Chapter Thirty-One: The Coroner’s Register Reveals the County of Changning, The Lowly Clerk Dispatches Bodies from the Morgue

Tang Yi closed the Death Register, his expression growing grave.

“Did you discover something?” Song Mo asked, noticing the change in his demeanor.

Tang Yi nodded but didn’t answer directly. Instead, he turned to He Yiming. “The people gathered outside the yamen today, were they really citizens of Jian’an’s imperial capital?”

Song Mo recalled the crowd’s clothing and manner—indeed, they didn’t resemble the locals of Jian’an. He also remembered the ox carts tied up along the old street and began to piece things together in his mind.

“They must be from a nearby county,” Song Mo thought to himself.

Sure enough, Wu Wanlin’s next words confirmed his suspicion.

“Lord Tang is quite right. All those people are from Changning County, south of Jian’an,” Wu Wanlin affirmed.

Tang Yi’s expression darkened further. After a moment’s contemplation, he asked in a low voice, “So, all the corpses involved in these incidents came from Changning County?”

He Yiming and Wu Wanlin both froze. Amid the chaos of the day, they had completely overlooked this crucial clue.

“Changning County? Yes, that’s right,” He Yiming quickly responded. He and Wu Wanlin hurried to check the Death Register.

After reading it, both men looked as though they had swallowed a fly.

Song Mo peered over to look at the register. Three lines, circled in vermillion, caught his eye:

“Thirteenth year of Jian’an, eighth month, twelfth day. Corpse from Changning County, delivered to Morgue Room 27.”

“Thirteenth year of Jian’an, eighth month, thirteenth day. Corpse from Changning County, delivered to Morgue Room 33.”

“Thirteenth year of Jian’an, eighth month, fourteenth day. Corpse from Changning County, delivered to Morgue Room 6.”

At this point, everyone realized the root of the problem lay in Changning County, not the morgue rooms.

He Yiming and Wu Wanlin exchanged a relieved glance. At least now they’d identified the source, and since the problem originated in Changning County, it was no longer their concern. If the people from Changning County dared to besiege the yamen again, they could respond with confidence and make other plans.

They had only one thought now: to get through this month’s duty without any further trouble.

“Bring those people back. I have questions for them,” Tang Yi said after a moment’s thought.

“I’ll see to it,” He Yiming replied, leaving with Wu Wanlin to instruct the attendants to fetch the people from Changning County.

Noon arrived in the yamen of the Mortuary Office.

Tang Yi questioned the group from Changning County, but his confusion only deepened.

All three corpses belonged to townsfolk from Changning County, yet there was no connection among them.

What was even more bizarre was that the three corpses vanished at different times after leaving the southern city morgue. The corpse sent on the twelfth disappeared as soon as it left Jian’an. The thirteenth’s corpse vanished near its own doorstep. The fourteenth remained until the burial—only as the pallbearers lowered the coffin did they notice its weight was off. Opening it, they found it empty.

After questioning the villagers, Tang Yi remained troubled. He hesitated but ultimately decided to follow them back to Changning County.

Song Mo wanted to persuade Tang Yi to wait for Jiang Wanyi’s return before taking action. After all, the situation had grown complicated, and it was clear that this was no ordinary affair. Frankly, it smelled of the supernatural.

Still, Tang Yi went to Changning County.

“I owe her a favor,” he told Song Mo before leaving.

The sun blazed with ostentatious brilliance, yet the mood of mid-autumn was heavy and somber.

Last night, Song Mo had stitched nearly nineteen thousand stitches in Tang Yi’s stead—a taxing effort.

He managed to get a meal at the Mortuary Office, then returned to Morgue Room 7 and fell instantly asleep.

...

A bright moon startled the old magpie from the branches; a cool breeze swept the pavilion in the depth of night.

As the hour of You arrived, He Yiming and Wu Wanlin sat in the Mortuary Office, frowning at the Death Register.

“Another corpse from Changning County. Could it be...” Wu Wanlin hesitated, troubled by the new entry. With so many incidents in Changning County, corpses from there were a hot potato.

“Well, there’s no telling what might happen, but since the body’s here, the Mortuary Office has no reason to turn it away,” He Yiming said, his brow furrowed.

“So, who should we assign this corpse to?” Wu Wanlin, lacking his own judgment, always deferred to He Yiming.

He Yiming pondered the Death Register for a long time before sighing. “That young man isn’t simple. Perhaps he really has some skill. The business of death runs deeper than we imagine.”

Wu Wanlin drew a breath, replying, “You’re right. He’s close with Tang Yi—perhaps he truly knows something. Don’t forget, Tang Yi was once...”

At this, He Yiming’s face changed. He hastily cut Wu Wanlin off, gesturing for silence and lowering his voice. “Careful, my friend. Loose lips invite disaster.”

Wu Wanlin nodded repeatedly, his respect for He Yiming’s caution growing.

With their minds made up, Wu Wanlin ground the ink while He Yiming took the brush.

Soon, the Death Register bore a new entry:

“Thirteenth year of Jian’an, eighth month, seventeenth day. Corpse from Changning County, delivered to Morgue Room 7.”

...

A maiden casts her line with delicate fingers; the autumn moon brightens the pond-side pavilion.

Song Mo awoke, not knowing whether the night was dark or the moon bright.

As the hour of Xu passed, he busied himself in Morgue Room 7, sharpening knives and waiting for business.

At the exact hour, a hurried knocking sounded at the door.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Urgent and insistent.

Song Mo’s face lit up. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Sure enough, as soon as he opened the door, the mortuary attendants delivered a corpse shrouded in white cloth.

The moment he opened the door, Song Mo sensed something was off—not because he could see the corpse (it was covered), but because the attendant wore a gray hemp robe.

Normally, mortuary attendants wouldn’t dress in such garb. The robe was too loose and cumbersome for carrying corpses. There was only one reason to wear it: when the corpse’s yin energy was overwhelming, or there was fear of hauntings.

Realizing this, Song Mo forced a bitter smile. “Gentlemen, is there something unusual about this corpse?”

A young attendant replied, “Unusual? You could say that. This one came from Changning County.”

An older attendant smacked the boy on the head. “You talk too much—get to work!”

With that, the elder gave Song Mo a compensatory smile.

A chill crept through Song Mo’s heart. That attendant was smiling, but his eyes were unsettling.

It was an expression Song Mo had seen often among morticians—even on his own face.

It was the look one reserved for the dead.