Corpse Retriever

Yu Shu turned and walked back the way he came. Soon, he returned, pushing a small cart stacked with his gear.

Li Sanjiang, utterly puzzled, asked curiously, “What’s all this?”

Yu Shu chuckled as he started setting up a little stage. “If I want a bite to eat, I’ve got to show a bit of skill.”

“It’s just one meal—no need to go to all this trouble.”

“Otherwise, I’d be a beggar.”

“True enough,” Li Sanjiang got the message and called out, “Runsheng, Zhuangzhuang, come help out.”

Runsheng and Tan Wenbin had already seen the visitor. But remembering what Xiaoyuan said yesterday—that the newcomer might be in the same trade—they both looked to Li Zhuiyuan.

“Runsheng ge, Binbin ge, lend a hand, will you?”

So Runsheng and Tan Wenbin stepped up to help set up the stage and hang the backdrop.

Yu Shu didn’t face north-to-south like most do. Instead, he sat west-to-east, facing Liu Yumei sipping tea and the east wing of the house.Li Sanjiang suggested, “Why don’t I just treat this like a private show? I’ll call a few more folks from the village so it doesn’t feel too quiet.”

Yu Shu shook his head. “We already agreed—just one meal. Besides, there’s plenty of people around. It’s lively enough.”

His gaze then landed on Li Zhuiyuan, and he smiled. “Your eyes better now?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

At that, Yu Shu flicked open his fan and waved it, tapping his fingers irregularly on its surface.

The eyes are the wellspring of one’s physiognomy. Being able to see again meant that wellspring had reawakened.

The boy knew—Yu Shu was reading his face.

Just yesterday, he’d asked if Li Zhuiyuan had always had the surname Li, and whether his great-grandfather was truly his biological one.

Li Zhuiyuan decided to counteract the reading with one of his own.

Just as he was about to do so, Liu Yumei called out, “Xiaoyuan, come make some tea for Grandma.”

“Coming, Grandma.”

Li Zhuiyuan turned and walked over to make the tea.

Yu Shu paused, clearly taken aback, then folded his fan and tapped his own forehead three times, quite forcefully—his forehead turned red.

Then, he began his performance.

This time, he told another story from the Tang Dynasty, still centered on Li Shimin, but through a dramatized lens rather than historical account. It was about Li Shimin facing peril, saved by monks from the Shaolin Temple, and later emerging victorious with help from monks and various martial figures.

Just one man, one table, one chair, one fan, one ruler.

Yet his tale vividly conjured the clash of arms and the chaos of the battlefield, not just with vivid storytelling but skillful vocal effects.

Li Sanjiang was enraptured.

Runsheng and Tan Wenbin drifted between awe and astonishment, again and again falling under the spell of the performance.

Li Zhuiyuan simply sat beside Liu Yumei, drinking tea with her.

The performance went on for a full two hours without pause.

When it ended, Yu Shu snapped his fan shut, bent forward in a deep bow.

“Bravo! Bravo!” Li Sanjiang led the applause.

Runsheng and Tan Wenbin clapped hard as well, but midway through turned to glance at Xiaoyuan.

Li Sanjiang turned to Aunt Liu. “Tinghou, make something good for lunch. I’m sharing a proper meal with Mr. Yu.”

Liu Yumei added, “Ah Ting, give him something to eat.”

“Aye!”

Aunt Liu headed into the kitchen. She seemed to have prepared ahead of time. She soon brought out a bowl of cold porridge left from the morning and a small plate of pickled vegetables—nothing more, not even a salted duck egg.

Li Sanjiang frowned. “This won’t do. It’s not like we’re out of food.”

But Yu Shu willingly took the bowl, dumped the pickles into the porridge, grabbed his chopsticks, and sat on the ground, eating heartily.

Between bites, he praised, “Perfect! Cold porridge hits the spot in this heat.”

Li Sanjiang frowned deeper, wanting to insist again, but Yu Shu had already finished the bowl in just a few gulps. All he could say was, “Mr. Yu, once you’ve digested a bit, we’ll then…”

“Li Daya, I’m done.”

Yu Shu stood, returned the dishes to Aunt Liu, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Li Daya, traditionally, when performing for the first time, one should first pay respects to the family’s ancestors. Do you have any?”

“No memorial tablets, but we’ve got plenty of deity portraits.”

“Then please, take me to pay my respects.”

“Of course.”

Li Sanjiang led Yu Shu into a small room next to the kitchen, filled with images of various deities. The sheer number caught Yu Shu by surprise.

Li Sanjiang began introducing each god, and Yu Shu bowed to each in turn.

But when Li Sanjiang introduced a portrait of Confucius as Yuanshi Tianzun, Yu Shu’s eye twitched uncontrollably.

He was briefly unsure whether to perform a Daoist or Confucian bow.

In the end, he did both.

Afterward, Yu Shu came directly to Liu Yumei and said, “By tradition, one must pay respects.”

