Chapter Forty: Moving Corpses

Cui Yue locked eyes with the vagrant. From the man's dusky face shot forth two piercing rays, sharp and cold, drilling straight into the heart. Cui Yue felt as if his very soul was being hooked and drawn away, and dared not meet his gaze.

The child's father, standing nearby, hurriedly spoke up at the sight of the vagrant.

"Master Huo, how did things go with my son?"

Hearing the question, the vagrant finally tore his eyes away from Cui Yue and fixed them on the child's father, his tone careless.

"It's done. What did you think I was toiling for all this time? Your son may have only drowned today, but his resentment lingers. And today is an ill-omened day, when yin energy is at its peak, so he became the ghost of the Wei River, doomed to endless cold and suffering. If I hadn’t spent my own energy to use the Soul-Binding Incantation and bring him back, he’d never be able to reincarnate."

At these words, the child's father hurried to express his gratitude, bowing his head repeatedly in thanks.

The vagrant, picking his nose with one hand, raised the other to stop the man and chuckled.

"Enough, enough, spare me the formalities. But remember our agreement—since the matter is settled, you owe me an extra hundred yuan."

"Yes, yes, of course," the man replied, suddenly recalling something. He fumbled in his pocket with trembling hands and pulled out a crisp hundred-yuan note, pressing it into Master Huo's hand.

Seeing Chairman Mao’s face on the bill, Master Huo’s eyes lit up. He wiped his nose-picking hand casually on his clothes, then tucked the money into his breast pocket.

Witnessing such mercenary behavior, Cui Yue felt a deep contempt, but then recalled the words “Soul-Binding Incantation.” Was it possible that the golden light that had saved him from the river ghost was this very spell? Could this slovenly man be his savior? Cui Yue remembered what the little boy had said earlier, that he hated someone and refused to move on. Was the “villain” he spoke of this very vagrant?

Lost in speculation, Cui Yue was startled as the vagrant leaned down and whispered in his ear.

"Young man, what are you doing here?"

"Me? I felt sorry for the child. I came to see him off."

"Oh?" The vagrant's face showed surprise and suspicion. He pointed at the child's corpse, then at the black mark on Cui Yue's body, and sneered softly.

"Do you know who he is? And who was in the water?"

---

Cui Yue’s expression changed at these words, understanding what the vagrant implied. As he had suspected, it was this man who saved him in the water. Gazing at the child’s corpse, Cui Yue sighed softly.

"I know—a ghost in place of another life. This child became the water ghost of the Wei River, but I don’t blame him. He suffered a bitter fate. Burning some paper money is the least I can do."

The vagrant froze, not expecting such a reply. The mockery faded from his face, replaced by a rare earnestness.

"You have compassion, and repay enmity with kindness. You’re a good man, a very good man."

Cui Yue looked up at him, puzzled by his words and unsure of their meaning. But the vagrant said nothing more, staring at the child’s body and speaking slowly and clearly.

"It’s late. Time to set out."

It was as if he spoke to the corpse, or to everyone present. The meaning was elusive.

Upon hearing this, the child’s mother began wailing again, throwing herself on her son and refusing to let go. The father, grief etched deep on his face, did his best to compose himself.

"He’s gone, dear. Please, don’t delay the hour—we must send him on his way."

But the mother only sobbed more bitterly, unwilling to let go. The father had no choice but to gently push her aside and lift the child’s body.

And yet, the strangest thing happened—the body did not budge. It lay there as if rooted to the earth. The man, surprised, thought perhaps his own limbs were weak from kneeling so long and tried again, but no matter how he strained, the small body was immovable, as heavy as a mountain.

Cui Yue stepped forward to help, but found the child’s body impossibly heavy—two grown men could not lift a boy of six or seven. A chill crept into Cui Yue’s heart. Was the child’s spirit up to more mischief?

Seeing this, the mother stopped crying, thinking perhaps the child could not bear to part with his parents and did not wish to set out on the road to the afterlife.

Sweating profusely and panic-stricken, the father turned to the vagrant.

"Master Huo, this… what is happening?"

The vagrant seemed unsurprised and simply replied,

---

"Need a hand? It’s easily done."

He extended a filthy hand, raising a single finger.

The father instantly understood—Master Huo wanted money. But the man’s face darkened; his pockets were nearly empty. He knew Master Huo’s services were never cheap, and he could not afford the price.

Helpless, the father fished out a handful of small change, his face anxious and uneasy.

Rage flared within Cui Yue. Even if he owed this man his life, at this moment he saw only a petty, unscrupulous scoundrel preying on others’ misfortune. Without a word, Cui Yue pulled out his own wad of damp bills—enough and more—and shoved it at the vagrant, sneering.

"Cut the nonsense and get to work."

But the vagrant did not so much as glance at him. He tossed the bills back to Cui Yue with a grunt.

"This has nothing to do with you. I don’t want your money. Keep it."

He then reached into the father’s handful of coins, plucked out a single ten-cent note, and with great satisfaction slipped it into his pocket.

"This is business—fair and square. We owe each other nothing."

Cui Yue and the father stared in astonishment, lost for words. This Master Huo was an enigma, his actions impossible to fathom.

Now that Master Huo had agreed to help, the father's relief was obvious, his gratitude deeper than before.

He signaled everyone to step back, rolled up his sleeves, lit a stick of incense, and prepared offerings of yellow paper and gold notes, circling the corpse before tossing them into the brazier.

Chanting under his breath, he intoned, "The dead must journey on, the living must yield. The hour has come, not even the King of Hell can change it. Today’s debts are repaid, and the cycle of fate will turn anew in the next life. Rise!"

He placed his right hand lightly on the child’s forehead.

Cui Yue could now see clearly—on each of Master Huo’s knuckles were strange tattoos resembling pictographs. His middle, index, and ring fingers each bore a different ring, their ancient bronze patina lending them an air of mystery.