Chapter 99: Borrowing a Corpse to Resurrect the Soul

It is said that in the Miao region there exists a type of sorcery known as the Forgetfulness Gu, capable of making a person forget everything that happened before today. Modern medicine refers to this condition as amnesia, categorizing it as a mental disorder. Most amnesia sufferers gradually regain some memories over time, often triggered by certain fragments that stimulate the brain to recover lost recollections.

I do not know if the Forgetfulness Gu truly exists, but later they indeed found an unknown parasite inside Ye Qiu’s body—the same species as the one found in my deceased cousin-in-law from Zhuangyuan Village. This parasite resembles a silkworm, except it feeds only on flesh, not leaves.

Ye Qiu said he remembered many things; he claimed he had been here before. He even told Fatty and Zha Wenbin that the clay figurine contained himself.

“I’ve been having a recurring dream these days,” he said. “In it, I often see my head being chopped off. The headless man keeps telling me to collect his body. When I ask who he is, he says he’s me. I ask him why he is me, and he says his name is Zhao Wuji. He says the current me isn’t the real me. Every time I see that man in my dream, I want to run away, but he always appears from all directions. Later, I got this knife and placed it under my pillow, and since then, the headless man hasn’t appeared.”

“Are you sure the clay figurine is you?” Zha Wenbin asked.

Ye Qiu nodded, fell silent for a moment, then asked Zha, “Do you believe in borrowing a corpse to return a soul?”

“I do,” Zha replied. “But don’t overthink it. If what you say is true, it might not be such a bad thing—at least you’re still alive now.”

“Yeah, alive to collect my own corpse—what an irony.”

The coin was the best evidence. It clearly indicated the era—the coin was a 1978 five-cent piece. This alone made it convincing that the corpse inside the figurine came from our time. It confirmed that someone had been here in recent years. How that person ended up like that, though, no one could explain.

That clay figurine was Ye Qiu. His card bore the surname Zhao. So who was this man standing before them, shouting fiercely?

Even he no longer knew.

“If these clay figurines are all from people who came later, then…” Zha Wenbin posed this theory, then recalled what Ye Qiu had said upon arriving: someone would die here. Why would he say that?

“Forget who you are for now. Answer me—was the person inside that figurine the one who died here last time?”

Ye Qiu’s mood calmed somewhat. He nodded. “Yes, that was me.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” Ye Qiu said. “My intuition tells me it was me. My head hurts terribly. Whenever I try to recall the past, it feels like millions of ants are gnawing at my brain.”

Zha Wenbin turned to Fatty. “Stone, you and I will open the coffin. Let Ye Qiu rest a bit.”

The coffin was actually a nested coffin—smallest on the inside, layered one inside another, with the outermost being the coffin proper. The quickest way to open such a coffin was to enter the outer coffin first. Given its size, prying it open directly was impossible. Ancient coffins were joined by mortise and tenon joints, without nails. The top was the most fragile part; unlocking the four corners of the lid was like lifting a pot cover, revealing what lay inside.

Fatty climbed up and quickly noticed the lid had already been pried open. Two parallel wooden beams on the top had been removed, leaving a hole wide enough for both men to pass through.

Inside the outer coffin lay a red dragon-embossed coffin, about four meters long and two meters wide. No other items were found. Fatty was about to proceed when Zha Wenbin stopped him.

“Wait!”

Fatty thought Zha was going to perform some ritual or offering and chuckled. “Though I’ve never been to an imperial tomb, I’ve been into more than a dozen smaller nests. For us in this line of work, if there’s something in there ready to pounce, worship won’t help. You have to be tough. Nobody likes being woken up from a good sleep. Even if you burned me a whole truckload of paper money, I still wouldn’t like it.”

Zha Wenbin shook his head. “Have you noticed? This coffin looks untouched. Don’t you find that strange?”

“True,” Fatty said, glancing up at the opening and then at the clay figurines outside. “After all the commotion, just for this? The lid’s been lifted. There’s no reason not to scoop out some broth.”

“Wait a moment.” Zha Wenbin took some lime powder from his bag, spread it on his palm, and gently blew it onto the coffin lid. A fine layer of white dust settled. He circled the lid, covering it all with the powder, then shone a strong light on it. Immediately, chaotic fingerprints appeared on the lid.

