The Yin-Gate Profession was steeped in killing intent. Usually, only people burdened by the Five Evils and Three Deficiencies could work in it, so the Bureau of Corpse Management chose corpse stitchers from among the disabled and those with no family.
And there were all kinds of disabilities.
Corpse stitching depended on the hands, so it was best to have both. They mainly chose cripples, mutes, and deaf people. If you were missing an arm, you had to know how to work with your feet to earn a living.
As for Lin Shou's previous body, with all four limbs intact but an intellectual disability, the Pallbearer Guild and the executioners who beheaded people were more likely to take him. All you needed was a bit of dumb strength.
Lin Shou had become a corpse stitcher purely by luck. They'd thought he was too thin to be an executioner. Though he had an intellectual disability, he could still learn to sew, so they'd put him to work as a corpse stitcher.
And then there were the blind.
You'd think someone who couldn't see would be unable to work, but somehow there was a blind man among the corpse stitchers.
Lin Shou only knew that the man worked at the No. 1 Corpse-Stitching Shop and had lived for quite a long time. As for how he managed his work while blind, Lin Shou had no idea.
During the day, people who knew one another would greet each other and exchange a few words when they met. But at night, when they stitched corpses, they shut the doors.
Forget how they did the work; no one even knew whether they'd be alive when the doors opened again. Naturally, no one cared to ask.
In the jianghu, you didn't ask about other people's business.
Those who made their living in the jianghu, working in the Small Yin Sect, lived with their heads on the line. They drank when there was wine today, and counted each extra day alive as a blessing.
Lin Shou was the exception.
With the Record of Selling Corpses on him, he was trying to make a life for himself.
Lately, he'd even grown tired of the spring noodles at the Caishikou stall. He'd gone to the Brick Kiln to see about getting some bricks, hoping to build a stove inside the Corpse-Stitching Shop and start cooking. He'd already submitted the application to the Bureau of Corpse Management clerk.
That was the thing about people: their joys and sorrows didn't connect.
Lin Shou went over to greet the corpse stitchers squatting by the wall and handed out some sunflower seeds for them to crack.
As he drew closer, he heard a storyteller's voice coming from the teahouse beyond the wall. That explained what they were doing.
So they weren't sheltering from the rain—they were listening to a story.
These men from the Corpse-Stitching Shop were all poor. How could they afford to go into a teahouse and listen to a storyteller?
But they all loved it, and, like the two little beggars nearby, they'd sat with their backs to the wall to listen through it for free.
Lin Shou thought the teahouse staff would come chase them off soon.
Those two little beggars were comfortable there because they'd sing a few verses of Shulaibao outside the teahouse whenever they had nothing else to do. Begging was their job.
But these men were just freeloading.
Sure enough, before even a quarter of an hour had passed, a teahouse attendant came out.
"What are you doing? What are you doing? If you want to hear the story, pay for tea and come inside to a seat. If you've got no money, don't hang around here! Go! Go on, hurry up!"
The attendant came out waving a broom to drive them away. Clearly, it wasn't the first time. He knew these old cripples from the Corpse-Stitching Shop had no money.
The old freeloaders started squabbling and flopping onto the ground, shamelessly playing the rogue. The two little beggars beside them were laughing themselves silly.
In this era, they were all mice scurrying along the bottom of society. Who cared about dignity? You accepted the lot you were born into.
But just as they were putting on their show, a soft reprimand came from inside the teahouse. "Wang Er, don't bully the old folks."
"Shopkeeper." Wang Er heard the proprietor's voice and lost his bluster. But he still complained, "These people are listening to our stories for free."
A female shopkeeper stepped out of the teahouse. She wore a skirt of eight pleated panels and a moon-white vest, with hairpins in her hair. She was elegant and dignified, clearly a lady of good breeding.
She was the owner and shopkeeper of the teahouse, Xia Ruzhen.
The teahouse belonged to Qingcheng Tea House, a major tea merchant from the Shu Region. Their specialty, Qingcheng Snow Bud, was an imperial tea bestowed by the emperor and paid in tribute every year.
Lin Shou often marveled at how the Capital City was full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.
Even the unremarkable-looking teahouse beside his Corpse-Stitching Shop had such a distinguished background.
"The rain is pouring outside. Why make things difficult for people seeking shelter? There are empty seats in the teahouse, too. Let the old folks come in and rest their feet."
