Corpse Retriever

The elders who remained behind looked unsettled and fearful—some regretful, some wailing softly, some cursing Ding Lao’er for his poor hospitality, while others made veiled jabs at Zhen Mubai and Su Wenluo.

The younger generation could only stand aside and watch. For most of them, it was the first time they had seen the head of their family so utterly humiliated, as if offending that woman was like punching a hole in the very sky above them.

Li Zhuiyuan followed Liu Yumei on her walk. She didn’t seem to be heading straight back to the house but instead wandered along the wooden railing on the cliffside, quietly letting her mind wander.

It was a long while before Liu Yumei stopped, her gaze sweeping out toward the sea of city lights glowing in the valley below.

“You rascal, you did well today. You made quite the respectable figure.”

“That’s because I had you backing me up, Granny Liu.”

Back in the capital, although Northern Grandma and Li Lan hadn’t gotten along as mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, she had genuinely liked him. Whenever she got the chance, she’d take him along to visit her old war comrades.

“Heh, me backing you up? Granny’s own back’s been no good for years.”

“But they’re clearly afraid of you.”

“They’re not afraid of me.”“Then are they afraid of the Qin and Liu families?”

“You’ve seen the memorial tablets in the East Room, haven’t you? Most of them are already dead. All that’s left is this orphaned old woman and her granddaughter. What Qin family, what Liu family is left?”

This was precisely what puzzled Li Zhuiyuan. After studying The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons and The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi, he had no doubt that the Qin and Liu clans had once held transcendent power on the rivers.

But now, their direct lines were all but gone. How could a reclusive old woman, merely emerging from hiding to treat her granddaughter’s illness, prompt all the old retainers and subordinates to bow their heads again with such submission?

It made no sense.

This wasn’t a wuxia novel. In reality, loyalty and righteousness were praised in the martial world precisely because they were so rare. If someone didn’t exploit your weakness to destroy you completely, that was already considered “supremely righteous.”

And yet, those people were genuinely afraid—and Liu Yumei carried herself with unquestionable confidence.

Liu Yumei gently stroked the boy’s head, speaking calmly:

“Half of the memorial tablets in the East Room were for those who fought the Japanese alongside the Fourth Master. The other half were placed after crossing the Yangtze.”

…

After a late-night snack with Ah Li, Li Zhuiyuan was put in a car and sent back to the hotel.

As the vehicle rolled along the riverside, he looked out the window at the water under the night sky—it looked soft now.

He stepped out at the hotel lobby and was just about to go in when he spotted Xue Liangliang sitting by the flowerbed.

“Xiaoyuan, you’re back.”

“Liangliang-ge, what are you doing here?”

“Runsheng and Binbin went out this afternoon and still haven’t returned. I couldn’t get away earlier and didn’t want you to come back to an empty hotel. Now that you’re here, let’s go find them together.”

“Alright.”

After all, they were two grown men, and with Runsheng there, it was unlikely anything bad had happened.

“Finding” them was really just an excuse for a stroll.

Xue Liangliang talked about his new job—he’d be in Shan City for two more days before heading to Wanzhou for a project that was still in the site-selection phase. Luo Tingrui had also told him to bring his junior apprentice along.

Li Zhuiyuan still found the term “junior apprentice” a bit strange—especially since Xue Liangliang described him as Luo Gong’s “final disciple.”

It was a binary choice: if he couldn’t get used to having a “master,” then he’d have to get used to a boring college life.

Xue Liangliang even teased him dramatically: “Look at you, in college you won’t even be allowed to date!”

Li Zhuiyuan shot back, “And you started dating in college?”

They were chatting and walking without really searching, but they just happened to bump into Tan Wenbin and Runsheng returning together, both excited and cheerful.

Xue Liangliang found a roadside barbecue stall, ordered three beers and a bottle of soybean milk. The four of them ate and chatted, finally learning what Tan Wenbin and Runsheng had been up to.

After leaving the hotel, they’d wandered around near Guanyin Bridge. Compared to Nantong, Shan City was far livelier.

When they got bored of walking, it was already dark. They ate something from a roadside stall and asked the vendor for entertainment recommendations.

Following the vendor’s suggestion, they arrived at a building. From far off, they could already hear the crack of billiard balls. Tan Wenbin suggested teaching Runsheng to play.

They entered and saw the name of the billiard hall—Midnight Collision.

As they played, they noticed a steady stream of people heading upstairs, accompanied by bursts of music from the second-floor stairwell.

Curious, they followed.

At the door upstairs was a ticket seller. The price wasn’t steep, so they bought two tickets.