Liu Yumei shook her head. “Shouldn’t have fed you that meal.”

Yu Shu bent low. “It’s only right to pay respects.”

Liu Yumei finally nodded. “Go, then.”

Yu Shu opened the east room door and stepped inside.

Li Zhuiyuan stood and, seeing Liu Grandma’s bowed head, quietly moved to the doorway, where he could see Yu Shu kneeling at the altar in full ceremonial salute.

Nowadays, even when people kneel, it’s usually a half-hearted gesture. Few adhere to proper form.

But Yu Shu did it properly. At first, solemn. By the third bow, his expression crumpled—he was weeping.

When he finished, Yu Shu didn’t rush out. He took time to wipe his tears and compose himself.

He knew the boy was watching from the door, but he made no attempt to hide.

In some places, people willingly drop their masks, showing a rare honesty.

Finally, Yu Shu rubbed his face vigorously, forced a smile, walked out, and approached Liu Yumei—only to be cut off:

“Now that you’ve paid respects, you should leave.”

“Yes.”

Yu Shu replied, packed his things, and pushed his cart out of the yard. Li Sanjiang personally walked him to the village entrance.

Inside the house, Liu Yumei sighed. Her expression dimmed as she walked to the altar and sat down before the array of old and new spirit tablets.

“At least they still remember you.”

She paused, then said bitterly:

“But did any of you remember Ah Li?”

…

Tan Wenbin had already gone home the day before, crying like a farewell from the living to the dead.

Li Sanjiang even teased, “The boy’s got talent. Anyone needing a mourner, just hire him—guaranteed to weep to your satisfaction.”

After hugging Runsheng and Li Sanjiang, Tan Wenbin tried to hug Li Zhuiyuan too.

But the boy handed him three notebooks: one for math, one for physics, and one for chemistry.

Tan Wenbin couldn’t go through with the hug. He just cried harder.

It had been thundering and raining when he left. Runsheng drove him home on a tricycle. Though both wore raincoats, they ended up thoroughly drenched.

Today, the sun was blazing. Tan Yunlong had taken a day off work and drove a Santana to pick up Li Zhuiyuan for school enrollment.

Li Zhuiyuan bid farewell to his family. Li Sanjiang, full of pride, reminded him, “Xiaoyuan hou, remember your great-grandpa’s words—just listen in class, don’t get too caught up. Your eyes are more important, understand?”

Tan Yunlong overheard and couldn’t help but rub his own cheek.

Li Sanjiang handed over a bag filled with candy and cookies. “Here, take this. Share it with your classmates.”

Li Zhuiyuan took it.

“Don’t be afraid. If anyone bullies you at school, tell me when you get back. I’ll go have a word with them.”

Tan Yunlong chuckled, “Don’t worry, Li Daya. No one will bully him. Besides, Binbin’s there too.”

Li Sanjiang corrected him, “Zhuangzhuang is in high school, not elementary.”

Tan Yunlong could only nod and stay quiet.

Runsheng brought out a fountain pen. He worked and farmed under Li Sanjiang’s roof. Just got his first month’s wages two days ago—and spent all of it on this pen.

After buying it, he realized he had no money for ink. Li Sanjiang found out and marched him to the store, forcing the owner to include a bottle.

Liu Yumei gave a red envelope—this time, thin. Just one bill inside, a token gesture.

Li Zhuiyuan accepted it.

Ah Li hadn’t prepared anything. She seemed to realize this.

She was anxious but didn’t know how to express it. Her emotion was too tangled—not happiness, not anger.

The boy walked up to her. “Ah Li, when I get back from school, you help me with homework, okay?”

Her eyes lit up.

As he waved goodbye to the family, Li Zhuiyuan called to Li Sanjiang, “Taigong, I’m going to high school! I’ll take the college exam next year!”

“Good, good, my Xiaoyuan hou is the best!”

“Hehehe…” Liu Yumei chuckled beside him. Clearly, the old man hadn’t quite heard him—he thought it was just childish talk.

Leaving with Tan Yunlong, they reached the village road. Inside the car, they noticed another driver.

The man looked old, balding. No support from the frontier zones left to offer the central region.

Tan Yunlong grinned, “Your great-grandpa still doesn’t believe you’re going to high school.”

“Once the admission paperwork’s done, he’ll see.”

“By the way, Uncle Tan, this car…”

“I’m not misusing public property—it’s the school’s car.”

Cough cough… cough cough… The driver started coughing.

Tan Yunlong pointed. “Xiaoyuan, let me introduce—this is Principal Wu.”

The driver turned, reached out a hand to shake. “Wu Xinhang. Li Zhuiyuan, welcome to our school.”

“Principal Grandpa, thank you for your hard work.”

“No need. Just call me Grandpa. Drop the title.”

“Then call me Xiaoyuan.”

“Alright, alright.”

At first, when Tan Yunlong had called the school to inquire about enrollment, it had only made minor ripples among the school leaders.

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