Chapter 28.3: The Funeral Banquet

Still, odds were, they didn’t recognize it. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have said so much before they left. Even if he couldn’t understand a word, they sure had a lot to say.

At the very least, it hadn’t been a simple “okay, goodbye.”

Li Zhuiyuan glanced at Li Sanjiang, only to find he was already lying on the bench, fast asleep.

When had he dozed off?

Must’ve been when those two were talking and their voices had gone all fuzzy to him.

“Runsheng-ge,” Li Zhuiyuan nudged him.

“Ah, done eating?”

Runsheng stretched with a yawn—he really had nodded off. In his dream, he’d suddenly felt a chill.

“Yeah. Grandpa's drunk. Runsheng-ge, can you carry him?”

“Sure.”

Runsheng stood up, grabbed Li Sanjiang by the arm, and with a practiced motion, slung him onto his back.

It was a flawless move—the textbook posture for carrying a corpse.

Li Zhuiyuan turned to the stack of nine bills in the center of the table. He picked them up and shone his flashlight over them.

What had once been big-denomination yuan had somehow turned into spirit money.

“Shall we go, Little Yuan?” Runsheng asked.

“Hold on.”

Li Zhuiyuan fished some matches from Li Sanjiang’s pocket, picked up the spirit money, and walked over to the Spirit Hall, where a brazier had long since gone cold.

He placed the money inside and lit it, using a half-charred stick nearby to stir the flames and ensure full combustion. Then, facing the memorial photo, he said:

“All the money you dropped—I’m returning it.”

Whatever might come of this, it was best to sever ties with such unclean things as cleanly and early as possible.

That done, he turned to leave. As he passed the table again, his flashlight swept over the spot where Brother Bao and Zhao Xing had been sitting and caught a strange glint.

He stepped closer for a look. Water stains.

Gross as it was, he touched the stain with a finger—it felt greasy.

Shining the light under the chairs, he saw a small pool of water had collected—like after a light rain.

The uneven ground must’ve kept it from flowing toward where he and Grandpa had been sitting.

“So wet… this much water…”

Li Zhuiyuan began retracing the earlier “blinks” and pinpointing where those two had stood.

A puddle.

Another puddle.

Two spots with visible wet footprints.

The fourth was out in the fields—he didn’t bother to check that one.

And then he remembered: those two had said that the jar holding the Dead Sinker was kept in a pond—and under that pond lay a buried corpse.

Not to mention their fear of the jar, like something had a hold on them.

Li Zhuiyuan’s gaze turned somber.

“You two… have something to do with that corpse, don’t you?”

Runsheng turned around, about to say something, but froze when he saw Li Zhuiyuan standing there with a flashlight. For some reason, the words stuck in his throat.

Because, in that moment, the Little Yuan before him looked utterly foreign—downright terrifying.

The purest, most guileless souls often have the sharpest senses. Everyone else thought Li Zhuiyuan was a well-behaved, sensible kid, and they liked him. But ever since Runsheng’s first visit to Li Sanjiang’s house, when he went upstairs just once, he never went again.

Others assumed it was because of the girl up there, who didn’t like strangers.

But only Runsheng knew: it wasn’t the girl he feared—it was Little Yuan. He’d never dare bother him unless Little Yuan came to him first.

Li Zhuiyuan looked up. Runsheng immediately looked away.

“Let’s go, Runsheng-ge. Let’s head home.”

“Mm.”

Down a field path in the dead of night, Runsheng walked ahead, carrying Li Sanjiang. Behind him trailed a boy.

The boy walked with eyes half-shut, head bowed, fists loosely clenched.

Li Zhuiyuan was furious.

Because once again, he felt that damned helplessness.

He’d wondered before if it was just him, if he somehow attracted these things a bit too often.

But then he looked at Grandpa—who managed to share a drinking table with two unclean things—and figured maybe his frequency was still within the norm.

After all, people did die in these events. But to the outside world, it all looked like accidents or illness.

Yes, it was rare for normal folks to see or hear of such things. But accidents? Those were common enough.

He’d just… had some twist of fate that let him see through the accidents, to the truth underneath.

Like bacteria—everywhere in life, but invisible. Look through a microscope, though, and you’d see them crawling over everything.

Li Zhuiyuan actually enjoyed this path of learning, of exploration. But he hated the way these things always came crashing in unannounced. And he hated even more how powerless he felt, every single time.

Sure, he could admit he was a failing student. But that didn’t mean he accepted being constantly reminded of it.

Even a failing student has dignity.

Once home, he laid Li Sanjiang on the bed in the old man’s room, then went to his own, turning on the desk lamp.

All the fatigue from earlier had been burnt away by adrenaline. Pen in hand, he worked furiously over his blueprints.

Under the desk lamp, the boy’s eyes blazed with resolve.

Like a lazy student pulling a desperate all-nighter before finals.

In all his life, Li Zhuiyuan had never studied this hard.

Finally, at five in the morning, he finished.

When he stood up to pack away the papers, he realized his shoulders and legs were numb. He nearly collapsed, only catching himself with a hand on the desk.

After a long while, the numbness faded.

No time to rest—he gathered the blueprints. This wasn’t all of the Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy, not even close. Just the tip of the iceberg.

But these were the parts he’d chosen—tools that were easy to make and practically useful.

He sorted through the materials he’d prepped the day before.

Now came the hard part: assembling everything.

At that moment, the door creaked open. Ah Li walked in.

Usually at this hour, Li Zhuiyuan would still be asleep.

She knelt beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead.

Her grandmother had done that gesture often. In her mind, it meant care.

“Ah Li, you’re here. I’m fine. But I’ll need your help again today. Let me walk you through these blueprints.”

Ah Li had shown surprising skill with her hands yesterday. As long as he explained the diagrams, she could make the items using the materials on hand.

Today, she wore a tight black training outfit. Li Zhuiyuan guessed Liu Yumei had picked it—black didn’t show dirt as easily.

After he finished explaining, they worked together. Before long, dawn had broken.

“Ah Li, keep going—I need to step out.”

With that, he grabbed a stack of blueprints and a prescription and went downstairs.

“Little Yuan, breakfast’s ready!” Aunt Liu called from the kitchen.

“Aunt Liu, could you brew this decoction for me?”

She took the prescription, glanced at it, then at him.

“Please, Aunt Liu. It’s for Grandpa. He’s been weak lately—said he needs it. It’s… part of your job.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll brew it.”

Decoction brewing was tedious and tricky—Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t do it properly himself. He had no choice but to ask Aunt Liu.

It felt a little manipulative, but he was out of time. Those two had likely given him three days, tops. If he didn’t finish by then, they’d be back.

“Thank you, Aunt Liu.”

“Hey, eat your breakfast first! Where are you going?”

“I’m heading out for a bit.”

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