Corpse-Stitching Needle Manual

The old cripple's stitched-up corpse was taken away. A hideously ugly wanted poster had been put up on the outer wall of Lin Shou's Corpse-Stitching Shop.

And with that, the matter was more or less over.

As for the fact that the criminal sketch on the wanted poster was wrong, Lin Shou couldn't do anything about that.

What could he do? Tell them they'd even gotten the gender wrong, and that the Scalp-Cutter was a gorgeous woman with rosy lips, pearly teeth, and a 36D bust?

Then they'd ask how he knew. Was he an accomplice?

If he couldn't explain himself, would they invite him to try out one of the new massage chairs recently purchased by the Ministry of Justice prison?

Lin Shou had no interest in looking for trouble. He didn't want to be invited to the Ministry of Justice prison for tea.

With so many court officials in the Three Judicial Offices and so many constables in the Six Fan School, how could they let a murderer roam free? They couldn't even figure out what he looked like?

If all the officials in the Capital City were such useless drunkards, Lin Shou might as well throw up his hands and say, "There's no hope. I'm out," then flee under cover of night.

Though the Great Jing Dynasty was nearing ruin, with the realm teetering in the wind and rain, surely it hadn't fallen so low yet.

Catching criminals was the Three Judicial Offices' business. Lin Shou drew no salary from them and had no reason to fret. He was just a humble corpse stitcher in a little shop.

Rather than worry about matters far beyond his reach, he was better off seeing what good things the Record of Selling Corpses had given him this time.

The Yin-Yang Abacus clinked and clattered; Heaven, Earth, Mystic, Yellow, each with its price.

The old cripple's life had probably been dull indeed, utterly unremarkable and not worth much.

The Record of Selling Corpses priced the body at Yellow-Grade, seventh rank.

The Wealthy Master Gao who'd murdered his own kin had been priced at fifth rank, and Rogue Wang, the shameless black-hearted rogue, at third. This old cripple was the cheapest corpse Lin Shou had sold so far.

Still, the reward was pretty good.

A Golden Corpse-Stitching Needle, along with a strange Flesh and Skin Scroll, unfurled slowly like a painting.

Beneath the human-skin scroll lay nerves, flesh, and bones. It felt exactly like a real corpse to the touch. The scroll was covered in all kinds of wounds, large and small: cuts from blades, punctures from spears, injuries crushed by blunt weapons, burns and scalds, poison damage, bite marks, and tears.

Corpse-Stitching Needle Manual

Lin Shou picked up the golden needle, threaded it, and began stitching the wounds on the Human Skin Trauma Scroll one by one.

The lonely night deepened. Candle wax dripped as Lin Shou concentrated on stitching the skin, his mind seeming to sink entirely into the work, oblivious to everything around him. In a single night, he stitched up all several thousand wounds on the Human Skin Trauma Scroll.

By then, dawn had arrived. Pale morning light poured through the window of the Corpse-Stitching Shop and fell across the fully stitched Human Skin Trauma Scroll. Sparks flared, and it burned to ashes.

The corpse oil from the burning skin scroll soaked into Lin Shou's hands. The experience and knowledge of the Corpse-Stitching Needle Technique seeped into every inch of his body.

Before, his corpse-stitching had been broad and rough, no different from sewing up a sack.

It was true that the Ministry of Rites provided corpse stitchers with on-the-job training, but it was little more than a cursory lesson. The standard was simply to stitch the corpse together without the seams coming undone—not to have the head fall off after the family had barely carried it home.

Nobody cared whether the stitches looked ugly. He was stitching up common folk, not high-ranking officials or nobles, let alone the emperor. He'd heard that when court officials or the emperor died, the Ministry of Rites had imperial morticians to arrange their appearances and prepare them for burial.

So the corpses Lin Shou had stitched up before were sturdy enough to withstand rough handling, but they looked rather ordinary. Their appearance didn't matter much, after all. It was a funeral, not a wedding.

But learning the Corpse-Stitching Needle Manual had truly improved Lin Shou's professional skills as a corpse stitcher.

