For thirty years, he has roamed the Northeast, his divine might overwhelming all immortals under hea

In my first year following the old Taoist priest, I learned to sense resentment.

The following year, I learned how to extract resentment.

In the third year, I learned to use resentment to nourish the corpse root.

In those years, I followed the old Taoist priest and traveled all over the surrounding mountains and rivers, visiting countless places where the dead were buried.

I have seen hundreds and thousands of human bones and felt hundreds and thousands of resentful spirits.

Those resentments seeped into my body and took root and sprouted in my heart like seeds.

At first, I would dream about things from the past. I dreamed that when I was little, my dad carried me to the market and bought me sugar figurines.

I dreamt that my mother was cooking at home, calling me to come eat.

I dreamt that when Cui'er first married into the family, her face was as red as a sheet of red cloth, and she lowered her head, not daring to look at me.

I dreamt that when Chuan Gen was just born, he was a small, wrinkled bundle, and when he cried, his voice sounded like a cat's meow.

Later, I stopped dreaming as much.

Later on, I couldn't even remember what those people looked like anymore.

I remember my father, but his face is becoming increasingly blurry.

I remember my mother, but I can't recall the sounds she made.

I remember Cui'er, but I can't remember what she looked like when she smiled.

I remember Chuan Gen, but I've even forgotten what that child who just learned to call me "Dad" looks like.

The only thing I remember is hatred.

I hate Shandiao, I hate Zhu Laowai, I hate everyone in Zhujiakan.

The hatred grew deeper and stronger, like a big tree whose roots were planted in my heart and whose branches and leaves covered my whole body.

My heart has become a tree, a tree that only grows hatred and nothing else.

In the third winter, the old Taoist priest fell ill.

The illness came on very suddenly; he was perfectly fine the first day, but couldn't get out of bed the next day.

I stayed by his bedside, brewing medicine for him and feeding him water, but the old Taoist's health continued to deteriorate day by day.

"I can't do it anymore."

The old Taoist priest told me this before he died.

"I've lived for over eighty years, that's enough."

I knelt by the bed, not knowing what to say.

The old Taoist priest looked at me, his cloudy old eyes filled with indescribable emotions.

Do you know what you are right now?

The old Taoist priest asked.

I shook my head.

The old Taoist priest sighed.

"The resentment within you is too heavy, it has seeped into your bones. From now on, you are no longer human, you are a corpse, a living corpse."

I listened blankly, feeling nothing.

"You only have hatred in your heart."

"Hatred is the only reason you live. Once you've taken your revenge, you won't know what to do anymore. At that point, you might feel worse than if you were dead."

I still don't feel anything.

The old Taoist priest stared at me for a long time before finally closing his eyes.

"That's enough. I don't know if teaching you these things has helped or harmed you. You... take care of yourself."

After saying this, the old Taoist priest breathed his last.

I knelt by the bed, looking at that aged face, at those eyes that would never open again, and felt nothing.

I don't know if this is good or bad. All I know is that the old Taoist priest is dead, and now I'm all alone in this world.

I buried the old Taoist priest on the hillside behind the cave. I didn't erect a tombstone or burn any paper money for him; I just buried him there.

Then I went back to the cave and continued raising the corpse.

After the old Taoist priest died, I lived alone in the cave for forty years.

Forty years, more than 14,000 days and nights.

What I do every day is raise corpses and gather information about Guo Shandiao and Zhu Laowai.

In those years, I would go down the mountain every now and then to inquire in the surrounding villages.

I didn't dare ask directly, so I could only listen secretly, listening to the people chatting at the market and the people drinking and bragging.

A few years later, I heard that Shan Diao had been wiped out by the Japanese.

That happened in 1942. The Japanese invaders were sweeping through the mountains when they ran into the gang of Guo Shandiao. A battle ensued, and Guo Shandiao's men suffered heavy casualties. He himself was killed in the crossfire.

I was crouching behind a big tree when I heard the news.

I stood there stunned for a long time, then suddenly stood up and ran into the mountains like a madman.

I ran back to the cave, knelt on the ground, and punched the rocks again and again until my fists were covered in blood and the bones were exposed.

I hate it.

He regretted not being able to kill the bandit leader himself.

I hate myself for waiting for so many years, only to get this result.

I lay in the cave and cried for three days and three nights, until my voice was hoarse and my tears had dried up. Then I got up and continued raising the corpse and inquiring about Zhu Laowai.

A few years later, I heard that Zhu Laowai had died.

