What do you mean by saying that the corpses I sew are all ominous creatures?

The autumn rain in Jiangcheng always carries a damp chill that seeps into your bones, especially when you've just come out of the funeral home.

At two in the morning, the streetlights in the back alley of the funeral home flickered dimly, reflecting the dripping raindrops, which were intertwined and unclear.

My name is Chen Yang, I am 21 years old, and I am an embalmer, or as we call me in my hometown, a "corpse sewer".

Tonight's job won't be easy. The girl they brought in was someone who jumped off a building; her body was shattered to pieces.

I spent six whole hours using the finest catgut thread, stitch by stitch, piecing her back together to her original, presentable form.

As I finished the last stitch, I habitually whispered "Take care" in her ear.

For a fleeting moment, the exhaust fans in the morgue seemed to pause for a second before resuming their buzzing roar.

If it were someone else, they might think it was a circuit malfunction, but I know it isn't.

My ears have been incredibly sharp since I was a child, almost unbelievably so.

At that moment, I stood under the awning in the back alley, lit a cigarette, exhaled a smoke ring, shook my umbrella, opened it, and prepared to step into the rain.

Just then, my phone in my pocket suddenly vibrated.

I took out my phone, and the screen flashed the words "Second Uncle".

It's so late, why are you calling from my hometown?

My hometown is deep in the mountains of southeastern Guizhou, in a place called "Huilongzhai".

The area is characterized by high mountains and dense forests, and the local people are known for their fierce and unyielding spirit. To this day, many customs that are difficult for outsiders to understand are still preserved there.

In the few years since I started working, my family has rarely contacted me at this time.

Suppressing my doubts, I answered the phone: "Hey, Second Uncle. It's so late, aren't you asleep yet?"

All I could hear on the other end of the phone was heavy breathing, and the background noise was quite loud, like someone was crying.

I keenly caught a sound that was unusual—it was the sound of a suona, and it was playing "Daotoufan" (a type of Chinese opera).

In our area, we only blow air when someone has just died.

My second uncle's hoarse voice came from the other end of the phone: "Xiao Yang... your grandfather is gone."

My fingers holding the cigarette paused slightly, and ash fell, burning the back of my hand, but I didn't move.

Grandpa was always in good health. He even said on the phone last month that he could go up the mountain to hunt rabbits. How could he just leave like that?

"When did this happen?" I asked urgently.

"Just now, at the third quarter of the hour of Chou (1:45 AM)."

Uncle paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, "Xiao Yang, you have to come back. Come back right away. The old man's passing... wasn't peaceful."

"Not quite peaceful?" I repeated those four words to myself.

In this industry, these four words carry a lot of weight.

"He died sitting up." Uncle's voice trembled slightly. "His eyes wouldn't close, and he was clutching the rattle drum you used to play with when you were little. The village shaman came to see him and said... said the old man was waiting for you."

He won't let anyone touch him; he'll get angry with anyone who touches the corpse. Just now, your cousin wanted to change his burial clothes, but...

A scream came from the other end of the phone, and it sounded like someone was shouting in the background, "It's bleeding! It won't stop!"

"Did you hear that?" Uncle said urgently, "Your cousin's hand just touched it, and his thumb and forefinger split open with a big gash!"

Xiao Yang, you're in this line of work, and you're the old man's most beloved grandson. Only you can handle this.

Come back quickly, any later... and it might get out of control.

The rain intensified, and the wind whipped the raindrops against my face, chilling me to the bone.

I remained silent for a moment, then threw the cigarette butt into the puddle at my feet, watching the tiny spark extinguish.

"I understand, Second Uncle," I said in a deep voice. "Don't let anyone touch Grandpa again. Cover all the mirrors in the main room with a black cloth, and light a lamp that stays burning all the time at the door. I'll buy the earliest ticket back right away."

After hanging up the phone, I took a deep breath of the moist air.

My grandfather was a well-known "folk craftsman" in the surrounding area. He spent his whole life dealing with gods and ghosts. How could he have such a terrible appearance at the end?

