C1 Pick up the Dead

Are you familiar with the concept of a haunted house?

A haunted house is a property where someone has died under unnatural circumstances, such as an accident, suicide, or murder. It's said that those who die this way, having not lived out their full years, linger restlessly after death, their spirits haunting the place where they passed.

These spirits tend to remain in their former homes, leading to all sorts of eerie occurrences within those walls.

Typically, such houses are sold at a reduced price. During a particularly tough time, I found myself inadvertently dealing in these haunted properties, buying them cheaply and selling them at a profit after some time.

The revenue from flipping these haunted houses was substantial, and I made a fair amount of money over those years. However, the chilling and bizarre experiences I encountered continued to haunt me like nightmares, long after I'd left that line of work. To this day, the mere thought sends shivers down my spine and induces cold sweats.

Today, I've finally gathered the courage to share my story, hoping to put an end to this chapter of my past.

My name is Lee Yang, and at the time, I had just graduated from college. Throughout my college years, I seemed to be dogged by bad luck, failing at everything I attempted. After graduation, my job search was met with constant rejection. Not only did I fail to earn money, but I also accumulated a significant amount of debt.

I hail from a rural village, and as the only one to have made it to college, I was once celebrated by my fellow villagers. But now, I was the most unfortunate among them. My peers, who hadn't pursued higher education, had been out in the world for years and were now thriving, each more successful than the last.

My pride kept me from returning home often; I couldn't bear to let my parents see me struggling.

But pride doesn't put food on the table, and just when things were looking dire, I received a call from my Third Uncle.

Third Uncle was quite the character.

The term "character" here doesn't imply that he was extraordinary, but rather eccentric.

In his youth, Third Uncle was somewhat of a black sheep, spending his days drinking and gambling, which eventually led to him being disowned by my grandfather. No one knew where he had gone, but when he returned years later, he was dressed in a filthy, tattered Taoist robe, claiming to be a half-baked Taoist priest. Upon seeing my grandfather, he didn't address him as 'father' but rather as 'benefactor,' nearly giving my grandfather a fit of rage. My grandfather was so incensed that he chased Third Uncle out of the house with a stick.

Third Uncle, too apprehensive to enter our home, opted instead to set up a fortune-telling stall in town.

Yet, I owe my life to this very same unreliable Third Uncle.

That year, while I was away studying, I received an urgent call that my grandfather was gravely ill. I requested a leave of absence from school and rushed back home. Arriving, I was met with a crowd gathered outside our old house.

With tears in her eyes, my aunt informed me that my grandfather was on his deathbed, stubbornly clinging to life to see me one last time.

I made my way to Grandpa's bedside, and as I did, tears streamed down my face. The robust and spirited man I remembered lay before me, frail and unrecognizable. He was motionless on the bed, eyes shut, weakly murmuring my name.

Upon hearing of my return, Grandpa's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes. Struggling, he lifted his arm and pointed towards the door. Everyone understood his gesture; they left the room, leaving just the two of us.

I noticed the skin on Grandpa's forehead moving, revealing white lines of smooth skin usually concealed by wrinkles untouched by age.

His gaze fixed on me, his Adam's apple bobbed as if he were trying to speak.

I leaned in closer, eager to catch his every word.

Suddenly, Grandpa's expression contorted in pain, and a hissing sound escaped his throat, reminiscent of a deflating tire. His face turned a deep red, and his chest heaved.

Never having witnessed such a thing, I was at a loss—was this the end for Grandpa? Anxiety overwhelmed me, and I opened my mouth to ask about his condition.

But as I did, a breath expelled from Grandpa's throat.

This exhalation lacked the foul odor one might expect from a dying elder; it was surprisingly fragrant. Unprepared, I inhaled it, and a chilling sensation rushed down my throat, spreading rapidly throughout my body. In that instant, I felt as though I had plunged into an icy abyss, my body heavy yet buoyant, as if filled with lead. Overcome, I collapsed to the ground, unable to stand.

Upon hearing the noise, everyone hurried in. By then, Grandfather should have been gone, yet though I could see them, it was as if I had lost all sensation. Worst of all, I couldn't muster the strength to even speak.

At that moment, Third Uncle, who hadn't been home in ages, burst in and exclaimed, "Yang has been badly hurt. Nobody touch him!"

With my condition critical and no clear solution at hand, especially with Grandfather's recent passing throwing the family into disarray, they had no choice but to let Third Uncle take charge.

Third Uncle whisked me off to another room, grabbed a shattered bowl, and fished out a handful of beans from his pouch, among which I could make out glutinous rice and black beans, but little else.

