Chapter Twenty: The Burning of the Rice Dumplings

Prying open the coffin lid, we could see the power of the shotgun was no joke—not only was the lid blasted to pieces, but the shot had struck the corpse square in the mouth. The head was now nothing but a pulpy, unrecognizable mess. According to Zha Wenbin, this was a white-haired, skin-bound corpse. Among all the varieties of reanimated corpses, he said, skin-bound ones were relatively easy to handle; there were many ways to suppress them. If we ever encountered something truly fearsome, our luck might have run out right here.

Fatty Shi’s wound on his leg had started to turn black. Old Miao had wrapped it with herbs for now, but it would need proper treatment once we made it back. At this point, Fatty didn’t dare trade barbs with Zha Wenbin anymore. On what remained of the blasted head, a few teeth could still be found—each one sharp and triangular, completely different from a human’s. If he’d really been dragged in and bitten, no amount of flesh would have been enough to satisfy that thing.

I’d always been curious about such matters. My grandfather had been a Taoist priest, and as a child, he’d told me stories about things like this, though I’d always taken them as mere tales. I never imagined I’d encounter such things myself. So I asked, “What kind of reanimated corpse is the most dangerous?”

He counted on his fingers and said, “There are eighteen types: zombie, blood corpse, shade corpse, flesh corpse, skin corpse, jade corpse, walking corpse, feigning corpse, sweating corpse, hairy corpse, roaming corpse, waking corpse, armor corpse, stone corpse, fighting corpse, vegetable corpse, cotton corpse, and wooden corpse. The most ferocious are the zombie and the blood corpse, especially the blood corpse. The shade and fighting corpses are the most resentful, while the flesh and waking corpses aren’t too troublesome.”

Hearing this string of names made me even more curious. I asked, “How do you know so much?”

Zha Wenbin lowered his head. “My master taught me.”

“Your master? He must be incredible. When we get back, you have to introduce me. Also, have you seen all these types you mentioned?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t, today’s my first time. My master always warned me not to speak of these things.” Then he turned to Fatty Shi, “Once we get back, you’ll need to use sticky rice porridge as a poultice, and gather some snake herbs to treat poison with poison. If it’s not handled well, you’ll have lasting problems.”

Fatty Shi scratched his head sheepishly, then after a moment extended his hand. “I’m sorry, it was my fault. No matter what, you saved me today. I always repay my debts—if you ever need anything, I won’t hesitate.”

Zha Wenbin was generous in return, and the two young men shook hands. This was the moment we truly began to know and accept each other. None of us could have imagined, though, that from here on, our fates would become deeply intertwined.

The remaining two coffins were intact, each with a talisman affixed to the forehead. The largest coffin was only four or five meters away from us. Zha Wenbin told Fatty, “You got lucky—what you shot was the small one, but the big one is the real deal.”

“What do you mean, the real deal?” Fatty was already regretting having used all his bullets. If another one sprang out, he’d be finished; he’d already emptied his bladder, so he’d be helpless.

“The main corpse. These two smaller coffins are likely just burial companions. The big one is different, not just in size. Look closely and see what’s unique about it.”

Fatty shook his head vigorously. “I can’t tell.”

“There are lines on that coffin, marked with chalk. All these coffins have been prepared by someone familiar with the craft. They must have known what was inside could reanimate, but for some reason, they abandoned them here.”

Taking a closer look at Zha Wenbin’s prompting, I saw it was true—the lines crossed each other in a grid, each square about the size of a block of tofu, but a thick layer of dust made them hard to notice.

I asked, “Why do corpses turn into these things after death?”

“There are many reasons. Each type of corpse has its origin, but all are formed by absorbing the world’s resentful energy, drawing in death and bad luck. They do not age, die, or decay, but are cast out from the cycle of all living things. Skin-bound corpses like this usually result from the burial site’s environment—the body doesn’t rot, and the skin hardens like iron. That’s why old tales say zombies are impervious to blades or bullets. When they sense the breath of the living, they’re prone to reanimate.

