Chapter 71.2: Nine Bends River

Strictly speaking, this wasn’t an ideal location for a water burial.

To the average person, the dead should rest in peace. But here, the symbolism leaned more toward departure—traveling light and far.

If anything, it would’ve been a better site for a newborn’s blessing ceremony or a coming-of-age ritual.

On the riverbank, Tan Wenbin had already set up the offering table.

Li Zhuiyuan turned to Yin Meng. “Do you know how to recite a eulogy?”

She spread her hands—by now, she was used to this kind of question. “No idea. No clue.”

Li Zhuiyuan suddenly felt like he was getting the short end of the deal. This basically counted as him conducting a sitting vigil for the old man.

And this particular task wasn’t exactly part of any business arrangement.

He walked to the table and pointed to the space beside him. “Hold the incense and kneel here.”

“Okay.”

Yin Meng obeyed, lighting the incense and kneeling with both hands raised high above her head.

Li Zhuiyuan signaled to Runsheng, who began pushing the coffin from the shore into the water.

But the coffin didn’t float downstream as expected—it just lingered at the bank.

Li Zhuiyuan lit yellow paper with a candle and waved it through the air, casting the burning slips in handfuls into the sky, the earth, and the river.

Under that fading glow, he placed both hands on the offering table, eyes half-lowered, body slightly swaying, and began to chant the eulogy.

The first half was all praise and reverence for Yin Changsheng—also known as the Great Emperor of Fengdu.

That part was easy—Li Zhuiyuan simply recited from memory the notes in the family record. No edits necessary.

The second half had to describe the life of the deceased. That couldn’t be copied. It had to be adapted to the man’s actual life.

But the old man didn’t exactly leave much to praise. Not only had he failed to pass on the family legacy, he nearly ended the entire bloodline.

If that one-eyed crone hadn’t poisoned someone first, the old man might’ve dragged the whole family into karmic extermination. And Heaven never cared for excuses.

So with no real achievements to highlight, the only thing Li Zhuiyuan could praise was the man’s “diligent devotion.”

To pad the content, he described that devotion in every possible way and from every possible angle.

When he finally deemed the eulogy sufficient, he moved to the closing—this was the most important step.

He inhaled deeply, leaned forward, and slipped into a semi–Walking the Shade state.

His voice was no longer confined to the living world—it rang out in a place unseen, unfelt.

“Li Zhuiyuan, on behalf of Yin Meng the filial grandchild,

Respectfully requests the Great Emperor of Fengdu—

To appoint the Underworld route, to command the Yin Division, to open the Gate of Shadows.

Escort—

Yin Fuhai, descendant of the Yin clan,

Home to Fengdu, onward to rebirth, and into bliss.”

Then he leaned back, exiting the trance.

“Bow,” he instructed.

Yin Meng immediately prostrated toward the river.

The rite was complete.

A chill swept across the riverbank—so cold and strange that even an ordinary person could feel it.

The coffin, which had seemed reluctant to part, finally floated free and drifted toward the river’s center.

Tan Wenbin watched closely. He seemed to notice something. One hand covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. The other pounded Runsheng’s arm.

Runsheng understood. He’d seen it too—beneath the coffin, four shadows had appeared in the water.

The shadows grew clearer and clearer.

The coffin slowly lifted off the surface.

The shadows solidified into four ghostly figures, heavy with deathly aura. They hoisted the coffin and carried it forward through the water.

Runsheng sniffed. A pungent corpse-stench filled the air.

The pallbearers were Dead Sinkers.

Li Zhuiyuan saw more than the others. These four must’ve been drowned corpses from years past—buried deep under the silt of this river.

Now, they had been summoned. Drafted like conscripts. Turned into makeshift pallbearers.

This confirmed Li Zhuiyuan’s earlier theory. Fengdu Ghost City had its own strange logic. A unique system.

And it also lent weight to another suspicion.

Yin Changsheng had “become an Immortal” by consuming a Corpse Elixir. But that “Immortal” title might be ironic.

Those reclusive “cultivator friends” he’d met afterward probably weren’t sage-like hermits. More likely—they were powerful, terrifying Dead Sinkers.

Who knew if they ever talked to one another… or if he’d ever meet them himself?

“Cock-a-doodle-doo—!”