It was market day, and I mingled in the crowd, listening to a few people chatting in a teahouse. One of them said that Old Zhu Wai from Zhujiakan had died from a sudden illness, and had suffered a lot before he died.

Another person said, "Serves him right. That old bastard was no good. He did a lot of wicked things back then."

I stood outside the teahouse, listening to those people talking, trembling all over.

Old Zhu is dead.

Another enemy is dead.

And yet, he couldn't kill him with his own hands.

That night, I went to Zhujiakan and to Zhu Laowai's grave.

I found the new grave, dug it open with my hands, pried open the coffin lid, and dragged out Zhu Laowai's body.

The corpse was half-rotten, reeking of foul odors, and crawling with maggots.

I knelt beside the rotting corpse and chopped away piece by piece. I chopped off Zhu Laowai's head, his hands and feet, minced him into pieces of flesh, and then threw them to the wild dogs to eat.

The stray dogs swarmed around, scrambling to eat the scraps of meat, their mouths greasy with oil.

I squatted down beside them, watching the stray dogs eat, my face expressionless.

I still feel unsatisfied.

I think of those people in Zhujiakan, I think of how they surrounded me and chased me away with sticks, and I think of the things they said.

"Get out of here right now, take these bones and get far away, don't dirty our land."

Those people weren't the murderers, but they were accomplices. They stood by and watched me die, they kicked me when I was down, they drove me to the brink of despair.

I will make them all die with his family.

But those people have died one after another over the years. Some were old, some were sick, some died at the hands of the Japanese devils, some died at the hands of the bearded man, and some died of old age.

They are dead, but their descendants are still here, their sons and grandsons are still here.

As I crouched in the cave, looking at the Yin Corpse King that I had raised for over thirty years, a thought popped into my mind.

If you can't kill them, kill their descendants.

Let them also experience the taste of family ruin and death.

I began to raise the corpse even more frantically, nourishing the Yin Corpse King with my resentment even more intensely. I poured all my hatred and resentment into that corpse.

That corpse was originally just an ordinary corpse, but I nurtured it with my resentment for over thirty years, and it has become impervious to swords and spears, and water and fire.

Its entire body is bluish-black, its skin is as hard as iron, its nails are as long as knives, and its eyes are blood red, emitting a faint glow in the dark.

I talk to it every day, telling it the names of my enemies and their descendants. I make the corpse remember those names and those faces.

"Remember this."

I touched the corpse's cold face and said.

"These people deserve to die."

The corpse, of course, wouldn't respond to me, but I didn't care. I felt that I was one with the corpse; I was the corpse, and the corpse was me.

In those years, I became less and less like a human being.

My skin turned ashen, like a dead person's. My eyes became cloudy, the whites of my eyes filled with bloodshot veins. My hands were dry and withered like chicken claws, my nails thick and yellow, like the claws of a wild beast.

My eating habits became increasingly strange. At first, I would go down the mountain to buy some food, but later I stopped eating it much. Occasionally, I would catch a wild rabbit, eat it raw, tear off a piece of bloody flesh, and swallow it without chewing.

Later on, I stopped eating rabbits altogether; I'd eat dead people.

There were recently deceased people nearby, so I dug them up and ate their flesh. I told myself I was absorbing resentment, nourishing the corpse's essence, but I knew I wasn't. I was just becoming less and less human.

My memory is getting worse and worse.

I can't remember my name; sometimes it takes me a long time to recall it. I can't remember where I came from, only that my house was burned down. I can't remember how long I've lived, only that the corpse I kept was kept alive for almost forty years.

But the only things I remember clearly are the names of my enemies and the names of their descendants.

Zhu Laowai, Zhu Laowai's son Zhu Dabang, Zhu Dabang's son Zhu Tiesuo. Zhu Laoshuan, Zhu Laoshuan's granddaughter Er Yatou. Zhu Laowai's sister Zhu Zhushi, Zhu Zhushi's granddaughter Xiulian.

I know these names by heart; they're etched in my heart and in my bones.

Every night I would recite those names to that corpse, over and over again, until those names were etched into the corpse's brain and into its bones.

Then I sent that corpse out to collect souls.

The first time the Corpse King summoned a soul, it was Er Yatou.

Er Yatou was only eight years old that year, and she was Zhu Laoshuan's granddaughter. Zhu Laoshuan was the first person to hit her with a stick that year, and one of the people who shouted "Get rid of him, get rid of him!"

That night, the Corpse King sneaked into Zhu Jiakan, into the courtyard of Zhu Laoshuan's house. It stood outside the window, peering through the paper window at Er Yatou, who was fast asleep inside.

