Great Xia, twentieth year of Qianyuan, Yujing City, Caishikou Execution Grounds.
Along the river stood a row of nine old two-story buildings. Their black-and-gray outer walls were mottled with streaks where the plaster had peeled away.
Each small building had only one small window on the second floor. When the pitch-black front door was opened, the interior remained dim even beneath the blazing midday sun.
Wen Qingkong awoke amid that gloom.
The red sun had just risen, casting down gentle, warm light, yet the room remained bitterly cold, as though even his blood were about to freeze.
He held three incense sticks in his hand. Smoke curled upward, making his sharply defined face appear and disappear within the haze.
"Corpse Seamstress..."
Wen Qingkong muttered to himself. In his previous life, his mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had died when he was three. He had later entered an orphanage and been adopted by a couple at the age of six. Yet when he was seven, the family of three had gotten into a car accident. Only he had survived.
Afterward, he returned to the orphanage, and no one ever adopted him again.
That continued until he was twenty. He enlisted in the army, carried out countless missions, and earned no small number of commendations, but all thirteen of his partners had died one after another.
So Wen Qingkong had grown tired, weary. During his final mission to capture a drug lord, he had stormed the drug lord's hideout alone, detonated a bomb, and perished together with a group of villains.
He just had not expected to be reborn in another world.
This fifteen-year-old boy had the same name, the same appearance, and even the same birth date as him.
Year of Jiazi, month of Bingyin, day of Jiazi, hour of Bingyin.
Four Pillars of Pure Yang.
People only knew that being born in an yin year, yin month, yin day, and yin hour was ill-fated. Likewise, being born in a yang year, yang month, yang day, and yang hour was no better.
As the saying went, a man with Four Pillars of Pure Yang was bound to be alone, while a woman with Four Pillars of Pure Yin was bound to be widowed.
He was destined to die alone.
The original owner had been born into a family with nothing but bare walls. Just as chaos swept the land, with natural disasters and man-made calamities arriving without end, his family of three fled famine. They encountered bandits on the road, and his parents died miserably. Only he remained, swept up by the bandits along with other commoners and used as cannon fodder to attack a city.
Perhaps capturing him had ruined the bandits' luck.
They had previously roamed the land unopposed, repeatedly defeating government troops. Yet when they used him as cannon fodder, they had charged headlong into a trap laid by the government army, suffered a crushing ambush, and had all their leaders beheaded.
Later, the Ministry of Justice came to recruit Corpse Seamstresses. They first looked for those with no family or support, then examined their birth times.
The original owner's Four Pillars of Pure Yang made him an ideal candidate. Naturally, he had successfully obtained an official post and become one of the nine Corpse Seamstress Workshops at Caishikou Execution Grounds.
Corpse Seamstresses, also known as Second-Skin Craftsmen, along with executioners, paper effigy makers, and coroners, were the four professions of the Netherworld Trade. They earned money from the dead.
Not just anyone could earn that money. A Corpse Seamstress, for instance, had to be someone afflicted by the Five Flaws and Three Deficiencies.
Wen Qingkong possessed Four Pillars of Pure Yang and was destined to die alone, fitting the loneliness and solitude among the Five Flaws and Three Deficiencies perfectly.
Wen Qingkong inserted the three incense sticks into the burner.
With his memories fully integrated, he felt neither joy at being reborn nor excitement at crossing into another world. Nor did he harbor ambitions of achieving greatness, wielding power while awake and sleeping among beauties while drunk.
Only one memory from the original owner lingered in his mind: amid the chaos of war, he had seen a government general and a bandit leader battle in midair, their sword qi colliding.
That made Wen Qingkong realize that martial arts truly existed in this world.
As a soldier in his previous life, he had been deeply interested in fighting. If he could learn martial arts in this life, that would be all the better.
Still, everything depended on opportunity. According to the Ministry of Justice yamen runner's instructions that day, without permission, a Corpse Seamstress could do no more than bask in the sun at the entrance of his own small building or chat with fellow Corpse Seamstresses. Leaving the Corpse Seamstress Workshop was absolutely forbidden.
With his movements restricted, learning martial arts would undoubtedly be far too difficult.
