Chapter Forty-Five: Tang Yi Returns to Changning County at Night, Stitching Bodies and Crafting the Seven-Apertured Exquisite Heart

The night was pitch-black, an endless expanse of thick ink smeared heavily across the sky, not even a hint of starlight to be found.

After Tang Yi finished recounting the story of the Zhang family, Song Mo couldn’t help but laugh quietly, saying, “A scholar and a fox spirit? Are you sure you’re not telling a tale from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio?”

“Strange Stories? Did something like the Zhang family’s affair ever happen in that book?” Tang Yi frowned, his expression serious.

Only then did Song Mo realize that, as a native of this world, Tang Yi had no idea what Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio was. He hastily brushed it off with a couple of vague remarks, and since Tang Yi was preoccupied, he didn’t press further.

Song Mo, however, was struck by an idea: if no one here knew about Strange Stories, couldn’t he become the storyteller Pu Songling himself? By extension, he could also be Wu Cheng’en of Journey to the West, Shi Nai’an of Water Margin, Luo Guanzhong of Romance of the Three Kingdoms...

His mind was filled with countless tales from his previous life. With a fan and a cup of tea in any teahouse, he could tell stories for half a day and earn thunderous applause—wouldn’t he be counting money until his hands were sore?

“Good heavens, I’ve struck gold!” Song Mo rejoiced silently, his delight spilling over as he suddenly embraced Tang Yi beside him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Tang Yi, you’re my lucky star!” Song Mo danced with excitement, while Tang Yi wiped the spit off his face with a look of disdain, regarding him as one might a fool.

“I’m not here to watch your madness. Do you have any more clues about the Zhang family?” Tang Yi asked, his voice grave.

Seeing Tang Yi’s sharp gaze, Song Mo quickly sobered and recounted the clues he’d gathered these past few days while preparing the corpses.

“It seems there’s some connection between the Zhang family and Sheepgut Mountain that we don’t yet understand,” Tang Yi said, frowning after hearing Song Mo’s account.

He pondered for some time, recalling the Zhang family’s dossier he’d seen at Changning County’s yamen, then spoke in a low voice, “It appears the Zhangs are deliberately concealing something. I’ll have to pay them a visit.”

Tang Yi was never one to procrastinate; as soon as he finished speaking, he pushed open the door and left.

“Tang Yi,” Song Mo called after him.

“Yes?” Tang Yi turned, puzzled.

“Be careful,” Song Mo said. He’d meant to urge Tang Yi to set aside the county’s matters for now and wait until Jiang Wanyi returned, but the words never made it past his lips; in the end, he simply told Tang Yi to take care.

“Alright.” Tang Yi nodded, then turned and vanished swiftly into the darkness.

Not long after, it was time for the Deadkeeper’s Bureau’s evening roll call.

Song Mo sat cross-legged on the chilly couch, warmth slowly flowing from his lower abdomen through his meridians, returning after a cycle. He could sense nothing more.

This was a change that came after eating the ginseng fruit. Song Mo didn’t understand its cause, but since it posed no harm, he let it be.

Bang, bang, bang.

Business had arrived.

He opened the wooden door. Wei Xi, clothed in hemp robes, stood at the threshold, while Wei Chen, similarly dressed, supported a cart for hauling corpses.

“Is it sent from Changning County’s yamen again?” Song Mo asked in a deep voice.

He felt a bit puzzled. Tang Yi hadn’t mentioned any new murder in Changning County today, but judging by the Wei uncle and nephew’s attire, the body was likely from the county.

Wei Xi shook his head. “The body is indeed from Changning County, but it wasn’t sent by the yamen. A donkey cart driver brought it.”

“A donkey cart driver?” Song Mo’s brows knitted tighter, suspicion growing.

Wei Xi nodded. “Yes, the driver said a hunter died in the mountains—a tiger tore off his left hand.”

“Alright, bring it in,” Song Mo said, unable to ask more, so he had them place the corpse on the table inside.

After the Wei uncle and nephew left, Song Mo didn’t begin work immediately.

He sensed something off about the corpse.

Mountain hunters seldom had spare money; while the Deadkeeper’s Bureau was established to soothe restless spirits and the burial fee was modest, mountain folk worshiped the local deities. Even if a tiger claimed a life, families bore no grudge—an eye for an eye. Why would they spend money to bring the body here?

