Corpse Retriever

“What visit? Her mom’s family is in Jiuwei Port. Even by bus, it takes several transfers. And if she really is on her last legs, it’s your grandpa who’ll go. What would I go for?”

“Oh.”

“Go to bed early.”

“Great-grandpa, do you have a magnifying glass?”

“Magnifying glass?” Li Sanjiang thought for a moment. “Check the stove groove, maybe. I used to think about using it to start a fire, but later found matches were easier. What do you want that for?”

“To read.”

The print in those two books was just too tiny.

“Kid, is it that hard for you to read? Need a magnifying glass already? How about this—Great-grandpa takes you to the glasses shop in town and gets you a pair of spectacles? Never mind, the shop here probably isn’t up to scratch. Better we head into the city hospital.”

“No need, Great-grandpa. I just want to look at the diagrams. My vision’s fine.”

Li Zhuiyuan went into his bedroom to put down the chessboard, then ran to the downstairs kitchen. Sure enough, he found a dusty magnifying glass in the stove groove. After giving it a rinse, he returned to his room and switched on the desk lamp.First, he pulled out the eight-volume Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy.

No foreword, no preface, not even a label for the first chapter—just pure content.

Li Zhuiyuan leaned in with the magnifying glass, studying intently.

After finishing three densely packed double-sided pages, he felt something was off.

The content, though sprawling, focused on a single feature—eyebrows.

Direction, angle, density, thickness, length, color—nearly a thousand types.

Page four began discussing under-eye bags.

Li Zhuiyuan skipped two pages ahead—still about under-eye bags.

Then came eyelids.

A suspicion began to creep in… Though the first chapter wasn’t marked, everything early on seemed to fall under “eyes,” didn’t it?

But even with all this time spent, it had barely covered part of the “eye.”

Flipping to the final page, it was about crow’s feet—still eye-related.

He pulled out the second volume. First few pages: earlobes.

Last page: the back of the ears.

Third volume: philtrum—the area between nose and lips.

So, the first four books were about: eyes, ears, mouth, and nose.

Technically, facial features include eyebrows too, but here, eyebrows and eyes were merged into one volume.

How… neat.

Skipping over the basics, Li Zhuiyuan opened the fifth volume and carefully examined the first page… and couldn’t understand a thing.

But he got the gist—it seemed to be a matrix of permutations, with a short explanatory note beneath each.

Apparently, the limited space meant lots of things were left out. The reader was expected to infer the rest.

Li Zhuiyuan rubbed his eyes. So this is physiognomy?

Not the usual street-vendor kind—“Your glabella is dark, disaster looms!”

According to this book’s logic: “Do you even know how many glabella configurations there are?”

He couldn’t understand it. How could a book based in feudal superstition give off such a strong air of scientific rigor?

How much effort had the author put in? How many faces had they analyzed?

No… no single person could manage that. Not even an entire sect.

If this wasn’t all just made up, the author must have compiled countless earlier records and notes to summarize this.

Li Zhuiyuan opened the sixth volume and studied the first page.

A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead; his earlobes flushed red—his usual reaction when tackling a tough problem.

He still didn’t grasp the content, but now he understood the structure.

If the fifth volume was a permutation of the first four’s foundations, then the sixth was a permutation of those permutations.

If the fifth could be brute-memorized, the sixth demanded actual mathematical calculations. The volume… immense.

Li Zhuiyuan took a deep breath and turned to the seventh volume.

This time he skimmed quickly, just to confirm his suspicion.

Indeed, the seventh built further upon the sixth. The complexity—exponential.

“Whew…”

He felt like washing his face, but paused. Instead, he opened the eighth volume.

One page in, he shut the book and leaned back in his chair.

He realized he’d been wrong. Earlier, he wondered how something so steeped in superstition could feel so methodical.

But by the eighth volume, he saw metaphysics.

The first four books were raw data—elemental digits, in a way. Volumes five through seven were how those digits could be used.

A more emotional analogy: like drawing. From dots and lines to full figures, then structure and depth, light and shadow.

If by volume seven, you could imitate the masters and paint your own work, you’d be considered advanced.