Chapter 28.2: The Funeral Banquet

Li Zhuiyuan guessed that Great-Grandpa must have mistaken Zhao Xing for one of the Zhao family’s nephews.

“Well, that’s good. As long as everyone eats and drinks well. I just worry that if it’s done poorly, we might offend our guests.”

A smile crept onto Zhao Xing’s face, but his already pale complexion made the smile look unsettling.

Li Zhuiyuan picked up another piece of salted meat, dipped it slightly in the sauce on the plate, and put it in his mouth.

By now, only the cold dishes on the table were still edible; the rest had gone cold.

Still, the host seemed genuinely concerned about how the food was received.

Actually, at a funeral banquet, if the supposed host had to crawl up from their coffin to ask how the food was, nobody would dare say it wasn’t good.

Brother Bao spoke up, “If I didn’t know your banquets were good, you think I’d rush over here?”

Zhao Xing chuckled, “Alright then. In a few days, I’ll be attending your banquet, won’t I?”

Brother Bao nodded. “Yeah, but my spread won’t match yours. Your Zhao family’s got big business; mine’s just a small-time gig. After daily expenses, there’s not much left. Still, when you come over, I’ll host you just like you did today.”

Zhao Xing waved it off. “Food and drink are secondary—it’s the atmosphere that counts. With our relationship, no need for all the formalities.”

Li Zhuiyuan grabbed some cold spinach with his chopsticks. This kind of exchange—inviting each other to one’s funeral feast posthumously—was a novel experience.

But how was he supposed to end this meal naturally?

Also, why had the two of them shown up to drink with Great-Grandpa—was it loneliness, or was something up?

Li Sanjiang turned to Brother Bao. “What’s up? Got something going on at your place too?”

“Yeah, soon. Once my wife feels better, we’ll get started.”

“That’s no good. Your wife’s sick and you’re out here drinking this late? Shouldn’t you be home taking care of her? That’s just irresponsible.

Besides, organizing a banquet’s a hassle. Since your wife’s ill, you’ll have to take charge. No way you can slack off.”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded in agreement. “When I’m sick, I always hope someone’s there with me.”

Brother Bao shook his head with a sigh. “I did something that hurt my wife. Her illness is because of me. That’s why it’s not right for me to go home now. Counting today, I’ll stay away for six more days. On the seventh, she should have calmed down.”

“Heh.” Li Sanjiang pointed his chopsticks at him. “You young folks… either don’t get married, or don’t mess around after you do.”

“You’re right, Uncle,” Brother Bao said, twirling his chopsticks in his hand.

Li Zhuiyuan noticed Brother Bao was getting angry.

As a thug in town, how could he tolerate being lectured like that? Normally, he’d have lashed out regardless of age.

But now, he was holding back.

Zhao Xing jumped in, “Uncle, I…”

“Pah! You brat, how old are you, twenty at most? Calling me Uncle?” Li Sanjiang jabbed toward the spirit hall. “That old Zhao barely qualifies to call me Uncle, and I’m letting that slide. You’re about the same age as the guy who just passed.”

Seeing Li Sanjiang glance toward the photo on the altar, Li Zhuiyuan panicked. If Great-Grandpa noticed who the shadowy guest at the table was…

He quickly poured him another drink, deliberately letting the liquor overflow.

“Hey, hey, that’s enough. What a waste,” Li Sanjiang’s focus was instantly redirected. He steadied the bottle and bent down to slurp the spill off the plastic table cover.

“My hand slipped, Great-Grandpa.”

Zhao Xing and Brother Bao exchanged a look and changed their tone. “Grandpa, the two of us have a favor to ask.”

“Speak.”

“Old Jiang from Shigang Town owes us money, hasn’t paid us back.”

“Old Jiang?” Li Sanjiang tapped his forehead, trying to recall through the haze of alcohol. “That guy who runs the karaoke parlor and bathhouse in Shigang? Heard he started with earthworks?”

