Chapter Sixty: The Incorruptible Corpse

Earlier, at two in the afternoon, we gathered at the northern slope cemetery—the burial ground for Wildman Village, where all those who passed in the last century now rested. Hundreds of mounds, both large and small, dotted the land like a patchwork; remnants of paper offerings and faded funeral wreaths lay scattered everywhere. It was a typical country graveyard, with tombs of every sort—some built up with cement for those a bit better off, others little more than weedy mounds of bare earth.

Old Miao pointed to a small, rather rundown grave and said to me, “That’s my wife’s. She’s been gone many years now. The year before last, I built a double grave, figuring that when my time comes, we’ll be together once more. Times were hard back then, I couldn’t even afford a proper coffin; she was buried in a straw mat. I’ve always felt I wronged her. Today, I’ll see her settled in her new home. I’m a Party member and don’t believe in superstitions—there’s no better day than today, since you’re all here. Help me move her remains to the new grave, will you?”

Zha Wenbin glanced at the gloomy sky—though the clouds hung low, there was no sign of rain. The coffin was new; we’d just carried it up from Old Miao’s house. He’d had two made: one for himself, one for the wife who’d waited for him beneath the earth all these years.

“Let’s put up a shelter," Zha suggested. "But honestly, if the remains are still intact, I’d recommend cremation.”

Old Miao nodded. “The Party’s been telling us to do that for years. If it’s like you say, then let’s burn her—wouldn’t want her to suffer.”

“The day is auspicious, too. I checked the almanac; it’s good for burials,” Zha reassured him. Though Old Miao was an old revolutionary, this was still his wife.

Following custom, Zha first lit incense and candles, letting Miaolan and her husband offer their respects. Wailing was required, a ritual apology: for leaving their mother alone here so long, for their unfilial delay in moving her grave.

A table of offerings was set, three cups of wine poured. Zha called out in a loud voice, “The hour is come—let the departed rise!”

Fatty and I were outsiders; it wouldn’t do for the family to dig up the grave. So we took up the task ourselves. Luckily, it was only soft earth. With each swing of our hoes, we made quick work of it. Over the grave, we’d put up a simple shelter—just a frame covered with plastic sheeting to block the sun.

The earth wasn’t deep; after barely more than a meter, we hit the bottom. The straw mat had long since rotted to scraps, mingling with yellow clay to release a suffocating stench.

“Shall we lift it?” I asked Zha, holding my breath as best I could—one whiff was nearly unbearable.

He was used to that reek by now and already suspected what we’d find. If a body still stank after decades underground, it meant, simply, that it hadn’t decomposed.

“Go ahead. Tie it with the palm rope. Don’t let the corpse touch the soil, and be careful not to tear the mat.”

Fatty and I spread the cloth and carefully shifted the mud-covered remains onto it, tying them securely. We each took an end of a stout wooden pole to lift it. The moment we rose from our crouch, I realized this was no ordinary weight. The strain, the rope creaking, the pole groaning, and the pain digging into my shoulder—all of it left me breathless.

“I can’t…” I collapsed, red-faced and drenched in sweat, slumping into the pit. Fatty was no better, his face smeared with yellow mud. “We need help. Old Miao, forgive my bluntness, but was your wife very heavy in life?”

Old Miao looked startled. “No, she was small. What’s wrong with you two?”

Fatty shot back, “Why don’t you try it yourself?”

Zha scolded, “Enough of that! It’s not that she’s heavy—it means her spirit’s not ready to leave. This is what’s called a ‘thousand-pound weight.’ If the corpse is intact and blood appears under the moon, it could turn into a zombie.” He quickly drew a charm on yellow paper and handed it to Miaolan. “Lan, burn this for your mother. Tell her you and your father are just moving her to a new home—ask her not to take offense.”

Miaolan, heavily pregnant, knelt weeping as she took the charm. “Mother, I’m sorry you’ve been left here so long. Your grandson is in my belly now. If you won’t rise, I’ll kneel here with him beside you.” Sobbing, she lit the charm and tossed it into the pit.

Strangely, though the air was still, the ashes from the burning charm rose high into the sky. Zha said, “Try again—I think it’s fine now.”