As she spoke, Shopkeeper Xia personally went to help the frail, disabled corpse stitchers inside. The old cripples were embarrassed by her kindness.
"Ah, you've got such a soft heart."
Wang Er grumbled all the while, but reluctantly helped the shopkeeper escort them into the teahouse.
At last, Wang Er came back out and saw Lin Shou standing there. He asked sarcastically, "Would you like to come in and take a seat, too?"
Lin Shou laughed and shook his head.
"I'll pass on the story. Take good care of those men inside, and I'll give you a reward."
As he spoke, Lin Shou took out a two-tael silver ingot and tossed it to Wang Er.
Wang Er caught the ingot and gaped. Two taels of silver was enough to get by on for a year if he pinched every penny.
He knew how much money a Skin Stitcher from the Corpse-Stitching Shop might have in his pocket. Lin Shou must have come into money somehow, but Wang Er couldn't guess where he'd gotten so much silver.
Still, Wang Er wouldn't ask. As they said:
In the jianghu, you didn't ask about other people's business.
This wasn't the government. What good would asking do?
If a man told you his mother had died and left him hundreds of taels, what was it to you? If he told you he'd just killed someone and stolen hundreds of taels, would you report him?
So just take the money and be done with it.
Greed glittered in Wang Er's eyes as he quickly tucked the silver into his shirt, afraid Lin Shou might change his mind and ask for it back. He showered him with auspicious words. "Thank you, sir! May all go well for you, and may you live to a hundred!"
Lin Shou smiled and waved a hand. "I didn't give you a reward to hear that. I gave it to offer you a word of advice."
Wang Er hadn't paid the slightest attention to what Lin Shou said. When you gave a reward, you could say whatever you liked. "Go ahead, sir."
Lin Shou patted Wang Er on the chest. Perhaps he was patting the silver tucked inside, or perhaps his conscience. He said,
"I advise you: don't make sinful money in this world."
"Ah...?"
After saying that, Lin Shou turned and left, leaving Wang Er standing there, bewildered. He didn't understand and wanted to ask, but Lin Shou had already returned to the Corpse-Stitching Shop.
"No wonder they say that Skin Stitcher from the Corpse-Stitching Shop is a dimwitted fool. First he gives me money, then he says weird things."
Wang Er didn't give it another thought. He clutched the two taels of silver to his chest and smiled, never imagining how hot it would become.
So where had Lin Shou gotten those two taels of silver?
Paper figures turned to silver: Greed-Abstinence Silver.
Lin Shou had taken the greed in Wang Er's heart, shaped it into silver, and given it to him.
Why had he given Wang Er Greed-Abstinence Silver?
Silver born of greed brought calamity. Great misfortune was sure to follow.
This thing was a curse. Whoever held it would meet with trouble. Did Lin Shou have a grudge against Wang Er?
Not exactly. There was a story behind it. Wang Er had done something shameful.
A few days earlier, Lin Shou had stitched the corpses of several Canal Gang porters.
One of them had been a sworn brother of Wang Er's. He'd hauled heavy loads at the docks for years, saving up silver for his wife and daughter outside the city.
That day, a gang leader had suddenly summoned his men, saying someone was trying to take their territory and they needed to arm themselves and fight.
The porter knew how dangerous a Canal Gang clash could be. Fearing he might lose his life, he wanted to make sure his wife and daughter got his savings.
There hadn't been time to leave the city, so he'd entrusted the money to Wang Er, his sworn brother, asking him to give it to his wife and daughter if anything happened to him.
As it turned out, something did happen to the porter. He died.
But when his wife and daughter came to the Corpse-Stitching Shop weeping to claim his body, Lin Shou noticed how hard up they were.
He made a few indirect inquiries and learned the truth.
Money could move the heart. The porter had trusted the wrong man. Wang Er had broken his promise and pocketed the silver.
Lin Shou hadn't intended to get involved. When a man died, his light went out. He'd glimpsed their secrets and regrets through the Lantern of Life, but that didn't mean he was responsible for doing anything about them.
The Capital City was huge. How could he know every Wang Er? There were at least eight hundred men in the city with that name, if not a thousand.
But as luck would have it, today Xia Ruzhen had called out, "Wang Er," and Lin Shou had instinctively taken a closer look.
Well, would you look at that—the face matched.
It was the same Wang Er who'd stolen the silver the porter had left for his wife and daughter.
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