Fatty was stunned. “Why didn’t I think of that? Someone’s definitely touched this.”

“Touched, but not opened.” Zha Wenbin examined the seams carefully. There was no sign of forced entry. The coffin was still sealed.

“Jackpot!” Fatty was ecstatic, his mind racing with thoughts of burial treasures. He pulled out a folding entrenching tool. “Let me do it.”

Zha Wenbin stopped him. He felt something was off, a silent voice inside urging caution.

“Stone, let’s go.”

“Go? Are you crazy? We barely got down here, and you want to retreat? That’s stupid!”

“Go. Something’s wrong here. At least two groups have been here before us. They found this place, yet none opened the coffin. Don’t you find that strange?”

“They’re idiots. Fatty never leaves a nest empty-handed.”

Zha Wenbin shouted, “Remember, we’re not tomb raiders!”

“Then what are we doing? Tell me! You lift someone’s bed roof, snoop through their room, then walk out—if you’re not a thief, who’d believe you? If you’re not a thief, why are you here? Got nothing better to do?”

Zha Wenbin didn’t want to argue, waving his hand. “I want to pause, okay?”

“No way!” Fatty grabbed the entrenching tool, ready to pry. “We’re cursed, cursed! Nobody can save us but ourselves!”

Seeing Fatty about to strike, Zha Wenbin grabbed him and struggled to pull him back. Fatty’s strength was far greater. With a flick of his arm, Zha Wenbin slammed into the coffin’s wooden frame. Fatty pressed forward to open the coffin, but Zha Wenbin fell to the ground and grabbed Fatty’s legs. Fatty stumbled and fell. Whether from panic or confusion, he swung the entrenching tool backward. If not for Zha Wenbin’s quick reflexes and his Seven-Star Sword blocking the blow, Fatty might have slashed half his face.

With a clang and sparks flying, Zha Wenbin felt dizzy and furious. “You’re unbelievable! You wouldn’t listen before, now you’re trying to kill me!” Watching Fatty step toward the coffin, Zha Wenbin drew his sword and slowly rose to his feet.

“Stop!” A loud shout came from above, and a figure leapt down, knocking both men senseless. The person raised his arm, slapping them each twice so hard their eyes sparkled and their cheeks puffed out.

Ye Qiu had arrived just in time. He had vaguely heard the argument inside the coffin area, climbed up, and saw Zha Wenbin preparing to ambush Fatty from behind. Luckily, Ye Qiu intervened before disaster struck.

Zha Wenbin broke out in a cold sweat, the slap fully waking him. Fatty was dazed too; they exchanged glances, bewildered at how a simple quarrel had escalated to fighting.

“That was close!” Zha Wenbin realized they had likely been bewitched, their minds clouded. Seeing the sharp entrenching tool and unsheathed sword on the ground, their brotherhood seemed on the verge of deadly conflict. Footprints appeared on the lime dust atop the coffin lid—neither theirs nor Ye Qiu’s. He knew something mysterious was afoot.

“Drink this,” Zha Wenbin said, wiping water from his mouth as he handed a small bottle to Fatty.

Fatty sniffed it, recoiling at the pungent smell. “What is this?”

“Old lime water. I had someone collect a thousand-year-old ash from the incense burner before the Chongyang Hall. Use it sparingly; don’t gulp it down. We’ve been tricked by ghosts—this is a sorcerer being fooled by spirits. It’d be embarrassing if word got out.”

Fatty took a sip and quickly passed it back. But as it went down, a refreshing sensation surged from his stomach, up his esophagus, and hit his forehead. He shook his head as if washed with cold water—utterly revitalized.

“One more sip. My head’s still dizzy.”

Zha Wenbin quickly covered the bottle. “No more. Every sip you take is one less for me.” The tension between them dissolved; their earlier hostility vanished.

“Thanks, Brother Ye—no, Brother Zhao,” Fatty said, suddenly uneasy.

Ye Qiu sighed. “Just call me Ye Qiu. Zhao is dead.”

Zha Wenbin smiled, pulling some ritual items from his bag. “Good that you’ve come to terms with it.”

“What are you doing?”

“Exorcising ghosts.”

“Need my help?”

“You can do this too?”

“No, I can’t…”