“That’s him.”

“Well, that’s tricky. If he owes you money, why not ask him yourselves? Got an IOU?”

“He’s got something on us. We can’t confront him.”

“Ah, I can’t help with that. I’m no big shot—just a corpse retriever. If I had that kind of clout, I’d be at home enjoying life, not out working.”

“He’s got a vat in the middle of a pond, and inside it is a massive taishui he fished up years ago. Because he tricked us into consuming it, we’ve been suffering ever since.

We can’t go near him, and we’re stuck working under him.”

“What taishui?” Li Sanjiang was confused. “Poison? He drugged you?”

“All we ask is that you destroy that vat—burn it, bury it, throw it away, whatever. Just don’t let it stay in his home.”

“You’re asking me to steal? I’m an old man, not some thief. You’re barking up the wrong tree…”

Zhao Xing pulled out stack after stack of large bills from under the table—nine bundles in total, all new, wrapped in white paper.

Li Sanjiang swallowed hard, his breathing quickened.

“Grandpa Li, if you agree, this money is yours.”

His hand trembled with the wine cup. He’d taken jobs before, even with cursed corpses, just for the money.

But this time, even drunk, he lowered his head, slammed the cup down, and said loud and clear:

“Not doing it!”

Then he slammed the table with his palm.

“You blind little punks think your grandpa’s the type to steal for money? Pah!”

Brother Bao and Zhao Xing froze. Then a greenish hue spread across their faces—anger.

The air turned cold.

Even Runsheng, dozing nearby, shivered.

Li Zhuiyuan asked, “Did Old Jiang do anything criminal?”

The two men turned toward him.

“I’m asking for my great-grandpa. He deserves to know the whole picture.”

Zhao Xing shook his head. He didn’t know.

Brother Bao said, “I’ve seen it. Beneath the vat in his pond, buried in the silt, is a corpse. Old Jiang’s enemy, surnamed Zhou.”

“What? He killed someone?” Li Sanjiang sobered up a bit. “You’re asking me to rob a murderer?”

Zhao Xing looked at Bao. “When did you see that?”

“I helped him bury it. Said it would nourish the taishui.”

“You’ve been working for him this whole time? Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

Bao sneered. “You forget? We joined up back-to-back.”

“Oh right. Damn, I really forgot. Such a waste… I had it all.”

Zhao Xing looked around, full of regret. His family was wealthy. His father could buy him a bride from any village.

But what he didn’t know was—it was that same fortune that doomed him early on.

Li Sanjiang was about to speak again when his stomach turned and he vomited violently.

Li Zhuiyuan patted his back, eyes still on Bao and Zhao Xing.

Bao pressed, “Well? Yes or no? I’m only being polite for my wife’s sake.”

Li Sanjiang paused. “What’s your wife got to do with me?”

Then he vomited again—harder this time. He curled up on the bench.

Li Zhuiyuan kept patting his back. “If you can help, fine. But forget the money. If it’s too much, it’s not your fault. Okay?”

At that moment, the two men—still vaguely human—suddenly sat up straight.

Faces turned ashen. Blotchy corpse spots marred their skin. Their eyes turned completely white.

Their lips moved rapidly, opening and closing as if speaking—but no sound came out.

Li Zhuiyuan strained to catch any useful words, even a threat. But all he heard was a swarm of buzzing, like a thousand flies.

What was going on?

They were chatting just fine moments ago.

Was something wrong with them—or with him?

Snap!Snap!

Two pairs of chopsticks stabbed upright into their rice bowls.

Their mouths kept moving, still silent.

Then, in a blink, they stood;

Another blink—they left their seats;

A third—they were gone from the tent.

When Li Zhuiyuan looked again, they were already distant shadows in the fields.

Then, they vanished completely.

But in the end, Li Zhuiyuan still didn’t know:

Did they accept the deal he’d offered?

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