Inside, it was packed. A crowd of men and women were dancing—not freely, but each holding a partner, squeezing into the throng.

After each song, the lights would flash. Those who didn’t want to keep dancing would leave; the men would pay the women, the women would stand along the outer circle, and the men would roam for new partners.

When the next song began, the lights went dark again.

Xue Liangliang asked if they had danced. Both shook their heads.

Too shy, they said—they sat the whole time against the wall. Their only expense beyond tickets was two cups of tea, and they even asked for two refills of hot water.

Xue Liangliang laughed until he was bent over.

After that, they returned to the hotel for rest. Over the next two days, Xue Liangliang took them to several tourist spots around Shan City. They tried hot pot and rabbit meat, and even rode the Yangtze River cableway.

When the river churned beneath their feet, Li Zhuiyuan felt a sense of awe and mystery.

But what they enjoyed most were the nightly drives around the city. After work, Xue Liangliang would borrow a car from his office and take them cruising.

As he drove, he’d stick his hand out the window and point out future developments: a bridge to be built here, a new commercial zone there. Shan City was going to become dazzlingly prosperous.

He had clearly seen the government’s plans, but much of what he said was his own “imaginings.” He truly saw himself as a city designer, sharing his inner blueprint with his friends.

In those moments, Xue Liangliang had a special kind of charm. His vision drew everyone in—the still city around them seemed to accelerate, bridges rising, roads laid, buildings sprouting up. The city was visibly transforming, day by day.

After every drive, Xue Liangliang would refuel the car before returning it.

Before leaving Shan City, the four of them visited Liberation Monument and had one last hot pot meal nearby.

Originally, Li Zhuiyuan hadn’t liked spicy food—neither had Tan Wenbin—but after a few meals, they were hooked. The spice was just the outer shell of Shan City hot pot—its core was fragrance.

The car to Wanzhou was again provided by the unit, and Xue Liangliang drove it himself. This time, fuel costs could be reimbursed.

Once they left the city, the scenery was breathtaking, but the road was tricky. Their destination wasn’t in downtown Wanzhou but further out. The last stretch was muddy from rain the night before, and the car got stuck. Fortunately, Runsheng pushed them out and they continued.

By the time they arrived, it was already late. The guesthouse was basic, but the rooms were spacious.

Li Zhuiyuan opened the window—directly below was a river. Back in Nantong, houses were also built by rivers, but always beside gentle ones—not such fierce torrents.

You could sit inside, cast a fishing line, sip tea, and listen to the radio while waiting for a bite.

Xue Liangliang returned and said a meeting was still ongoing—did he want to join?

Of course, Li Zhuiyuan agreed. Together they went to the meeting room on the first floor.

Maps covered the tables and walls. The attendees had split into two camps, locked in fierce debate, voices raised, palms slapping tables already stripped of their paint.

Midway through, both sides paused for water and snacks. It wasn’t over yet—one more round of arguing would be needed before they could sleep, otherwise they’d regret not venting properly.

Xue Liangliang didn’t participate, just listened attentively from the side.

Li Zhuiyuan, however, was curious about the blueprints and kept studying them.

Eventually, the two sides agreed: they’d each draft a proposal and let the higher-ups decide.

The next morning, a whistle blew, followed by knocks at the door—everyone was summoned for fieldwork.

Xue Liangliang had credentials; Li Zhuiyuan, though not yet enrolled, had half a foot in the door. Runsheng and Tan Wenbin were welcomed too—extra manpower was always appreciated.

This time, they brought not only equipment but also tents and food.

The road ahead was still under construction. When the car could go no farther, they continued on foot.

It wasn’t far, but the path was rough—streams to cross, gullies to pass, small hills to climb.

Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t help but think that the prized Wolf Mountain in Nantong was, in real mountains, no more than a numbered bump on a blueprint.

At the site, they made camp, boiled water, and had a meal of biscuits and canned food.

Then work began. Li Zhuiyuan’s group followed Xue Liangliang to a slope to begin surveying.

The boy learned fast. Tan Wenbin struggled a bit, but remained eager—he was committed to this field.

After nightfall, they returned to camp. The deputy team leader, Ma Yiming, led a data collation session and a quick meeting.

The next day mirrored the first. Their four-person team was sent to another site for measurements. At noon, they paused by a large stone to eat and rest.

Xue Liangliang joked with Tan Wenbin that there was still time to change his mind, but Tan Wenbin firmly reaffirmed his choice.

“Our work is like this—repetitive and dull, whether in design or construction. Only when the project is completed can we experience our unique kind of romance.”

That afternoon, after two half-days of learning and trial, Li Zhuiyuan gave Xue Liangliang a different kind of “romance” in return.

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