Back from the dead

The damp sea breeze could not wake the sleeping city.

A dim yellow light flickered in the little building.

Dusky green leaves covered the red bricks, their curled shoots hooking into the walls like shriveled fingers.

Drip, drip, drip.

Cold dew rolled off the leaves and fell to the ground, like the last sobs of a hoarse old woman.

Thump, thump.

A red figure bounced a ball as it walked into the little building.

"Heads go flying, heads fall down, wind the strings inside your belly three times round."

"Red strings tangle, red strings leap, want a kitchen knife to slit you deep?"

The shrill song faded into the lonely night. Wrapped in a layer of black hair, the ball bounced and skipped merrily to the rhyme.

The red figure chased the ball and disappeared through the doorway.

Bzzzt, bzzzt. The light by the door flickered twice in greeting.

The red-brick building had four floors. In a room on the fourth floor stood a black coffin, its surface covered in twisting, wormlike and snakelike script painted in gold powder. Threads dipped in animal blood wrapped around it layer upon layer, like a silkworm moth's dying cocoon.

Seven bronze lamps stood before the coffin, arranged according to a star chart. Black grease burned inside them, giving off a fragrance that penetrated the liver and spleen.

The fragrance was delicate and lingering.

A woman let out a long breath, her body trembling as beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.

She should have been a beautiful woman.

Her brows swept like distant mountains, her skin was soft as cream, and her shapely body lay beneath a snow-white gauze robe. Black hair cascaded to her buttocks, but through the gauze's almost invisible threads, a hideous pattern could be seen on her jade-green back.

A pitch-black python coiled around her body, flicking its tongue menacingly, as though dancing, as though worshipping. And what that dance sought to please, what that worship revered...

Was the pitch-black coffin before her.

The secret rite in the room continued according to the scriptures, while in another room of the little building, a rocking chair swayed slowly.

A short old woman rocked in a yellow bamboo chair, ceaselessly turning a string of white marble beads in her right hand while her left tapped slowly against the armrest.

Before her stood a young man in a suit and leather shoes, clutching a leather bag to his chest and smiling awkwardly.

"Senior, although the young master met with trouble on our turf, it really had nothing to do with Lord Hung. You know how deeply he respects his elders in the underworld."

"Of course, Lord Hung is willing to put up thirty as medical expenses for the young master. He hopes you'll be magnanimous and not hold anything against us underlings."

As he spoke, he quietly set the leather bag on the table before him, his eyes involuntarily darting toward the old woman.

He had only heard rumors of her sinister powers, but now a chill ran through his entire body. Heaven help him, he had been in this room for nearly half an hour, and the old woman seemed not to have breathed once.

The old woman said nothing. Her eyes were dull and yellowed, without a trace of life, as though she had been dead for a long time. Her face was deeply wrinkled, age spots covering almost half of it.

"What hurt my dear grandson was Soul-Calling. The Western Hunan Pai Sect, Southern Sichuan Falling Flowers, and Zhongzhou's Wind Gu have that ability. Su Xiong patronizes the Maoshan Altar. He didn't do this. He can keep that tainted money for himself."

Her voice, like a broken bellows being pulled open, sent a twinge of fear through the young man. He truly could not tell whether the old woman was alive or dead. Suddenly, his left shoulder grew heavy, as though a hand had settled on it.

"Lord Hung made it clear that he failed to take proper care of the young master. This money for medical expenses must reach your hands, or he won't have any peace of mind as your junior."

The young man forcibly suppressed his fear and kept a smile on his face. If not for his monthly salary of a thousand dollars, he would never have wanted anything to do with this supernatural nonsense.

"I have no shortage of mortal money. Go."

The old woman's cloudy eyes swept over him.

"There's no use saying more. My grandson is coming back."

The bespectacled young man shuddered inwardly.

He had seen the old woman's grandson, a perfectly handsome young fellow who had fallen stiffly onto the road. His breathing had stopped, and his body had already gone cold. Lord Hung had personally brought men to carry him into this little building.

Could someone so thoroughly dead really "come back"?

And would what came back still be human?

"Since you've put it that way, there's no point in me staying. But I'll have a hard time explaining myself to Lord Hung when I get back. Please, just take pity on me..."

"Leave, or never leave."

The moment the old woman finished speaking, the young man felt a chill settle around his neck. Two hands seemed to reach out of the shadows to grip his throat.

"Hhk..."

The old woman shot a sideways glance, and the pressure on the young man's throat immediately eased considerably. He exhaled a stale breath, hastily picked up his leather bag, and left on trembling legs.

Even as he left, he hurried to apologize. "I didn't know any better. Please don't take offense."

A junior?

The thought flashed through the old woman's mind.

Just a pitiful soul in the mortal world. How could he qualify as my junior?

She straightened and slowly made her way farther inside. Her steps were heavy; each one seemed to take all her strength.

She pushed open the door. The heavy black coffin was shaking incessantly.

Once, twice, three times, like heavy heartbeats.

"A-Jie, how many two-hour periods has it been?"

With her hands behind her back, she gazed at the deep black coffin. At some point, her eyes had grown moist.

"Granny, another seven and a half minutes until the hour of the Pig. It's been a full thirty-six two-hour periods."

