Cocoon

On the last day of the first lunar month, Xu Qing shut the shop door and held three sticks of incense in his hands.

Before him stood the memorial tablets of Grand Ancestor Yang and Liu Youdao on the offering table.

After silently offering up the incense, Xu Qing watched the white smoke curling upward, and an uncanny peace settled over his heart.

Compared with wild zombies, he felt he had already been lucky enough.

Had he been a wild-roaming zombie, he might still have been gazing at the moon and eating wind beside some lonely mountain grave, or sneaking into the territory of the living to steal a taste of flesh, only to be spotted by a crowd of strong laborers who would chase him across the mountains with hoes and cleavers.

It might have been even worse—some passing Corpse Driver or Daoist with a single straight brow might have yanked him out of his coffin, slapped two resounding smacks across his face, and, once he woke up, sent him on his way.

Fortunately, Xu Qing was no wild-roaming zombie. He had inherited the Corpse Driver tradition and knew more about cultivation than any other zombie. Even without corpse-nurturing materials, he could blend into the territory of the living and trade gold, silver, and worldly goods for all kinds of cultivation resources.

That was an advantage his fellow creatures could never match, so he held a measure of respect for the two Corpse Drivers enshrined on the incense table. They had given this zombie the capital to grow bigger and stronger and rise to glory once more.

"Scholar Liu, Master Yang above, your disciple is entering seclusion today to cultivate, for a period of seven days. I hope that, if you are aware in heaven, you will bless your disciple so that he may gain something from his studies and succeed in his cultivation."

Although Liu Youdao had ceased to be human long ago and had transformed him into a zombie, Xu Qing had thereby gained a new life in another sense.

After that, he had inherited the Corpse Driver's Shop and diligently studied the art of driving corpses, ensuring that the lineage of Yang Yingqi and Liu Youdao did not die out. In terms of both emotion and reason, he had acquired some measure of a teacher-student bond with them.

So Xu Qing felt that it was only natural for a teacher and grandteacher to offer a little protection for their student's studies.

In any case, he had already made up his mind: if this attempt to transform into an Ironclad Wandering Corpse failed, then from that day onward, he could save himself the trouble of burning incense and paying respects during festivals.

A teacher who refused to bless his student and let him fail his classes probably did not have the thick skin to enjoy incense offerings, did they?

After fulfilling the traditional Filial Piety, Xu Qing took out an axe and chisel, scissors and needle and thread, carrying the spirit of a pioneer who would either succeed or die trying, and began tinkering at the workbench.

The so-called workbench was actually a crude tabletop made by joining two coffins together. A smooth black-lacquered board had been laid across it. It was also what he usually used to dress and make up corpses for people.

At that moment, a wooden stake made of Darkwood lay before Xu Qing. He was not familiar with carpentry, but hollowing out the stake and turning it into a crude coffin was still within his abilities.

Darkwood served as a container for sealing corpses. He split and hollowed out the stake with knives and axes, then set it aside for later use.

Next came the main event. Xu Qing fetched a large Corpse Nail that a Corpse Driver had soaked using a secret method, then hammered it firmly into the Mountain Ruffian Hide, whose hardness rivaled iron and stone.

Nailing down such a complete Yin Creature Hide required particular care. First, vermilion had to be smeared over the seven acupoints at the center of the Mountain Ruffian Hide's forehead, the center of its back, the centers of its left and right palms, and the centers of its feet. Only after the Divine Talisman had been affixed could he wield the nail hammer and begin processing it.

The hide of a nearly twenty-year-old old ruffian was filled with Yin turbidity that could not be driven away. It was the dense resentment accumulated by a mountain creature on the verge of becoming a monster after suffering a calamity.

After using nails to stretch the hide open and secure it firmly, he still felt uneasy, so he found a Five-Colored Cloth Strip and bound it tightly around the hide.

Once everything was ready, Xu Qing lit the Green Lamp on the altar table, drew a deep breath of Spirit Incense to clear his head, and confirmed that every door and window was shut. Only then did he take out the Wolf Hair Brush, using his own Zombie Blood as ink to carefully trace the Corpse Shadow Yin Talisman inside the hide.

There were thirty-six Corpse Shadow Yin Talismans in all. Each time he carved one, the hide fixed to the altar table by the Corpse Nails would twitch and leap for a moment, looking exactly like freshly cut beef just after being butchered.

When Xu Qing, resembling a tattoo artist, reached the twenty-seventh Yin Talisman, the "beef" on the workbench had already begun to run wild. Countless hairs started growing madly from the back of the hide, then poked their heads out and crawled toward its edges, as if searching for a brand-new body to parasitize.

