.

A water burial here signified the cleansing of worldly dust. A washing-away of karma.

Seeing it in person, Li Zhuiyuan felt something was off.

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