Sure enough, Fatty and I were able to lift the body out with ease this time. In a few minutes, the task was done, and the rest fell to Zha.

The family withdrew as Zha prepared the remains. He snipped open the tattered mat, and I nearly thought I’d seen a ghost—thank goodness it was broad daylight.

Inside was indeed a woman’s body, mingled with yellow clay, but beneath the dirt, the flesh was still fresh. Miaolan’s mother had died young, barely in her twenties. When Zha brushed the dust from her face, I saw her cheeks were sunken, her lips pursed in a tight circle.

Zha stuffed her ears and nostrils with oil-soaked cotton balls, then covered her eyes with two pieces of black cloth. I shuddered when I saw her fingernails—they’d grown so long they were nearly curling.

After death, nails and hair continue to grow until the body is fully decayed. That her nails were so long had to do with how well she’d been preserved, but this was neither a sealed tomb nor a desert; how could a body wrapped only in a rotting mat remain so lifelike? Looking at her, I saw a strong resemblance to Miaolan, except her face was utterly bloodless—pale with a hint of purple.

Zha signaled for me to call Old Miao. When he saw her, Old Miao was stunned—unbelieving at first, but soon tears fell; she was, after all, his lifelong companion. He agreed at last to cremate her.

We chopped dry branches on the spot, laid the body atop them in the pit, doused it with kerosene, and set it alight. Soon, black smoke rose into the sky.

It was the first time I saw Zha perform a ritual for the dead: eyes closed, chanting, leading Miaolan’s family as they circled the burning body. Three times left, they’d pause and toss in a handful of yellow earth; three times right, another handful—again and again until the flames died out.

Then came the task of gathering the bones. Unlike a crematorium, the fire here left most of the skeleton intact. One by one, we placed the bones in the coffin, arranging them as a body, and sealed it just as night began to fall. We hurried to bury her in the new grave, and by the time we descended the mountain, the moon was already hanging in the sky.

On the road back to the village, Old Miao was silent. We had upended everything he thought he knew; I doubted he’d sleep at all that night.

Of the three in the village office, one woman had regained consciousness, but the other two remained unconscious. Dr. Niu was inside, keeping watch. Fatty went in, eager to question them, but the woman wouldn’t say a word.

Since she was a woman, we couldn’t press her too harshly. Fatty figured that if she was awake, the man named Qian must be too. He pulled a feather from a duster and began tickling the man’s feet. Sure enough, in less than five seconds, the man yelped, confirming he’d been faking.

“Let’s talk, shall we?” Fatty smacked the man’s face. “Should I call you Master Qian, or Leader Qian?”

The man, realizing he’d been caught, grinned obsequiously. “Just Old Qian, Old Qian…”

“Old Qian?” Fatty slapped him again. “You from Beijing or Sichuan?”

The man nodded quickly, clutching his face. “Sichuan, Sichuan…”

“Oh, Sichuan!” Another slap from Fatty left half the man’s face swollen. “So you lied to me. Lying insults my intelligence, and that deserves a beating. Am I wrong?”

“No, no, I deserve it…”

I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Surveying… mapping…”

“Survey your ass! With guns? Belgian imports, no less. Listen, there’s not a living soul within three hundred miles—if we buried you here, only ghosts would know. Try lying again and I’ll shoot you myself!” Fatty raised his hand to strike, but Zha stopped him.

“Where did you take the villager from the settlement?” Zha asked.

The man shook his head. “What villager? I don’t know anything!”

Fatty grabbed a stool, threatening to bring it down on him. “Keep playing dumb and I’ll kill you right here!”

“I swear I don’t know! You’re wrong about me! We snuck in, never dared approach the locals. We’re actually here to rob graves…”

“Two days ago, did you harm a hunter and his dog?” Zha’s voice was calm as he sat next to him. “We have no grudge against you. Tell us where he is, and you and your friends can leave safely. You’ve been poisoned by corpse toxin—without a cure, your bodies will rot within seven days.”

The man stuck to his story. “I really don’t know. If I did, wouldn’t I have said so?”

“All right, you won’t talk? Zha, let’s go—find a pit and bury him alive!” Fatty grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out of the office, ignoring his struggles and cries for help…

Now then—

Wish me a happy birthday!