Becoming a martial arts god starting from the mortician.

The three of them left the courtyard and turned south along the street.

The sky grew increasingly gloomy, with evening clouds pressing down on the rooftops. The autumn wind swirled and whipped up the withered leaves on the ground, and the streets were nearly deserted.

Shen Qi walked behind, carrying his worn-out toolbox, glancing at Mr. Zhou in front of him out of the corner of his eye.

Earlier at the door, this person was very polite, bowing and making gestures in a very formal manner, which made him think that the person was like a schoolteacher. But now, the way he walks doesn't seem like that at all.

The man took large strides, but landed with little sound. He stood very straight, and his arms hung naturally at his sides, barely moving.

This is someone who has practiced.

Having made up his mind, Shen Qi stopped looking at it and turned his gaze to the stone path beneath his feet, taking a few quick steps.

"How many years has Master Shen been in this line of work?" Mr. Zhou suddenly asked.

"It's been almost eight years," Shen Qi replied calmly.

"You weren't very old when you started in the industry."

"It's a family-inherited skill, just enough to make a living."

Mr. Zhou nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

Old Wu, rubbing his hands together, chimed in with a dry tone: "Seventh Brother's cooking skills are truly excellent. Whenever an elderly person in town passes away, they prefer to go to him. He tidies them up so they look as if they're just asleep."

Mr. Zhou smiled again and said politely, "Then tonight's trip will probably require some effort from Master Shen."

Old Wu coughed once and then stopped talking.

The group quickened their pace and arrived at South Street in less than a quarter of an hour.

Wang Laosan's residence was at the end of South Street, a small, detached courtyard with a low wall. The courtyard was empty, with only a stone mill against the wall and a few bundles of chopped firewood piled in the corner.

The door was ajar, but it opened with a push.

There were two oil lamps lit inside.

The dim light illuminated the door frame and half of the threshold of the main room.

"Seventh Brother, over here, the person is in the inner room," Old Wu pointed.

Upon hearing this, Shen Qi stepped over the threshold, entered the main room, and then walked further inside.

The door to the inner room was also open.

An oil lamp sat on a low table in the corner, its flame flickering in the draft. In the swaying light and shadow, Shen Qi saw the person lying on the bed.

Wang Laosan was lying face up with his limbs outstretched, his clothes intact, and there appeared to be no external injuries.

But that face was truly frightening.

Eyes wide open, pupils bulging, mouth gaping open, corners stretched taut, face contorted into deep wrinkles. The muscles of the entire face appeared to be being pulled outwards by multiple hands, features distorted and deformed, a horrifying sight—no longer resembling a human.

Shen Qi's heart skipped a beat.

He'd been collecting corpses for seven or eight years; what kind of deaths hadn't he seen? Drowned, hanged, fell to their deaths, frozen to death, hacked to death—their deaths were all bizarre and varied.

But this was the first time he had ever seen Wang Laosan like this. At first glance, it was as if a force was rushing into his eyes from two steps away, making him feel uneasy.

He glanced back at Old Wu.

Old Wu dodged and looked down, avoiding his gaze.

No wonder other morticians refused to come.

In the trade, this kind of death is called a "murderous look".

The older generation's rule is that they won't even touch it, saying it will bring bad luck.

This kind of death clearly falls under the jurisdiction of the government; a coroner should examine the body, report it to the county government, and follow the proper procedures.

How did it turn into hiring a mortician to come to your door?

Shen Qi took a deep breath, suppressing the tightness in her chest, and took another step forward.

His gaze passed over the distorted face and landed on the area above Wang Laosan's head.

Lifeline.

He saw it.

Shaped like a rope, brightly colored, it hangs in mid-air, bobbing up and down.

Although it is not as thick as Mr. Zhou's life-giving silk, its color is far more vibrant.

Shen Qi has been handling corpses for over seven years, dealing with thousands of bodies, and has accumulated some experience.

Those with bright and clear life lines are usually more fortunate and talented than others, and can go further in a certain field.

Look at the same color tone as Mr. Zhou's silk.

When Wang Laosan was alive, he was probably a more talented martial artist than Mr. Zhou.

Moreover, the life force of an ordinary person begins to dissipate after death, and it will be completely gone within three days at the latest. How long has Wang Laosan been dead? Judging from the degree of rigor mortis, he has been dead for at least a day and a night.