He dropped the beans into the bowl and poured in half a bowl of wine from Grandfather's gourd. Clutching the bowl, he mumbled to himself for a while before striking a match and setting the wine ablaze. The room quickly filled with the aroma of grains and alcohol. Unfazed by the heat, Third Uncle plunged his hands into the bowl and stirred vigorously. He then pinched my earlobes and the soles of my feet with his alcohol-scented hands, pried open my mouth, and poured the still-flaming wine down my throat.

The wine, having been sloshed around by Third Uncle's grimy hands, made me feel nauseous. Yet, oddly, I had no strength to resist or voice my discomfort. The wine brought a warming sensation that eased my discomfort significantly.

Third Uncle fumbled around inside his coat, seemingly searching for something. After five minutes, he produced a needle from some hidden pocket. The needle, thin as a hair and dull in color, was either dirty or naturally that hue.

With the needle in hand, Third Uncle closed his eyes, concentrating deeply as sweat dripped from his brow. My parents had gathered around by now, watching anxiously but not daring to interrupt.

Suddenly, Third Uncle's eyes snapped open. He jabbed the needle into the middle finger of his left hand, then pressed it against my forehead. Clenching his teeth, he exerted force as if trying to extract something.

The needle pierced my forehead without causing any pain. At that moment, Third Uncle seemed to channel all his strength into that single needle. Bracing himself with his left hand on the kang, a traditional Chinese bed, and clutching the needle in his right, he worked vigorously, his face turning red and his neck bulging with the effort. Finally, he extracted a dark green filament. As soon as the filament left my body, it turned into a wisp of white mist and vanished, and the needle snapped.

We later learned that the last breath exhaled before death is known as "disaster." This breath contains the most vile and toxic accumulation of one's life. Should it fall upon a flower, the flower would wither. If it were to get on clothing by accident, it could cause a severe illness. If it struck one's face, it might take years to regain one's vitality. This is what people mean when they speak of encountering disaster. Had I ingested it directly, without Third Uncle's intervention, I surely would have perished.

Nevertheless, it took nearly half a year for my health to gradually improve.

Following this ordeal, my family's perception of Third Uncle shifted, and even the villagers recognized his talents. Consequently, for various celebrations and ceremonies, they began to seek his assistance. Despite this, Third Uncle's character still set him apart in our household, and few showed him any regard. Only when I returned home for the holidays would I keep him company, engaging in conversation.

Once, upon arriving home, Third Uncle approached me with a secretive air, saying, "Nephew, do Third Uncle a favor, and there'll be something in it for you when it's done."

His request nearly sent me into a fit of rage. That unlucky Third Uncle of mine had the audacity to ask me to crawl into a dead person's coffin.

Third Uncle and I were only eight years apart, and given his free-spirited nature, our interactions were often frank and unrestrained. So, after hearing his request, I exploded. "Do you a favor? Do you even remember that I'm your nephew? What are you trying to do, bury me alive?"

Seeing my distress, Third Uncle quickly clarified. It turned out that Old Liang from our village had suddenly fallen gravely ill and was comatose, his life hanging by a thread. The Liang family, being among the wealthiest in the area, wasn't worried about his passing, but he had three sons who were at odds over the division of the inheritance. They approached Third Uncle, hoping he could find a way to prolong Old Liang's life by three more days.

Third Uncle concocted a clever ruse to deceive everyone and enlisted my help. He proposed that I get into a coffin, but it was all for show. The coffin was simply a paper box with a thin layer of dirt on top. I was to lie inside it for one night, and by dawn, I would be freed.

After hearing Third Uncle's plan, I retorted irritably, "I'm not helping with that. It's bad luck for the living to get into a coffin."

But Third Uncle countered, "My dear nephew, are you still worried about luck? I may have lifted your grandfather's curse, but your own streak of bad luck hasn't been broken. If it continues, you could be unlucky for life. My plan is beneficial in two ways: it aids the Liang family, and by lying in the coffin, you'll be symbolically separated from the living, as if you've already faced death once. Any misfortune you're due should dissipate. Tomorrow, when you emerge, I assure you, you'll be glowing with vitality. From then on, you'll enjoy a life of prosperity, wealth, and success..."

As Third Uncle spoke, he sprayed saliva and calculated eagerly, eventually handing me two thousand yuan as an advance payment, promising more to come upon success.

Knowing the Liang family must have paid him handsomely, and swayed by his earnestness, I impulsively agreed.

Under Third Uncle's meticulous planning, the scheme unfolded smoothly. That evening, I climbed into the prepared coffin, which was placed in a grave on the hill behind our house. Aside from the coffin and my role, the rest of the ceremony followed traditional funeral customs. Inside the coffin, I listened to the old man's three sons wailing like fools, even calling out to me as their father, which nearly made me burst into laughter.

But once the coffin lid was closed and covered with soil, regret washed over me.

Sealed inside, I was engulfed in total darkness. As the soil muffled the outside world, silence enveloped me. The only sound was the clear, steady beating of my own heart.

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