Lin Shou glanced around, casually grabbed a cabbage drying by the window, tore off a leaf, and picked up his corpse-stitching needle.

His needle and thread flew. The cabbage leaf, which he'd torn to shreds, was stitched back together as if it had never been damaged. Even when he lifted it close to his eyes, he couldn't see a single stitch or loose thread.

If he showed it to someone, they'd never believe the leaf had been torn apart and then sewn back together.

Such a consummate skill, a level of craftsmanship bordering on the miraculous—even a tailor with a genius for the work and hands clever enough to rob Heaven of its craft might practice for a lifetime without ever mastering it.

Yet Lin Shou had learned it in a single night, thanks to the reward from the Record of Selling Corpses.

Tsk, tsk. This Record of Selling Corpses was truly terrifying.

What a pity it was a corpse-stitching technique. It still kept him in the corpse-stitching trade. If only he could get a cooking skill, a painting skill, a musical skill, a calligraphy skill... Then he could switch careers and become a master, making a fortune.

Still, even if that day came, he might not do it. With the Record of Selling Corpses around, Lin Shou wasn't sure he'd be willing to give up corpse stitching.

Setting those daydreams aside, the days still passed one by one.

Over the following days, the Scalp-Cutter's appearance threw the Capital City into an uproar.

Rumor had it that the Minister of Justice had been ordered to catch the Scalp-Cutter within two months. Otherwise, he'd resign and return home to grow sweet potatoes.

The rumor wasn't baseless. There really were more patrols on the streets during the day, and at night, Lin Shou could often hear constables making their rounds.

However, judging by the newly posted wanted poster, aside from the reward rising to a thousand taels—

the sketch was still of the same long-haired, mole-covered man with a face full of jowls.

Lin Shou could almost see a sweet-potato magnate rising on the horizon.

Of course, none of this had much to do with a little nobody like him.

Though the Great Jing court and its people were mired in chaos every day, life for Lin Shou, a humble corpse stitcher, was quite comfortable.

Lately, he'd taken a few nighttime jobs stitching corpses.

Judging by the Lantern of Life, most of them were Canal Gang porters who'd died in brawls near the docks, each one covered in wounds.

The cause might have been a group of refugees recently arriving from the north and trying to put down roots at the Capital City's Grand Canal docks. They had to fight for territory and business.

He'd heard there'd been much fighting in the north lately. Demonic cultivators had entered through the pass and taken a city. For three days, heads had fallen like rain. This group had escaped, while those who hadn't made it out had died in the massacre.

The corpses weren't worth much.

Not even as much as the old cripple's corpse. Most were worth eighth or ninth rank.

The rewards from the Record of Selling Corpses were things like Turtle Fist, Groin-Kick, and Eye-Gouge—nothing but Amateur Kung Fu.

After a few days, Lin Shou had learned a whole bag of dirty tricks.

You could call them martial arts, sure, but they were too filthy and ugly to use in polite company. But to say they were useless would be wrong: they hit hard, and they were deeply humiliating.

At least now, if he ran into a thug and got into a fight—

Lin Shou wouldn't just hold his own; he could even have the other thug clutch his crotch and curse him out. The guy had been in the underworld for years and had never seen moves so filthy and vicious—more thuggish than a thug, more hooligan than a hooligan.

Lin Shou wasn't greedy.

He never expected to become a martial arts master overnight.

He figured this set of "Amateur Kung Fu" cobbled together from the Record of Selling Corpses would at least serve as a means of self-defense.

The days flowed like water. The autumn wind whispered, and late autumn deepened.

On this particular day, another fine rain fell over the Capital City.

Dampness crept into the Corpse-Stitching Shop, and a moldy smell rose.

Lin Shou opened the door to air the place out and saw a row of disabled people sheltering from the rain beside the teahouse next door.

Most of them were lame; next came those missing an arm or unable to speak. There was also an old blind man.

Lin Shou knew this group well.

Heavenly Cripples and Earthly Maimed. They were all corpse stitchers from various corpse-stitching shops.