The beautiful woman in gauze spoke softly. Clear beads of sweat had already formed on her body, dampening the clothes beneath her.

"It's nearly time."

The old woman sighed.

"If he can't come back now, he really never will."

As though answering her sigh, the black coffin cracked. A white hand reached through the gap and began pushing hard to one side.

"Granny..."

The beautiful woman covered her mouth in astonishment.

"It actually... really worked."

The old woman murmured.

"Blessings of the boundless heavens, blessings of the boundless heavens..."

Pain.

Chen Ying felt indescribable pain throughout his body.

Was this what death felt like?

He had just finished working overtime and was heading back to his little rented room with braised meat, cold dishes, and sugar-free cola to enjoy his Friday night.

Then, while he was crossing an intersection, an electric dump truck had subjected him and his shared bike to a short-range passenger aviation experiment.

The last thing Chen Ying remembered seeing was braised meat flying through the air, his thigh soaring higher than the shared bike's wheel.

How had his leg gone flying?

So that was all death amounted to.

For some reason, Chen Ying felt a sense of release instead.

Perhaps he could finally put down the weariness of the mortal world.

Living was so exhausting. Sometimes, it really was hard to tell whether death or life was better.

Perhaps an ending like this wasn't so bad.

The pain lasted only an instant. Then everything went black, and the peace of sleep suppressed all his suffering.

That was Chen Ying's final thought.

The ancients called sleep a little death. Death and sleep really were alike.

But why was this sleep so cold?

After sleeping for who knew how long, Chen Ying opened his eyes again.

His surroundings were so stifling he could hardly breathe.

Someone seemed to be calling beside his ear.

A long road seemed to appear before him, crowded with figures in tall white hats. Their faces were powdered white, and they moved in little hops on tiptoe.

He was one of them, too. Together, they drifted like a river toward some unknown distance.

The souls of the dead gathered together-was this the River Styx?

"Chen Ying... Chen Ying..."

A voice seemed to be calling his name beside his ear.

Chen Ying's thoughts churned ceaselessly. An invisible force seemed to make him raise his hand. The rows of tall-hatted figures gradually faded, and he could dimly make out guiding starlight ahead.

He groped his way forward, walking toward the light.

At last, what lay ahead was no longer a road, but a lid.

A dark, heavy-looking lid that gave off an appetizingly sweet fragrance.

Chen Ying raised his hand. Though he could muster little strength in it, one thought lingered silently in his mind.

Once I lift it, there'll be another world before me.

Click.

The lid was not heavy. Chen Ying opened his eyes and saw everything before him.

Seven bronze lamps, a beautiful woman in translucent gauze, and an old woman.

"My dear boy, you're awake."

The old woman beamed, the wrinkles on her face blossoming.

"A-Jie, change your clothes. Let's eat."

Eat?

Chen Ying braced himself against the coffin, unable for the moment to make sense of the situation.

I've come back to life.

I'm in someone else's body now, and these people have been keeping me like a jiangshi.

Who are they? Are they this body's family?

A snow-white figure glided over, and that soft, lustrous body suddenly pressed against his arm.

"Husband, after all that effort, you've finally woken up."

"A-Ying, wash up. A-Jie made your favorite roast chicken."

Chen Ying's body felt heavy, and he had no strength in his legs.

He was practically carried out of that black room by the woman named A-Jie.

In a spacious bedroom, A-Jie helped him sit down, then undid his clothes little by little, working from the outer layers inward. Her warm, soft hands were like a breeze on a fine night, careful and submissive.

A mask woven from copper coins, a long robe covered in red talismanic script, a square metal mirror made of some unidentifiable material...

Chen Ying half sat on the bed while A-Jie held him and carefully changed his clothes.

"...I..."

"An evildoer scattered your souls, husband. A person has three ethereal souls and seven corporeal souls. The three govern the spirit, and the seven govern the body. When the ethereal souls are scattered, the mind becomes clouded. There are many things you can't remember and many things you can't explain clearly."

A-Jie carefully dressed Chen Ying in a neatly pressed set of lake-blue silk pajamas. Then she stood, undid her gauze robe, and bent over to search for clothes in a chest of drawers nearby.

"You mustn't think too hard, husband. It will strain your spirit. Really, you only need to wait a little. After some time, you'll remember everything. Granny has great supernatural powers. Just rest and recover, and you'll be well, guaranteed."

The beautiful woman found a pretty pale-white dress and put it on. She turned back with a smile, her bright eyes sparkling.

She climbed onto the bed like a cat, carefully rested Chen Ying's head between her chest and neck, and slowly massaged his temples.

"My name is Wu Jie. I'm your wife-to-be, husband. Your name is Chen Ying, and you're Granny's only grandson. Granny loves you best."

Her voice was soft and sweet, but hearing it beside his ear made Chen Ying frown.

The same name?

What truly caught Chen Ying's attention, however, was a newspaper casually left by the bed. Its familiar block-shaped characters made for strange headlines when put together.

"Rumors? Corpse tide? Scotland Yard declares everything preventable and controllable"

"Turmoil in Zhongzhou intensifies; drought in Provincial City continues"

"Wolf plague runs rampant; Transylvania announces territory-wide lockdown"

"Syphilitic sores: United States president denies having syphilis"