The life-giving threads are still so solid, showing no sign of dissipating.

Shen Qi suppressed the surging thoughts in his mind and continued to observe.

Then he saw a layer of pure black silk threads.

Wrapped around the outer layer of bright red life silk, it's like vines coiling around a tree trunk.

They cut into the middle of Wang Laosan's life thread, intending to sever the bright red life thread in half.

Having worked with corpses for many years, Shen Qi had seen all sorts of ways to die, and the marks left on the life threads at the time of death were all different.

Those who die peacefully in their sleep have their life force intact, and the end of their life force naturally dissipates like smoke.

Those who die from illness have their life lines gradually dimming, filled with gaps of all sizes.

The life of a suicide victim seems to have been torn apart, with jagged, uneven breaks.

The two victims' life threads were intertwined, with the murderer's life thread tightly wrapped around the victim's.

Clearly, the pure black thread wrapped around Wang Laosan's lifeline was left by the murderer.

This is hardly a sudden death.

He looked away and glanced back at Mr. Zhou.

Mr. Zhou was leaning against the door frame, his hands tucked into his sleeves, quietly watching Shen Qi, the dim light shining on his profile.

He still had that polite smile.

Shen Qi felt a chill run down his spine.

Mr. Zhou probably knows very well that Wang Laosan did not die suddenly at all.

But he didn't say anything, and Shen Qi didn't ask.

He was a mortician, not a constable.

"Let's begin." Shen Qi put aside his distracting thoughts and placed the toolbox at his feet.

Once the lid was opened, ointments, suture needles, cotton, and scissors were laid out in a row.

He rubbed his hands together until his fingertips warmed up before reaching out to touch Wang Laosan's cheek.

My skin was ice cold, my facial muscles were terribly stiff, and my jaw was even misaligned.

Shen Qi used the heel of his palm to press against his jawbone, slowly applying force to push the dislocated joint back into place little by little.

"Click".

The bone made a faint clicking sound as it was put back into place, which was particularly clear in the quiet room.

Old Wu shrank back at the door.

The mouth closed, but the folds on the dough remained.

Shen Qi scooped up a lump of ointment and used her fingertips to fill it in little by little along the lines of her cheekbones, brows, and corners of her mouth.

He kept his head down, working very carefully, rubbing Wang Laosan's stiff face with his fingers, trying his best to put them back in place.

The ointment filled the creases on her face. Shen Qi then took out cotton and stuffed it into her nasal cavity and ear canals. She gently pressed the protruding eyeballs back into their sockets, covered the eyelids, and glued them together with ointment.

last step.

Shen Qi took a deep breath, pretending to check her makeup, and leaned down even closer.

The crimson life threads sensed his touch and trembled slightly.

This life thread was not as docile as the gray-white life thread of ordinary people; it seemed to have a temper and struggled outwards.

But it still flowed down to his fingertips in the end.

The moment the complete life thread surged into his palm, Shen Qi almost lost his balance.

A surge of heat rushed up his palm, scalding him so much that his internal organs trembled and his ears rang.

Don't rush.

Forcing this kind of life-giving silk into one's own clump of grayish-white silk threads is like pouring boiling oil on cotton wool; it not only fails to nourish life but actually hastens death.

He pressed the crimson life thread he had seized into his palm, separated a few strands of his own grayish-white life thread, wrapped them around it, and first gathered them up.

Go back and assimilate slowly.

He used the motion of his palm to slowly rub Wang Laosan's face.

Finally, Wang Laosan's facial features returned to normal, and his expression became peaceful, as if he were asleep.

Shen Qi slowly straightened up, rubbed the remaining ointment on her hands with a burlap cloth, massaged her sore back, and turned to face Mr. Zhou.

"alright."

Mr. Zhou walked closer and looked down at Wang Laosan's remains.

After a moment of silence, a look of satisfaction finally appeared on his face.

"Master Shen's skills are indeed excellent." He took out a silver note from his sleeve and handed it over. "Fifty taels, please keep it."

Shen Qi took the silver note, examined it carefully, folded it twice, and put it in his pocket.

"Mr. Zhou has his own arrangements for what happens after his death, so I won't stay any longer."

After packing his things, Shen Qi slung his suitcase over his shoulder and turned to leave.

As soon as I stepped out of the courtyard gate, I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

"Seventh Brother!"

"Seventh Brother! Wait!"