Corpse Retriever

Li Zhuiyuan was still fumbling his way through the Anti-Dead Sinker Technique, so he had little grasp of the situation in front of him.

But there was one thing he could be sure of: Ah Li definitely wasn’t a Dead Sinker.

So… was the Dead Sinker him?

Li Zhuiyuan seriously reflected on his childhood and confirmed that, like Li Lan, he had a mental disorder—but nothing severe enough to be struck from the household register and categorized as a Dead Sinker.

Then what exactly was going on right now?

This was the downside of learning from books alone. No teacher, no curriculum, no complete theoretical framework. Sometimes he could solve advanced problems, yet get stumped by the simplest concepts.

What’s worse, people with greater learning potential often veered further off track.

Still, he was already here.

Li Zhuiyuan took a step forward toward the darkness shrouding Ah Li.

The moment his foot landed, the world around him began to spin wildly. The disorientation was more intense than any motion sickness, assaulting his senses with dizzying force.Thankfully, the chaos passed as quickly as it came. When everything calmed, he found himself sitting on a small stool, feet resting on a doorstep.

He knew this posture well—it was how the girl always sat during the day.

“Wuuu… wuuu…”

It was somewhere between weeping and the low growl of an animal, near and far all at once.

Just outside the door, right past the threshold, the view was realistic yet carried a bizarre ink-wash surrealism.

A tiny man in yellow, no taller than a few inches, rode a pony and steered a cart with a yellow canopy past the doorway before swerving into the depths of the dark clouds ahead.

A python slithered through the grass outside. It had only one head, but its body split into two, intertwining as it moved.

In the vegetable patch ahead, several farmer-like figures worked with hoes. On their left hips hung water bottles; on the right, their own heads.

Down by the river, a group of women squatted to do laundry, wielding mallets. But what they beat wasn’t clothing—it was wailing infants.

The world outside the door was in constant motion. As his eyes moved, so did the scene.

All sorts of spirits and monsters appeared—some known from ancient texts, others never seen or heard of before.

Li Zhuiyuan looked up. The sky was thick with dark clouds, and something massive stirred within them, always just out of clear view.

He turned around. Behind him stood an altar table lined with memorial tablets.

At first glance, they gave him an inexplicable sense of security.

But that feeling quickly faded into deep sorrow.

The tablets were dull and damaged, full of harrowing cracks.

They clearly should have served some function here, but each was broken, and the oil lamps before them were dry—unable to shine with spirit light again.

Suddenly, the house grew silent, and the light dimmed.

He turned back to the door. A pitted, mottled wall had sealed it shut.

Buzz!

A crack split the wall. Then it ripped wide open, revealing a giant slanted eye.

Li Zhuiyuan was rocked to his core. His ears rang with piercing noise.

The vision vanished. He might have woken up—but he could neither see nor hear.

On the second-floor balcony, the boy opened his eyes blankly and rose from the rattan chair, staggering toward the edge.

A small hand grabbed his and pulled him back.

He stumbled into the chair again, sitting woodenly and staring ahead.

Only after a long time did his senses return. Pain pierced his skull—he clutched his head, groaning.

Gradually, he calmed down and turned to the girl beside him.

She met his gaze, eyes filled with hopeful anticipation, as if waiting for his verdict.

He had just visited her “home,” a place in her heart—one of unforgettable horror.

Yet he didn’t console her. Instead, his lips curled into a dry smile.

“That was fun.”

The girl tilted her face slightly, dimples faintly showing.

She was happy.

Kids from modest homes often felt shy and nervous when bringing friends over to play.

Her home was terrifying—but it was still her home.

At such times, sympathy or comfort only made things more awkward.

The best guest behavior was to act casual, like it was no big deal.

Li Zhuiyuan smiled too. He reached out and lightly tapped her nose.

The girl studied his hand, then slowly raised her own.

He leaned forward a bit, and she tapped his nose just as gently.

Picking up the black book again, Li Zhuiyuan began reviewing the entire process. He thought he’d executed the technique correctly, even if the result was failure.

More importantly, he seemed to have found a training partner—Ah Li.

Though he had a hunch she might be a bit too advanced for a sparring partner.

But higher difficulty meant faster growth. Worst case, a splitting headache—he could handle that.

“Ah Li, shall we go again?”

The girl nodded.

They lay down together and closed their eyes.

Same start, same process, same vision… same blinding headache.

Just as Li Zhuiyuan was recovering from the second round, Aunt Liu’s voice called from downstairs:

“Breakfast is ready!”

It felt like those mornings long ago when he’d play a few games of chess while waiting for food.

He had found a new game to play with the girl.

Breakfast was porridge, but there were many types of pickles—both Nantong’s traditional and Granny Liu’s favorites.

Each dish was arranged neatly on the small table, giving the meal a ritual feel.

That is, if you ignored Runsheng and Binbin.

Runsheng had his usual breakfast routine—lighting incense before every meal, dumping porridge and all the pickles into a basin, stirring them into a slurry, and eating spoonfuls of evenly mixed porridge-pickle.

Tan Wenbin had fully adapted.

Li Sanjiang crossed his left leg; Tan crossed his right. Both cradled their bowls in one hand, slurped around the rim, then used chopsticks to toss some pickles into their mouths, chewing while idly scratching itches with the chopstick ends and gazing into the distance.

After the meal, Li Sanjiang lit a cigarette.

Tan Wenbin quickly struck a match to light it for him.

Before the flame died, he grabbed one from Li Sanjiang’s pack, lit it, then tossed the match away and shook his hand fast.

Li Sanjiang glanced at him but said nothing.

He didn’t understand the word “rebellious,” but he’d lived long enough to know what that phase looked like.

Every kid went through it, thinking growing up was some grand achievement.

But when he looked at Li Zhuiyuan, Li Sanjiang smiled again. His own Little Yuanhou would never be that childish.

Li Zhuiyuan took out the cash from exchanging the gold ingot and handed the bag to Li Sanjiang.

“Taigong, Uncle Ding and the others came by this morning. They had something urgent and had to leave. They didn’t want to wake you, so they asked me to give you the money.”

“That so? Left in a hurry, huh?”

Sanjianghou peeked into the black plastic bag, his smoking picking up pace.

“Whoa, quite a bundle.”

“Should be enough, right, Taigong?”

“More than enough. Once we pay the lease for the land, the rest goes to planting peach trees. The more money, the denser we plant. Less money, looser spacing.

All right, I’ll go sign the contract with the village head, then check out saplings in town. Tinghou, I won’t be home for lunch. Ugh, if it weren’t for the house’s sake, I wouldn’t bother with this mess.”

Li Sanjiang picked up the bag and left. As he stepped down the embankment, his voice called out:

“Little Cuihou, here to play with Little Yuanhou?”

“Mm.”

“Go on, then.”

Soon, Cuicui reached the embankment. Her eyes scanned over Li Zhuiyuan and Ah Li, and she beamed.

“Yuanhou gege.”

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