But he had already circled the hide's edges with candles. When those writhing hairs touched the heat, they recoiled like startled snails.

Deep into the night, lamplight swayed inside the Corpse Driver's Shop. The cold, twisted roars of beasts were sealed within the twitching, leaping hide by the rustling brush that painted it with blood talismans. The young Corpse Driver was sometimes like the Old Tailor in a tailor shop, and sometimes like an old painter in an art studio, but he resembled the shadow-play master who wielded knives, spears, swords, and halberds in a puppet theater even more, manipulating every complicated line with deft hands.

After countless runes had been completed, the entire hide had been divided by the talisman brush into eleven sections, corresponding exactly to the human body's five viscera and six bowels.

By the time daylight fully broke, he pulled out every Corpse Nail. The wrinkled old ruffian hide lay quietly on the workbench, utterly like a young bride who had been tossed about all night on her wedding night, without a shred of temper left.

Aside from the scattered nail hammer and talisman brush, the altar table was covered with remnants of all kinds of materials. Xu Qing had fought through the night using blood as ink, and now his head felt heavy and his feet unsteady. He was far too lazy to clean up the aftermath.

He opened the shop door and massaged his aching waist as he made his way to the Paper Craft Shop. Wu Yaoxing, who had just woken up, poked half his body out while shivering and rolling his shoulders.

"Ugh, Brother Xu, what happened to you? Why do you look so haggard?" Wu Yaoxing stared in horror at the emaciated young man with his withered face, who looked as though a gust of wind might topple him. His drowsiness vanished at once.

"Ahem. I spent the night at Cuiyun Tower. It's just a little hobby of mine. I'll be fine after resting for two days."

After casually making up an excuse, Xu Qing got to the point. "Old Wu, I recently took on a Feng Shui Geomancy job—helping someone inspect a grave and determine its burial site. I'm afraid I won't be back for the next seven or eight days. If anyone comes looking for me during that time, sorry for the trouble, but please tell them for me."

Wu Yaoxing still looked worried. "Are you really all right? How about I go with you to the pharmacy and get you some nourishing, qi-restoring medicine?"

"Right, I also keep a few hens in my old courtyard."

In the end, Xu Qing still declined his neighbor's concern. A person knew their own circumstances best. If he truly went to a clinic, whether he was sick or not was secondary; he was more worried that he might frighten the physician into developing an ailment.

He was a genuine zombie, after all. Why would he need a doctor?

Returning to the shop, Xu Qing locked the door from outside, wandered to the rear courtyard, climbed over the wall, and slipped back into the shop.

The gloomy, pitch-black Mountain Ruffian Hide still lay quietly across the workbench. Xu Qing stripped off his clothes, drew a deep breath, said a prayer for his ancestors' blessing, then reached out and wrapped the hide—covered in talismans and steeped and processed with all kinds of materials—around himself.

The next moment, the deathly still hide suddenly stirred. Countless blue-black blood vessels grew and drilled out from beneath it, like branches sprouting after rain, their sharp tips boring into every part of Xu Qing's body.

The crimson-purple runes flashed with light. Before Xu Qing could think, his entire body was completely wrapped and swallowed by the writhing, twisting hide.

Enduring the numb, painful sensation spreading across his body, like a short circuit, Xu Qing—his vision temporarily gone—stumbled his way to the hollow Darkwood stake lying before him.

Once the body, impossible to distinguish as beast or human, rolled into the hollow stake, he laboriously felt his way to the coffin lid beside him and sealed himself inside completely.

Cold wind howled outside the window as the sun rose and the moon fell.

Bright sunlight streamed through the cracks beneath the door and between the window panes.

The first spring rain arrived without a sound.

One day, knocking and a voice speaking rang out at the entrance of the Corpse Driver's Shop, then never appeared again.

The Watchman's clanging gong and wooden clapper continued for seven days.

The stake coffin lying inside the Corpse Driver's Shop resembled a throne forgotten by time in some ancient ruin, allowing crows and magpies to chatter noisily atop it.

On the eighth day of the second lunar month, a chrysalis in a corner of the Corpse Driver's Shop split open its shell. The only ray of light slipping through the window illuminated the corner, and a newly born butterfly of blue and black spread its wings. Flapping noisily, it flew over the workbench and landed at one end of the wooden coffin stake.

At that moment, the coffin that had lain silent for so long suddenly trembled faintly.