Er Yatou was sleeping soundly, holding a rag doll in her arms, with a smile on her lips.

The Corpse King reached out, through the paper window, through the wall, and into Er Ya Tou's body. It grabbed Er Ya Tou's soul and pulled it out.

Er Yatou twitched in her sleep, and the smile on her face slowly disappeared, turning into a blank.

The Corpse King, clutching the faint wisp of soul, withdrew his hand and vanished into the night.

The next day, Zhu Laoshuan found that Er Yatou hadn't woken up. He thought the child was just sleeping and didn't pay much attention. By noon, Er Yatou still hadn't woken up. He panicked and touched the child's face; it was cold and hard, like a stone.

Second Sister is dead.

The villagers said she had a sudden illness and died suddenly. Zhu Laoshuan and his wife cried their hearts out, but the dead cannot be brought back to life, and after the crying was over, they still had to bury her.

They didn't know that Er Yatou's soul had been taken away, brought into that cold, dark cave, and sealed inside the stone coffin by me.

I squatted down beside the stone coffin, looking at the faint ghostly figure inside, and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

That smile looked terrible because I hadn't smiled in so long that the muscles in my face were stiff.

"Old Zhu."

I said to that wisp of soul.

"You drove me away back then, so I killed your granddaughter. An eye for an eye, that's fair."

The second time he was bewitched, it was Xiulian who was bewitched.

Zhu Zhu's granddaughter. Zhu Zhu is Zhu Laowai's sister. When Zhu Laowai killed his whole family, Zhu Zhu was watching from the sidelines and even clapped and cheered.

Xiulian knew nothing. She didn't know what her grandmother had done, or whose blood flowed in her veins.

She was just an ordinary country girl who helped with household chores every day, sewing and mending, feeding chickens and pigs.

At night, the corpse king, its aura obscuring the sun, crept into Xiulian's courtyard and stood outside the window.

Xiulian slept soundly, her face flushed with the rosy glow typical of a young girl.

She didn't know that the blood flowing in her veins was the blood of her enemy.

She didn't know that her fate had been sealed forty years ago.

The Corpse King reached out, grabbed her soul, and pulled it away.

It wasn't just Xiulian who was taken away; the souls of everyone else in the village were also taken away.

I need more souls, more resentment.

It lured away Zhu Laowai's grandson, Zhu Laoshuan's granddaughter, and the descendants of everyone who had helped drive him away. Some families had one person lured away, some had two, and some had three.

I hate everyone in Zhujiakan. Most of those who drove me away back then are dead, but their descendants are still here. They still live in Zhujiakan, still farm those lands, and still live peaceful and stable lives.

On what grounds?

Why is it that my family all died, and I lived alone in a cave for forty years, neither human nor ghost, while they were able to live peacefully?

Why should I kneel in the rain with my family's bones in my arms, begging them, while they can live with a clear conscience?

They don't deserve it.

They all deserve to die.

I know I'm venting my anger, I know many of those descendants are innocent, and I know many of them have no idea what happened back then.

But I don't care.

I stopped caring a long time ago.

The old Taoist priest was right. I am no longer human. I am a corpse, a living corpse, with only hatred, resentment, and revenge in my heart.

Those descendants have the blood of their enemies flowing in their veins; for that reason alone, they deserve to die.

After I listened to him recount those events—his family being killed, his being driven out of the village, his apprenticeship with the old Taoist priest, his raising of corpses for forty years, and his sending the Yin Corpse King to collect the souls of his descendants—I was deeply moved.

I was trembling all over as I listened, unable to tell whether it was anger or something else.

"You're crazy."

"What did Xiulian do wrong? She was only sixteen years old, and she was my wife. She wasn't even born when Zhu Laowai killed your whole family! What right did you have to kill her?"

He stared at me, a strange smile playing on his lips.

"On what grounds? On the grounds that she has Zhu Laowai's blood in her veins! On the grounds that she is Zhu Laowai's granddaughter! Zhu Laowai killed my whole family, so it's only right that I kill his whole family! An eye for an eye!"

"But you didn't kill Zhu Laowai! You killed innocent people!"

"innocent?"

He suddenly burst into laughter, laughing so hard that his whole body convulsed, and his face was covered in tears and blood.

"Aren't my family members innocent? My father and mother never harmed anyone in their lives, Cui'er wouldn't even dare kill a chicken, and Chuangen was only one year old and couldn't even speak. Aren't they innocent? When they were killed, who spoke up for them? Who stopped the bandit leader? Who?"

His laughter abruptly stopped, replaced by a heart-wrenching scream.