“The simplest way to deal with a skin-bound corpse is to burn it. The most troublesome are the shade corpses. My master said those are often cultivated deliberately by the living before death. After burial, the body remains unchanged for decades or centuries. Sometimes, geography causes their formation. Those are truly sinister, especially the waterlogged corpses.”

“What’s a waterlogged corpse?”

“A corpse in a coffin filled with water. Shade corpses can be dry or wet. Dry ones are the vengeful type, wet ones are vicious. There’s even a kind called ‘blood-soaked shade corpse’—preserved in human blood for a thousand years without rotting. If it comes into contact with the breath of the living, it will rise instantly. Not even a celestial immortal could subdue it.”

Fatty Shi felt a cold chill run down his back as he listened, realizing he’d just skirted past the gates of hell. He couldn’t help but glance again at the large coffin.

As fate would have it, just as he looked, he seemed to see something dripping from the big coffin. Rubbing his eyes for a better look, he realized the coffin was tilted slightly, and a small bead of water was forming and growing under its head.

Fatty quickly patted Zha Wenbin’s leg. “Master Zha, you said that as long as the waterlogged corpse doesn’t come into contact with the breath of the living, it’s fine, right?”

Zha Wenbin thought for a moment. “That’s what I heard from my master, though I’ve never seen it myself.”

“So what counts as ‘coming into contact with breath’?”

“Coffins are sealed tight. Only when the air inside meets the air outside, or the living’s breath, does it count.”

Another droplet fell with a “plop.” Fatty braced himself, retreating as he asked, “If the water is starting to seep out, is that still sealed?”

“Uh? I suppose not.”

“Don’t just suppose, Master Zha. Is it or isn’t it?”

Zha Wenbin had no idea what Fatty was getting at, so he nodded, “It isn’t.”

Fatty began to tremble again, then suddenly shouted, “What are you all standing there for? Run! The biggest coffin is leaking!”

As soon as he finished, we saw that a puddle of water the size of a bowl had already formed beneath the big coffin. Old Miao didn’t dare delay. He tried to carry Fatty on his back but couldn’t do it alone, so the rest of us helped. Together, dragging and hauling, we finally managed to get Fatty up to ground level.

Zha Wenbin looked back at the collapsing floor. “We can’t stay here. Old Miao, who owns this place?”

“No one. It’s abandoned. Hurry up and go—we’ll talk later.”

“Alright. I’ll burn it. If anything gets out, it’ll harm people, and our village is the nearest inhabited place. These things are said to have a keener sense of smell than dogs—if there’s blood within a hundred miles downwind, they’ll find it. If you have no objection, I’ll set it on fire.”

Even now, Fatty couldn’t resist a wisecrack. Lying on Old Miao’s back, he waved his fist and declared, “Burn it, Master Zha! Let’s show it we’ve brought the flames of revolution to Yeren Village! We must treat our enemies as the autumn wind sweeps away fallen leaves—utterly merciless! And let it know that next time it sees me, it had better stay in its coffin!”

Old Miao glanced at Fatty’s blackening leg and sighed. “Go ahead and burn it, but don’t destroy the whole forest.”

“It won’t come to that. This place is a pit surrounded by stone, just like a charcoal kiln. I’ll burn it now.” With that, Zha Wenbin tore off Fatty’s ragged pants, wrapped them around some wood, set it alight, and tossed it in. The five of us turned and fled.

Harnessing the donkey cart, we hurried along the road. When we finally reached the hilltop and looked back, the abandoned temple halfway up the mountain was already engulfed in flames. None of us dared stop or look back for long.

Years later, we would still remember that night: pulling Fatty Shi on the donkey cart, Zha Wenbin and I pushing from behind, Old Miao hauling in front, and Yuan Xiaobai lighting our way. I thought at the time that this would be the hardest journey of my life, but in truth, our real ordeal had not yet begun. This was only a simple prelude.

We traveled through the night toward Yeren Village. By the time we arrived, it was already the next morning. Fatty Shi was burning with fever, babbling nonsense the whole way. The wounds on his leg oozed blackish pus, with a stench so foul it was unbearable. Old Miao, without even stopping for tea, immediately rallied the villagers to gather sticky rice and medicinal herbs...