Gou Zai, a corpse sewn into a spirit in a mortuary during the Republic of China era, became a spirit

Xie An was overjoyed and was about to absorb this wisp of corpse demon essence when he suddenly heard Zhou Xuli and his father discussing something nearby.

Hmm.

Zhou Xuli sighed, "Although Master Wang has been returned to his coffin, there are peach wood nails driven into his forehead, chest, and dantian, and his flesh is torn open. He is covered in black dog blood, and the smell is pungent. When that brat Wang Qinian comes tomorrow morning and lifts the coffin lid to see this state, how are we going to explain ourselves?"

Xie Bingxiang, breathing heavily with suppressed emotion, said, "To tell you the truth."

Zhou Xuli was taken aback: "This... will it work?"

Xie Bingxiang's eyes were serious. "This year, the Yongning County Police Station has established a new Special Customs and Traditions Division, which is dedicated to investigating 'feudal superstition' and 'evil rumors.' Wang Qinian is taking advantage of his position in the Special Customs and Traditions Division to act like he has a powerful authority. He keeps talking about saving the country through science. If he were to actually see his own father's corpse turn into a zombie, it would actually be a good thing for our village."

Zhou Xuli was taken aback, but quickly understood. "The manager is indeed very thoughtful. Wang Qinian keeps talking about science, but after seeing his father turn into a zombie... let's see what excuse he has left to seal up our estate."

Xie Bingxiang, however, had a unique way of thinking: "Dealing with such 'new-style' young people who don't follow ancestral rules is like crossing a mountain. We can't just follow our own ideas. If Wang Qinian reports this matter as a 'corpse-raising disturbance in the mortuary,' I'm afraid my Xie family's three-generation foundation will really be destroyed in my hands."

"Old Zhou, take some silver dollars and go to Yongsheng Hall in the southern suburbs tonight to find Scarface Liu. Ask Scarface Liu to pass a message to Li Zhonglin, the head of the Special Police Section of the police station."

Upon hearing the name Scarface Liu, Xie An's heart sank.

Not only was Qinghe Yizhuang frequently extorted by secret police and tax collectors, but it also had to pay protection money to Yongshengtang, a gang in the southern suburbs of Yongning County, every month.

Making a living during the Republic of China was truly not easy.

Hmm.

Zhou Xuli sighed: "Scarface Liu said a few days ago that there are many porters vying for jobs at the South Suburb Wharf, and their 'Yongsheng Hall' has high expenses, so all the merchants have to 'bear with it' and the incense money will be raised next month. These days are getting harder and harder."

Yongning County is now vigorously promoting new customs, encouraging cremation and establishing funeral homes. Many large businesses and charitable institutions are switching to funeral service companies. Honestly… boss, don't be so rigid and conservative. Why not pool your remaining savings and start a funeral service company? With the support of the county magistrate's office, you won't be constantly extorted.”

Upon hearing this, Xie An couldn't help but turn to look at his father, who was over fifty years old.

Xie An had a modern mindset and felt that opening a funeral service company would be much better in line with the trend. But after all, he was just the young master and couldn't make the decisions.

Xie Bingxiang picked up his pipe, slowly brought it to the oil lamp, lit it, and took a deep drag of smoke.

"The year my father passed away was also autumn, but it was colder than now. He lay on the old bed in the inner room, holding my hand, and said, 'Liqun, our Xie family has served the dead for three generations, but we've upheld the hearts of the living.'"

In the twenty-sixth year of the Guangde reign of the previous dynasty, the Boxer Rebellion broke out, and Tianjin was in complete chaos. Corpses piled up at the city gate, rotting and decaying. Foreign soldiers wanted to set them on fire, but my father begged the county magistrate at the time, and together with more than a dozen people from the village, they dragged back the bodies of their fellow villagers one by one, mended them neatly, and buried them in the ground. When burying the people, my father knelt down and said, "I'm sorry, I couldn't let you all leave this world intact."

Xie Bingxiang paused, his throat tightening slightly:

"Before my father breathed his last, he told me: 'Liqun, if we really can't hold on, if the village is scattered, if the coffin is burned, then the Xie family members... cannot go into the cremation business. Death is the greatest event, and burial brings peace. This is a rule passed down from our ancestors for thousands of years. It's not superstition, it's a belief. If a fire burns everything clean, leaving nothing behind, then the living... won't even have a place to cry.'"

Before my father breathed his last, his eyes were fixed on me. I didn't say anything, I just nodded. I nodded three times.

Xie Bingxiang's eyes glistened as he walked to the coffin made of golden nanmu wood, his rough hands stroking the cold coffin lid.

"Old Zhou, I understand the reasons you're talking about. Funeral homes are prestigious, cremation is convenient, avoids bad luck, and reduces taxes and exploitation. I've spent countless nights calculating these things, unable to sleep."

But some things can't be accounted for solely with an abacus.

