Corpse Retriever

Li Zhuiyuan lowered his head just enough to read along with him.

Zhu Yang had always loved reading. Perhaps this Chronicle of the Qi Clan had once been lost deep within the pond and had now, by strange chance, been retrieved by Zhu Yang after becoming a Dead Sinker.

If not for this twist of fate, the book might never have resurfaced. In fact, now that it had been moved from the depths of the pond to here, it was effectively sealed away forever.

Zhu Yang opened the first page. It was filled with colorful dots of various sizes.

He turned another page—still nothing but dense, multicolored dots.

Li Zhuiyuan’s eyes widened. He knew this would be his only chance to read the book, so he focused hard, trying to memorize each page.

His memory had never been good—unlike those two classmates who could truly recall every word after a glance.

So he took every chance between Zhu Yang’s page turns to scan the pages more carefully, ensuring he remembered them.

As for deciphering the content, like with the pebbles on the ancestral hall’s walls—that could wait. There would be time.

The flipping was quickly over. Once they reached the final page, Li Zhuiyuan lifted his head and closed his eyes, swiftly reviewing every page in his mind.When he opened them again, he saw Zhu Yang’s body trembling. The hand holding the book now had lengthening, blackening fingernails, and even his exposed ribs were pitted and corroded. Thick, inky pus oozed like spilled ink.

He was changing—losing his self, bit by bit.

In truth, during the latter half of the book, Li Zhuiyuan had already noticed Zhu Yang’s trembling hands, as if struggling to suppress something within.

Now that the book was finished, Zhu Yang no longer had to restrain his violent urges.

And at this moment, the banquet of revenge finally reached its end.

But the Dead Sinkers still weren’t satisfied.

Li Zhuiyuan knew he couldn’t linger any longer. He estimated the time—it hadn’t even been half an hour, but it was enough.

He wanted to do a death count to report how many in the village had fled to escape justice.

But the bodies were scattered—pieces here, chunks there, even hanging from the beams. Counting was impossible.

Forget it. Time to go.

Before leaving, Li Zhuiyuan said to Zhu Yang, “I’ll wire a fee to your family for flipping the book.”

Zhu Yang’s eyes, which had turned blood red, cleared for a moment upon hearing that. It was brief, but he clearly understood.

Fairness mattered. He’d ferried the four of them to gain courage in numbers. Liangliang had bought cigarettes, food, and paid for the meal.

The corpses had built the floating bridge underwater so the four could escape the dark pond, and Li Zhuiyuan had awakened them so they could personally exact revenge.

All square. The only unpaid debt was the favor just now—flipping the book. That was his alone to repay.

The surrounding Dead Sinkers began to gather toward Li Zhuiyuan, following an instinctual savagery stirring inside them.

“Roar!”

Zhu Yang let out a low growl. His ribs jutted out like spikes, barring the way in front of him. His cold gaze swept across them, and the advancing Dead Sinkers all took two steps back.

Li Zhuiyuan could hardly imagine what this place would become. By trapping them all here—would it become a new breeding ground for evil?

And what might one day be born from it?

Fortunately, they couldn’t get out.

Li Zhuiyuan shut his eyes and ended the walking the shade.

…

When he opened them again, he saw Runsheng just about to pinch his hand.

“Brother, I’m awake.”

“Hold on, I’m waking Xiaoyuan.”

Runsheng pinched down.

“Hiss… I’m awake, brother.”

“Ah, oh, haha.” Runsheng scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

“Runsheng ge, let’s go.”

“Alright.”

Runsheng bent down, signaling the boy to climb on his back.

“Brother, I can walk.”

“You’re tired. I’m full.”

Li Zhuiyuan wiped the dried blood from the corner of his eye and climbed onto Runsheng’s back.

They didn’t leave through the village, instead circling around the mountain.

By the time they reached the summit, it was noon. The sun shone bright, clearing the mountain air.

Descending to the main road, they saw police cars and trucks rushing in.

From the back seat of the second police car, Tan Wenbin and Xue Liangliang leaned out, waving excitedly.

Li Zhuiyuan and Runsheng also got into a police car. The sirens stayed off as they stopped just outside the village. Officers charged in.

There was no fierce resistance or difficult arrests. Most able-bodied villagers had apparently already “fled to escape guilt.”

Many victims’ bodies were never found, but the village overflowed with criminal evidence—nearly every household had some, implicating the entire community.

In one ravine, there was even a site specifically used to bury and process vehicles.

Zhu Yang’s truck hadn’t been dealt with yet. Xue Liangliang and the others retrieved their luggage. Li Zhuiyuan picked up a letter Zhu Yang had written to his wife and daughter—it had their address and the village phone number.

Despite the case being rife with bizarre details, there was no doubt this was a major case. Still, in the larger campaign against highway bandits, it was just a bigger splash in the pond.

Years later, someone might hear about “highway bandits” and find it strange, hard to believe such things had ever really happened.

Some might even dig into old case files and stumble upon this one, launching countless conspiracy theories about its many inexplicable details.

But that would be in the future.

As mere witnesses, Xue Liangliang and Tan Wenbin weren’t held for long.

They knew Xiaoyuan could do unusual things, so when reporting the crime, they’d been careful. They claimed the four of them had gone to the nearby woods to play at night and saw Zhu Yang surrounded and killed on the truck. They left out having entered the village.

When the police learned their destination, they offered to send the group directly to Shan City.

But Xue Liangliang declined, not wanting to trouble them. They just accepted a ride to the next city and bought new train tickets from there.

This time, it was hard seats. Fortunately, the ride wasn’t too long.

“Shan City! Passengers getting off at Shan City, please gather your belongings and prepare to disembark. Wake up! Shan City!”

The conductor’s voice broke many people’s dreams. Since this wasn’t the final stop, half stood up to grab their luggage while the other half shifted to keep sleeping.

The four exited the station, all a little worn out. Anyone would be, after being shoved through such an ordeal mid-journey.

Still, though the incident was huge, their moods bounced back quickly—they were all seasoned travelers by now.

Outside the station, a crowd of aunties held signs, hustling guests for their family-run inns. Some even grabbed at luggage.

Xue Liangliang chose the only auntie not shouting about “special services.”

Good choice. The inn was small but clean. The owner gave them a shared room with four small beds side by side.

They dropped their bags, took turns showering, and collapsed into deep sleep.

Li Zhuiyuan slept lightly. Three hours later, he awoke and couldn’t fall back asleep, so he sat on the bed, staring at the curtain slowly brightened by sunlight.

When the others eventually woke too, they checked out and went downstairs for breakfast.

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