Clang, clang, clang—the sound of a brass gong echoed outside the mortuary.

Song Mo set aside his doubts for now, lit the soul-calming lamp, and placed it steadily in the corner.

He took a careful look at the corpse, and his mind rang as if struck.

“There really is something wrong…” Song Mo murmured, his face growing solemn.

The body on the table was that of an elderly man, refined in demeanor—hardly a mountain hunter. An eerie smile lingered on his lips. When Song Mo saw the supposed tiger-mauled left hand, he staggered back in shock.

There was no blood, no jagged stump; from the shoulder down, the entire left arm was gone—just as if the man had never had a left hand at all!

“What… what on earth is this?” Song Mo muttered in astonishment.

He knew there was only one way to uncover the cause behind such bizarre events.

Corpse-mending.

Fortunately, the corpse had no other wounds besides the missing limb. Song Mo fashioned a left hand from straw and stitched it firmly onto the body.

After powdering and dressing it in burial robes, the corpse’s expression changed from eerie to serene.

“Whew.” Song Mo let out a long breath; the body was finally prepared for burial.

In a haze, the soul-summoning banner unfurled, and the record of souls appeared.

The corpse’s lantern of memories flickered to life.

The deceased was surnamed Lu, given name Sheng, courtesy name He Yi—not a mountain hunter, but the old steward of the Zhang family.

Lu Sheng came from a poor family; his father was a village schoolteacher.

Under his father’s strict tutelage, Lu Sheng was well-versed in the classics from a young age, showing a touch of literary talent—composing poetry at six, essays at seven, and at thirteen becoming the study companion of Zhang Changlin, the Zhang family’s young master.

At seventeen, he took the provincial exam with Zhang Changlin; while Zhang Changlin failed, Lu Sheng placed first.

Yet it seemed that exam had exhausted Lu Sheng’s talents; he failed subsequent exams again and again.

Luckily, Zhang Changlin soon became head of the Zhang family, and Lu Sheng, once the top scholar, had to swallow his pride and serve as steward.

Time in the grand manor passed slowly—decades slipped by.

Lu Sheng spent most of his life as the Zhangs’ steward, orchestrating the marriage between Zhang Xiaoguang and Zhao Yue Shu.

On the eve of the wedding, the white fox fur coat Zhao Yue Shu presented was mounted and hung in the hall.

Lu Sheng had seen many treasures, but such a priceless fox-fur garment was unheard of.

That night, when the hall was empty, Lu Sheng slipped in to admire it.

By the dim candlelight, he gently stroked the white fox coat with his left hand, entranced.

From the darkness, a shadow crept forth, climbing from the fox coat onto Lu Sheng’s left hand.

After a bout of stroking, satisfied, Lu Sheng quietly left. No one knew he’d visited the hall that night, let alone his obsessive touch of the fox garment.

The wedding proceeded as usual. After the new couple bowed to heaven and earth, the old master Zhang Changlin called Lu Sheng to the rear hall.

Decades of friendship weighed between them. Zhang Changlin hesitated for a long time before revealing a secret—the greatest secret of the Zhang family…

…

When the lantern of memories finished its tale, the remaining soul was drawn into the soul-summoning banner.

Return, departed soul, enter the record.

Heaven and earth, mysterious and yellow; four tiers, nine grades.

The soul record assigned the corpse its final value: Grade One, Mysterious class.

A Seven Apertures Linglong Fruit.

According to the Inner Canon: The heart is the master of the body, hidden within the lungs, seated between the six leaves and two ears. No evil may invade; a single breach brings death. If the heart is upright, hands and feet are upright; if the heart is not, then neither are hands nor feet. The heart is the seed of all things, the root of the four transformations.

The Seven Apertures Linglong Fruit is nourished by literary learning, rooted in the classics. Consuming it refines the heart, opening seven orifices, enabling speech with all things, dispelling great illusions, foreseeing omens of fortune and calamity.

The fruit was bright red; one bite filled Song Mo’s mouth with fragrant juices, its flavor exquisite.

After eating the Seven Apertures Linglong Fruit, Song Mo felt his chest clear, his spirit expanding outward, especially his sixth sense.

Despite the reward, Song Mo’s face remained grim.

For Tang Yi, he feared, was about to face great trouble.