Chapter Ten: Carrying the Corpse

I clenched my fists tightly, watching so many bodies being carried into our house. They’d all died in the fire, and to this day, no one knew if it was set by human hands or wrought by vengeful spirits. Though Aunt Ashen’s words had shown me that Liu the Mourner had done plenty of good deeds, just as the old village secretary said, unless Liu came forward to clear things up, suspicion would always hang over him.

As I stood there in a daze, my father shot me a glare and barked, “Did you not hear me calling? Has the village chief ever treated you badly? Even if none of this had happened, we can’t just turn a blind eye to their corpses.”

I lowered my gaze to the charred remains. Their skin was nearly all blackened to cinders, with bloody muscle exposed in places—a stench of waste and urine assaulted my nose. The fire had ruined their bodies but hadn’t burned away their innards, forcing filth out from within.

“Ashen, go back and fetch the cart from the house. See if Old Wang can lend a hand—he’s the only one in this village I’m still close to,” my father’s tone softened a little as he spoke to Aunt Ashen.

She nodded, “I’ll go get the ox cart. They’re burned like this—if you carry them directly, you’ll never wash the filth off. But as for Old Wang…” She hesitated.

Earlier, Wang Erjun’s father had come here with mine. When the villagers were yelling at my father, Old Wang said nothing; he just took Erjun by the arm and left after the crowd dispersed. That alone spoke volumes about where he stood.

“Better… not to ask him. Let’s leave each other some dignity,” Aunt Ashen sighed.

My father fell silent, lighting a cigarette and taking a few harsh drags.

Aunt Ashen ruffled my hair, forcing a smile. “When I bring the cart, don’t be too afraid, Xie Yuan. Don’t blame your father. The chief’s family is our responsibility, and besides, with Grandpa at home, no spirits will dare cause trouble.”

With that, she headed home. The longer I looked at the corpses, the less afraid I felt. For some reason, even dead, they didn’t seem as frightening as Liu the Mourner. In a few minutes, Aunt Ashen had vanished from sight.

Suddenly, my father asked, “Xie Yuan, when you and Erjun came to help with the fire, did you see Grandpa?”

I froze, hesitated, and then nodded.

“Have you told Ashen about this?”

I nodded again and whispered, “She explained it just like before. She said with the chief’s family gone, Grandpa brought their relics to put the old man’s spirit to rest, so their souls could move on.”

My father took a long drag on his cigarette and coughed until he was red in the face. “Did he see you and Erjun? Was anyone else around?”

I shook my head. “We were hiding from the rain inside the house when Grandpa suddenly appeared. He didn’t see us at first—we got so scared we climbed out the window and ran. Only after we got out did I realize Grandpa had noticed us; he stared at us for a long time.”

“Someone in the village said they saw him coming over earlier—probably when Grandpa was still on the road, before he entered the house.”

“Dad… is there a problem?” My heart skipped a beat. Was sending Ashen away just an excuse for him to question me alone?

My father just patted my head.

That gesture left me even more bewildered; he hadn’t done that in years.

“It’s nothing. I was just asking. Did Erjun say anything to you?” he asked.

Now I understood what he was worried about. Erjun and his father had left, and he’d seen Grandpa too. As for what happened in Erjun’s village, we hadn’t told anyone else. If Erjun mentioned it to his father and word got out…

I bit my lip and nodded.

My father stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it underfoot. “Don’t worry. Old Wang isn’t the sort to gossip. Later, when we bring the bodies home, the last survivor of the chief’s family will surely come to us.”

“And don’t be alone with your Grandpa anymore. If Aunt Ashen gives you anything, don’t take it, understand?”

Only then did I realize—my father was beginning to suspect Liu the Mourner, too.

Our house wasn’t far from the chief’s. After only a few minutes, Aunt Ashen came back, pushing the ox cart, a white cloth spread over it. She’d always been Liu the Mourner’s helper at funerals, so our house had all these things ready.

She handed my father a pair of gloves, but not me.

“Don’t let Xie Yuan handle the bodies—he’s just a child. There’s bad luck in sudden death,” she said, donning her own gloves.

My father took the other pair from her anyway. “If you’ve done nothing wrong, there’s nothing to fear. The chief’s family always treated us well, and our name isn’t clear yet. Xie Yuan should help.”

Aunt Ashen opened her mouth but said nothing.

I worried my father would lose his temper and argue with her. Though I doubted Liu the Mourner, my opinion of Aunt Ashen had changed completely—I didn’t believe she could be a bad person.

“Auntie, why the gloves? Are you afraid of dirtying your hands?” I asked, just to break the tension.

Aunt Ashen sighed. “Those who die violently carry resentment. If you touch them, their spirits can cling to you. And burned bodies—blood and corpse oil mixed together—are impossible to clean off.”

My father had already picked up a tiny body—no more than a few years old, one of the chief’s grandchildren. I didn’t ask anything else and went to help.

Soon, all five bodies were laid on the cart. We hadn’t kept oxen for years; the cart itself was ancient, its wheels rusted and stiff. I couldn’t imagine how much effort Aunt Ashen had spent getting it here.

My father and I dragged the cart home, stopping at our gate. I was so tired I could barely stand.

Aunt Ashen had already cleared out the woodshed, saying we should put the bodies there. My father’s eyelids drooped. “Just leave them in the yard,” he said.

Aunt Ashen was quiet for a moment, then whispered, “You might not be afraid, but Xie Yuan is. Once night falls and livor mortis sets in, the smell will be unbearable. When my father comes back, let him handle it. He’ll come out himself and clear our name.”

My father said nothing and carried the smallest corpse into the woodshed. I steeled myself and went to help.

Once all the bodies were placed, Aunt Ashen covered them entirely with white cloth. Then she drew water from the well, mixed in lime, and had my father and me wash our hands. Finally, she burned mugwort, wafting the smoke over us.

By the time we’d finished, night had fallen. My stomach was so empty it felt as if my belly were glued to my spine.

“Go eat,” my father said, his face expressionless.

“I… I can’t eat…”

“Listen to your father—fill your belly. Even if you’ve done nothing wrong and your conscience is clear, spirits don’t care. If you’re weak from hunger, they’ll latch onto you,” Aunt Ashen urged.

Her words scared me so badly that, though I’d felt sick to my stomach, I went to the main room, grabbed a bowl, and stuffed myself with the cold food, barely chewing. Even so, every bite of chicken felt raw and hard to swallow.

By the time I finished, Liu the Mourner still hadn’t come home. The last surviving member of the chief’s family hadn’t returned either, nor had anyone come to our door.

My father told me to go to bed and not to come out before dawn.

I said I wouldn’t be able to sleep, and, remembering his earlier worry, I mentioned wanting to go to Wang Erjun’s house.

My father glared at me. “Go? Absolutely not!”

My heart sank. Why wouldn’t he let me? If I didn’t talk things over with Erjun, and he told his father, what if their family started spreading rumors and got us in trouble?

My father was so cautious about everything; how could he overlook this? Or did he simply trust Old Wang’s character?

I was about to protest when my father waved me off. “Go to bed. Relieve yourself first, and don’t come out before dawn.”