A piercing rooster’s crow rang out, though dawn was far off. No one knew where the sound came from.

The sun didn’t rise, but the clouds above turned a strange, blood-red. The entire river and bank were bathed in an oppressive, eerie glow.

It vanished in a blink—so fast it seemed like an illusion.

And then the coffin, still drifting just moments before, vanished from view.

Tan Wenbin bounced on Runsheng’s shoulder, trying to spot it.

“Huh? It’s gone? Did it sink?”

Runsheng replied, “It was taken.”

Li Zhuiyuan clutched the offering table, forehead drenched in sweat, breathing deeply.

Yin Meng got up, worried. “Xiaoyuan… ge, are you okay?”

She felt guilty, thinking he’d overexerted himself helping with the funeral.

But in truth, now that he’d learned the Yin clan’s twelve Techniques and patched his foundational weaknesses, he no longer suffered nosebleeds from effort.

No—this was fear. Deep, bone-chilling fear.

Because just now, even with barely a second to act, he’d had enough time to slip into a full Walking the Shade state… and peek ahead.

But the moment he considered it, a wave of terror surged through him.

Something told him that if he did—he’d see something truly horrifying.

After all these years, the Yin clan was still able to summon “Four Ghosts Bearing the Coffin.” The system still worked.

Which meant… Yin Changsheng, the Great Emperor of Fengdu—might still be out there.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he opened them again, his breath had steadied.

He turned toward Ghost Street in Fengdu.

The fear in his eyes had faded—replaced by a glimmer of excitement.

Good. You're still there.

This world is getting more interesting by the day.

The boy felt reassured.

Because now he knew—no matter how old he got, he’d never be bored.

…

They packed up and returned to the coffin shop on Ghost Street.

After clearing everything out, the place felt empty. With no coffins left, they had to sleep on the floor for the night. Oddly enough, they missed them.

…

The next morning, all four boarded a boat at the Ghost Street dock.

No need to stop at Wanzhou—they were heading straight for Shan City.

Yin Meng stood at the bow, watching the river cleave under the hull.

Li Zhuiyuan lingered at the stern, reluctant to leave.

Like savoring a famous dish—a small taste left him hungry for more. Yet the anticipation only grew.

He knew it was dangerous.

But he believed that one day, when he was older and the time was right, he’d return to this ghost city… to dig into its core mystery.

The dock receded. The streets shrank. Even the mountains fell away.

But the future loomed closer with every step.

Back in Shan City, Li Zhuiyuan phoned Xue Liangliang.

Xue told him the restoration of the bamboo slips would still take time. Once his current project wrapped up in Jinling, he’d bring them personally to Nantong.

They didn’t stay long in Shan City. The group headed straight to the train station and bought tickets home.

Without Xue Liangliang’s connections, they only managed hard sleeper bunks—six to a cabin, and none of them lower berths.

Even for someone as small as Li Zhuiyuan, the hard sleeper felt cramped.

The other three had it worse—lying down was fine, but sitting was torture. It was neither here nor there, an exhausting compromise.

So except when they were sleeping, the trio spent most of their time out in the corridor.

Tan Wenbin repeatedly warned Yin Meng not to accept food or drinks from strangers on the train, and not to interact too much with anyone.

The memory of that red-dressed girl had left too deep a scar.

They couldn’t bear another betrayal.

…

By the time they arrived in Nantong, it was well past midnight.

The few cabs and black cars outside the station all refused to drive into the countryside.

With no other choice, Tan Wenbin called Tan Yunlong from a payphone.

The four of them waited at the roadside until a pickup truck, reeking of seafood, pulled up in front of them.

Tan Yunlong tossed his cigarette out the window.

“Hurry up. I gotta return this truck. The owner needs it for supply runs in the morning.”

They reached Siyuan Village at daybreak.

When the truck stopped, Tan Yunlong turned to his son. “Come home with me. Your mom misses you.”

“I’ll go back tomorrow. Let her enjoy one more day of anticipation.”

Before his dad could scold him, Tan Wenbin jumped out.

While the others were still gathering their bags, he ran ahead, arms waving, yelling excitedly:

“Li-dage! Li-dage!”

From the family courtyard, Li Sanjiang’s voice rang out with amused irritation:

“Who’s making all that noise so early?”

“It’s Zhuangzhuang! Zhuangzhuang’s back!”

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