To die sitting up means there was great resentment in one's heart, or... something that didn't want him to lie down.

It seems these peaceful days are over.

I drove the old Santana provided by the funeral home back to my rented room.

After rummaging around under the bed for a while, I pulled out the black leather suitcase.

The box is heavy, and the leather is somewhat worn. It was passed down to me by my grandfather.

Inside wasn't any gold or silver valuables, but a complete set of tools: thirty-six different types of willow-leaf knives, several rolls of sheep intestine thread soaked in corpse oil, a box of cinnabar, and a set of brushes used for applying makeup to the dead.

After changing into a sturdy black outfit and grabbing my suitcase, I quickly went downstairs and drove to the train station.

At 3 a.m., Jiangcheng Railway Station was still like a pot of boiling porridge.

The waiting hall was filled with a complex smell that was a mixture of instant noodles, body odor, athlete's foot, and cheap cigarettes.

In 2014, the green-skinned trains were still the main mode of transportation, especially for trips to remote mountainous areas like southeastern Guizhou.

The earliest bus departed half an hour later, but there were no seats left, so I bought a standing ticket.

Twenty minutes later, as soon as the ticket gates opened, the crowd surged in like a flood bursting its banks.

Protecting my suitcase, and relying on my youth and strength, I managed to squeeze into the crowded carriage.

I found a corner by the window, placed the suitcase at my feet, leaned against the carriage wall, and closed my eyes slightly.

The job I took on tonight was quite urgent, and I haven't slept at all all day. I'm exhausted now.

As I was pondering whether I should go to the sleeper car to see if there were any empty seats and I could buy a ticket, I suddenly heard a… discordant sound.

Sizzle... sizzle...

The sound was very soft, so soft that even the person sitting next to me didn't notice it, but it was not far from me, exuding a chilling aura that made my teeth ache.

I opened my eyes and looked in the direction from which the sound came.

The person sitting opposite me in the aisle seat was a young girl.

Judging from her attire, she looked like a college student, wearing a white sweatshirt and jeans. She had delicate features and a ponytail.

But her complexion was not good; it was pale with a bluish-gray tinge, and she had heavy dark circles under her eyes.

She was clutching something wrapped in red cloth tightly in her arms. The thing was about the size of a basketball and round.

That's... a jar?

After staring at the jar for a couple of seconds, I looked away.

In our line of work, the worst thing is to be too curious.

Everyone has secrets when they're out and about. As long as what's in that jar doesn't come out and harm someone, I'll pretend I didn't hear anything.

About two hours later, as dawn broke, a large portion of the people in the carriage had fallen asleep.

The girl seemed to be unable to hold on any longer; her head bobbed up and down until she finally leaned back in her chair and fell asleep. But her hand remained tightly clutching the red cloth bag.

Just then, something unexpected happened.

Click.

A crisp sound pierced my ears amidst the cacophony of snoring.

I suddenly opened my eyes.

The red cloth bag in the girl's arms had slipped off at some point, revealing its contents—a black earthenware jar with a yellow paper seal on its mouth.

At that moment, one corner of the seal was moving without any wind, as if something had blown it open from the inside.

Even more deadly, a very faint wisp of black energy was seeping out through the cracks in the seal, like a tiny black snake silently reaching towards the girl's fair neck.

That's malevolent energy.

I frowned slightly. What kind of thing is this girl carrying? How dare she act so aggressively in such a crowded place?

But the situation was urgent, and I didn't have time to think. I quietly took out a silver needle from my pocket, which was used to locate the body, and flicked it lightly with my finger while stretching.

"Whoosh—"

The silver needle transformed into a cold glint, piercing precisely into the crack exposed in the black pottery jar, pinning down the wisp of black smoke that was billowing out.

hiss!

A faint scream seemed to echo in the air, and the wisp of black mist instantly retreated.

The girl jolted awake. She looked around blankly, then frantically checked the jar in her arms. When she saw the silver needle halfway into the seal, her face instantly changed.