Corpse Retriever

The black cat nodded.

”But I have no reason to go with you.”

It raised a paw and pushed forward.

At first, Li Zhuiyuan didn’t understand, but after a few more pushes, he finally got it.

It was referring to what had happened at the birthday banquet on the first floor—when Granny Niu, in a moment of crisis, had shoved him away from the awakening corpse.

Back then, she had her back to the corpse and said:

“Little one, Grandma will send you off first.”

Though Granny Niu hadn’t died—she was still alive—Li Zhuiyuan didn’t believe that the gesture, or the strange old lady’s final display of goodwill, had been fake.

Because he could always tell when something was an act. After all, he himself often…

Damn it!Li Zhuiyuan squatted down, bowed his head, and clutched it tightly in both hands.

He loathed these intrusive thoughts that emerged unbidden. They constantly chipped away at his current identity, slowly unraveling all his relationships.

If this kept up, he would reject any behavior that didn’t align with rigid logic. Affection, friendship, and all the warmth society had to offer would seem like a waste of time—a joke. He would turn cold, like that massive glowing processor in the school’s computer lab.

Eventually… he would become his mother.

He would hate that version of himself, just as his mother hated herself.

Suddenly, he understood why she had taken him to so many therapists when he was little. She’d seen it. Her son had inherited the same sickness she carried.

At that moment, the black cat seemed to stir. Its green eyes shimmered. Earlier, the boy had resisted its enchantment, but now—judging by his reaction—was a better opportunity presenting itself?

In the end, it didn’t act. Not out of kindness, but because of a creeping dread. Something told it that to use its enchantment on the boy now would lead to terrifying, unimaginable consequences.

Li Zhuiyuan murmured over and over, naming his relationships, reciting them, hypnotizing himself: Who am I? Who are my relatives?

This time, though, Qin Li’s name slipped in now and then.

He rubbed his face hard, as if trying to shove his identity back where it belonged. He stood up, took a deep breath, and looked at the black cat again. In his eyes, the cat saw the warmth and kindness of a young boy.

Its eyes widened. For a moment, it wasn’t sure who the real corpse fiend was.

”You need my help? Then lead the way. Take me to the old lady.”

The black cat nodded and walked on. This time, the boy followed.

As they passed a small ditch, the black cat vanished without warning.

Li Zhuiyuan recognized this ditch. He’d washed his hands here earlier that day, even planning to picnic on a nearby stone to persuade Uncle Qin to stay.

Three concrete slabs spanned the ditch, forming a makeshift footpath. He stepped onto the slabs and looked around, but the cat was gone.

If it wanted to lead him somewhere, why disappear now?

He looked down at the gaps between the slabs—wide enough to fit half a hand through.

Below, water flowed steadily.

Suddenly, the water bulged. A face—an old woman’s—slowly rose beneath the slab, meeting his gaze through the gap.

She was hiding there.

Even though he’d braced himself, her sudden appearance still made his back go cold. But he forced a smile for the face below.

The water babbled on. Her face floated downstream, and once past the slabs, the water roared louder.

She stood up in the ditch. It was deep, and she was short. She wasn’t walking underwater—she floated upright.

Only her shoulders and up were visible above the surface.

She didn’t look like she had at the birthday feast. Back then, she’d been gaunt, skeletal even, but still human.

Now, her clothes were reduced to scraps. Her body was rotting in large patches, riddled with wormholes and rat bites.

One stronger current might shatter her completely.

This was her real body. Buried without a coffin, it had decayed like this.

She floated in the water. Li Zhuiyuan walked alongside her on the ditch path.

Now that she had a body, she could speak.

If you only read a description, it might sound gentle: a summer night, a grandmother chatting with her grandson.

But the sight of it—the corpse bobbing in the water, the boy walking beside—made your scalp prickle.

“When she was just a child, she was trafficked into the Niu family as a child bride. She didn’t even have a surname of her own.”

“Her husband died early. She raised the kids alone. Not one of them starved or died young, even during the hardest times.”

“When her kids grew up and started families, she helped raise her grandkids too.”

“Back then, she could still do housework, look after children, cook, even do farm work. She was satisfied. She felt useful—valuable to her family.”

“She was that kind of person. Born without a name, lived her whole life without a moment for herself. Like a wheel—just kept turning and turning.”

“On smooth roads, the wheel turned fast. On rough ones, it bumped along—but still turned.”

“She never complained. She thought that’s just how life is.”

“Later, she got old. Couldn’t watch the kids, couldn’t do chores, couldn’t even light the stove. Her children and grandchildren decided she was useless—a burden.”

“Still, she survived. She never begged her kids for help. Even if it meant drinking cold water or eating scraps, she lived on—like a gecko in a wall crack.”

“She loved the sun. Would sit in the courtyard for half a day, soaking in the warmth.”

“One day, she saw me. An old, ugly, crippled cat.”

“She was barely surviving herself, yet she took me in. Fed me whatever she ate.”

“She held me as we sunbathed, told me stories of her youth, of her children’s father—a man she could barely remember.”

“She spoke of her kids’ childhood antics. Her eldest promised to make her life easy, to bring food to her bedside.”

“Her second son swore to buy her new clothes every season—no more patches.”

“Her daughter said she’d buy her gold jewelry, like the other women in the village.”

“She was always so happy when she told these stories. But even I, a cat, knew—those children and grandchildren hadn’t visited her in ages.”

“Then she fell ill.”