Corpse Retriever

”Snap!”

It felt like a split second—or maybe an eternity.

Li Zhuiyuan opened his eyes and found himself lying in bed.

He sat up, scanning the room carefully. He wasn’t just trying to confirm if this was his room—he needed to know if he was still dreaming.

After a while, he confirmed it was reality.

But in his ears, the crisp crack of Taigong’s final talisman slap against the tiles still lingered.

Then everything went black.

What happened next was a blur.

He couldn’t remember when the Luck-Shifting Ritual ended or how he’d left Taigong’s room and returned to his own.

Looking down at the blanket on his knees, he saw it had been folded his usual way, covering his stomach just like every night.That meant Taigong hadn’t carried him back to bed while he was unconscious. He had folded the blanket himself.

He climbed out of bed and checked the clock—5 a.m. Ah Li usually arrived around six.

Having walked the shade so many times, the moments just after waking always felt surreal, tinged with a faint anxiety—an instinctive urge to verify reality.

It was like walking halfway down the road only to freeze in panic, wondering if you’d locked the door.

And every time he opened his eyes to see Ah Li sitting in the chair, that whole step could be skipped.

His mouth was dry. Li Zhuiyuan walked to his desk to grab his water cup, only to find it filled with paper ash.

He immediately checked his notebooks. Though they’d been tidily cleaned, there were still faint traces where pages had been torn out.

But the torn pages weren’t ones he’d written.

He glanced at the pen holder on his desk—four pens, arranged the way he liked. But the one he used most often had noticeably less ink.

A scene surfaced in his mind:

In the dead of night, while he lay fast asleep in bed, a stranger sat at his desk, using his pen to write in his notebook.

Then the person tore out the written page, lit it, and dropped the ashes into the cup.

He opened the drawer—his spare change was all there.

Books, workbooks, pens—all arranged the way he liked. Given the memory gap after the ritual, Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t help but wonder:

Could the person sitting there last night have been himself?

But if it was, why burn what he’d written?

What did he write that he couldn’t even let himself read?

And the act of burning it—that proved last night’s self had known the memory would vanish.

He flipped through the books on his desk, not expecting any clues—he never doodled or made notes.

But when he picked up the second volume of Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts and flipped to the last page, he noticed something had changed. A character had been scrubbed out and replaced:

—Written by Wei Zhengdao.

Had become:

—Written by Pseudo Zhengdao.

Li Zhuiyuan frowned. Now he was nearly certain—it had been him sitting at the desk last night.

No one else in the house, not a thief, pervert, or unclean thing, would’ve done something so pointlessly childish.

Only he would take such perverse delight in mocking the phrase ”destroyed by the righteous path.”

”What did I do last night?”

He walked to the wardrobe. His reflection in the mirror met his eyes.

As soon as they locked gazes, a wave of intense panic surged through him. He broke eye contact immediately.

That same frigid feeling of emotional detachment rose from deep within—and this time, it hit harder than ever.

He clutched his head, repeating names from his mental network like a mantra. This time, he fixated most on Ah Li and Taigong. The rest—his parents and others—were only mentioned as an afterthought.

Eventually, the feeling ebbed.

Li Zhuiyuan lowered his hands. Still crouched on the floor, he turned to look at his mirrored self. Both were panting.

Once he’d fully calmed down, he stood, grabbed his washbasin, and headed out to freshen up.

As he opened his door, the room next door opened at the same time.

Li Zhuiyuan and Li Sanjiang stepped out almost simultaneously.

”Cough...”

A cool morning breeze greeted him, and Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t help but stop and cough.

Plop!Plop!

”Goddammit!”

Two birds flew overhead at that exact moment and simultaneously dropped their... offerings.

Li Zhuiyuan looked at the splatter on the ground in front of him. If he hadn’t stopped to cough, that bird crap would’ve landed right on his head.

Li Sanjiang touched the top of his own head. Seeing the white smear on his fingers, he sniffed it and grimaced, nearly gagging.

He instinctively moved to wipe it on the wall but then remembered this was his own home—right outside his bedroom. So he walked to the terrace water tank instead, rinsed his hand, and began drawing water to wash his hair.

”Taigong, let me fetch you some hot water. You’ll catch a cold washing with cold water.”

”Little Yuanhou, go grab me some detergent and a clean towel.”

Li Zhuiyuan brought the items, then poured hot water into Li Sanjiang’s washbasin from a thermos. He brushed his teeth beside him.

”Goddamn it, what a shitty start to the day.”

”Taigong, maybe those magpies were bringing you good news.”

”Taigong’s realized something—nobody bullshits quite like you, Xinakanzi.”

”Taigong, when did you go to sleep last night?”

”Right after the ritual ended. Turned in early, which is why I’m up so early today.”

”Taigong, do you remember what happened after the ritual?”

”What else? Went straight to bed, obviously.”

”I mean right after you slapped the talisman to the ground. Do you remember that?”

”Of course I do. How could I not? I didn’t drink last night—not like I’d black out.”

”You really remember?”

”Little Yuanhou, what’s up with you?”

”Taigong, after the ritual... did I say anything to you?”

”You said good night and went back to your room. What’s going on? Another nightmare?”

”No, no... Maybe I just slept too well last night—some things are a bit fuzzy.”

”That’s normal. Don’t matter if you’re a kid or an adult—it happens. Sleeping well is a good thing. Means the Luck-Shifting Ritual worked.”

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