Wen Qingkong practiced a set of punches and kicks in the dim room, loosening up his body.
This body was still young. Since obtaining an official post, he had not earned much money, but at least he received two meals a day—enough to fill his stomach. His body had gradually regained the strength a young man ought to possess.
Wen Qingkong reckoned that with proper training, he could improve considerably further.
It was an age of turmoil. The Great Xia dynasty teetered in the wind and rain. No one knew when the state might collapse and the realm be torn apart. It was always good to know some fighting techniques for self-defense.
"Food!"
Zhang Quan's voice, that of a minor Ministry of Justice official, sounded outside the door.
Zhang Quan was only forty, yet he looked much like someone in his sixties from Wen Qingkong's previous life. His beard and hair were gray, his face creased with wrinkles, and his narrow, upturned eyes always carried a gloomy look.
He was responsible for managing the nine Corpse Seamstresses at Caishikou Execution Grounds and was Wen Qingkong's immediate superior. He was vicious, stingy, and exceedingly vindictive.
According to the original owner's memories, Zhang Quan usually withheld eighty percent of the wages that the nine Corpse Seamstresses should have received.
Besides that, he often beat and cursed the Corpse Seamstresses.
The original owner's body still retained its fear of Zhang Quan.
Wen Qingkong opened the door, and Zhang Quan handed him a food box.
"After eating, go to sleep early. Don't wander around."
"There'll be work tonight. The rebel traitors killed quite a few people, and all of them need sewing up."
Zhang Quan's tone was unfriendly, and the way he looked at Wen Qingkong was exceptionally cold and stern.
Wen Qingkong nodded and accepted the food box.
Zhang Quan narrowed his eyes and paused in surprise. In the past, Wen Qingkong had acted like a mouse before a cat whenever he saw him, nodding and bowing, ever so cautious.
But today, he stood straight, his gaze calm.
That sight made Zhang Quan somewhat angry.
However, there was an especially heavy workload tonight, and he had no time to argue with Wen Qingkong.
Wen Qingkong shut the door. Inside the food box were cornmeal buns, a small dish of pickled vegetables, and a bowl of vegetable-leaf soup with lard added to it.
"Ha!"
"There's even lard!"
Wen Qingkong was quite satisfied. Compared to this chaotic age, when people across the mountains and plains gnawed bark and ate Guanyin clay, his meal was good enough for refugees to fight to the death over.
Having an official post really was nice.
Wen Qingkong ate heartily. After finishing, he placed the food box outside the door. Zhang Quan would come collect it when the time came.
After eating, he exercised for a while longer to aid digestion, then immediately went to sleep.
He would wake at dinnertime. After dinner, he would begin work.
A Corpse Seamstress always worked at night; the work could not be done during the day.
That was because sewing corpses was not merely sewing corpses. It also meant stitching together the dead person's three souls and seven spirits.
During the day, sunlight was too fierce for souls and spirits to return. Thus, corpses had to be sewn at night.
The day passed without incident. At dinnertime, his body woke right on schedule.
Before long, Zhang Quan's shout sounded outside.
Wen Qingkong opened the door, and Zhang Quan handed him the food box.
"Eat well. Tonight may be very busy."
He wore a smile, yet he still gave off a gloomy air. That half-smiling expression made Wen Qingkong wary.
Zhang Quan watched Wen Qingkong shut the door, then turned toward the next workshop.
He had already prepared some very good "work" for Wen Qingkong. He believed that when Wen Qingkong saw him again tomorrow morning, he would no longer hold his head high as he had today. He would surely return to nodding and bowing as before.
Wen Qingkong frowned. He was not the original owner, a timid fifteen-year-old boy. He keenly noticed that something was off about Zhang Quan's expression.
What was going on?
Wen Qingkong could not figure it out. There were too few clues. He returned to the room and opened the food box.
His brows lifted slightly. There was unexpectedly an extra dish of stir-fried cabbage with meat inside. Though it contained only three or four pieces of meat, it was still exceedingly precious.
"Anyone who didn't know better would think I was heading to the execution block tomorrow."
"What exactly is going on?"
Wen Qingkong pondered as he finished the meal.
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