In our village, the walls are broken, the tiles are leaky, and the coffin boards are riddled with holes from insects. Yet every brick in this house has heard the cries of filial sons and grandsons; every beam has hung with white banners to send off the departed souls; even the water in the old well in the courtyard has washed countless corpses on their way.

This isn't business; this is offering incense.

It is the living offering the dead a final act of dignity, the last vestige of remembrance left for the living. This incense... cannot be extinguished in my hands, Xie Bingxiang."

Xie Bingxiang turned his head, the dim light illuminating his somewhat cloudy but unusually clear eyes:

"Go see Scarface Liu, and use the money that's due. If Wang Qinian is coming, then deal with the consequences. If the village really collapses, that's just bad luck, I accept it. But as long as I'm still breathing, as long as I still bear the surname Xie—"

Xie Bingxiang raised his eyes, and the previously cloudy light in them now shone with an almost blinding brilliance:

"The signboard of Qinghe Charity Hall must be hung on the door."

"The rules passed down from our ancestors must be upheld by someone."

"My father is lying on the ground watching. I made a promise... I can't go back on my word."

After he finished speaking, he stopped talking, lowered his head, and took a deep drag on his long-extinguished cigarette.

In that silence, there was a stubborn, old-fashioned dignity, the last vestige of respect for artisans.

"Manager, I shouldn't have brought this up..." Zhou Xuli's eyes were red and his voice was very hoarse. "I learned to be a coffin keeper from the old master. I spent three years learning about coffin wood and five years learning the 'Commentary on the Ritual of the Dead'. The old master often told me: 'Your hands are stained with the aura of the dead, but your heart is filled with the gratitude of the living.'"

"I'll go to Scarface Liu's place. Eight yuan for incense is the usual amount; it's for 'emergency tea money' for Section Chief Li... If the counter isn't enough, I have six yuan of my own savings under the mat in my room, which I'm keeping for my nephew's wedding back home. I'll use that for now."

He paused, then continued:

"Don't worry, sir. I can't speak for other things, but I've been in this area of ​​the southern suburbs for forty years. I know every alleyway and every threshold. As for Yong Sheng Tang... I know how to talk to them."

After he finished speaking, he actually bowed seriously to Xie Bingxiang, then picked up the nearly empty kerosene lamp from the corner of the wall, pushed open the door, and disappeared into the night.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded away on the bluestone path, steady and deep.

People in this line of work spend their entire lives sending off the dead, and they themselves become something like a stake—standing on the boundary between life and death, yet never falling down.

Xie An stood in the shadows, watching his father's slightly trembling fingers and his straight but thin spine.

He suddenly felt a deep respect for this father.

This seemingly conservative and timid middle-aged man carries in his heart a heavy mountain called "commitment"!

Meanwhile, the faint blue [Corpse Essence] on the panel flickered slightly.

Xie An stopped, not in a hurry to absorb the essence of the corpse demon.

Since Father intends for Wang Qinian to witness Wang Yongming's transformation into a zombie, then he can't absorb the essence. If he absorbs the zombie's essence, Wang Yongming... will truly die. It would only ruin Father's plan, since the corpse won't leave anyway...

"Father." Xie An saw that the tobacco in his father's copper pipe had gone out, so he took out a match, lit it, and went over to light it.

Xie Bingxiang swallowed hard, then glared at Xie An: "Don't you also think your father is too old-fashioned and conservative?"

"Father, you're not being old-fashioned. You're the last old-fashioned ruler in this trade. Others use rulers to measure cloth for tailoring, to measure land for building houses." Xie An's voice deepened, carrying a weight rarely seen in young people. "Your ruler measures how loud a cry should be, how heavy a kowtow should be, how long an incense stick should burn. It measures the 'no perfunctory' attitude that the living should have towards the dead."

Modern people call this dross, but if even this basic "not being perfunctory" is gone...

Xie An looked at Master Wang's bluish-black face inside the coffin:

"When a person dies, they truly become an object."

Xie Bingxiang shuddered and turned sharply to look at Xie An beside him, as if he were seeing his own son for the first time. "You used to hang out with those radical students outside all the time, shouting 'Down with this! Down with that!'... But lately you've become much more sensible and mature."

Xie An stepped forward to massage his father's legs and said with a smile, "It's all thanks to Father's excellent teaching."

Hmm.

Xie Bingxiang sighed with relief: "If you ask me, those students are utterly useless. They've beaten down the older generation, do you think a few idiots like them can build a new society? They're all high-minded but incompetent idiots who only know how to shout slogans."

Xie An agreed with his father, saying, "Father is right."

Xie Bingxiang was taken aback: "Are you being overly sweet-talking today? Are you short of money again?"

Before Xie An could answer, Xie Bingxiang pulled out five silver dollars from his pocket and readily handed them to Xie An: "Don't follow those student gangs to the demonstrations. You might get beaten to death one day without even knowing it."

Xie An accepted the heavy five silver dollars: "Father, I want to learn martial arts from Master Zhou."