Chapter 6: The Collector of the Dead

I followed Third Uncle's instructions to the letter, maintaining a polite smile as I turned away each visitor. The more civilized ones accepted their rejection with grace, promising to return another day.

 Others were less understanding. These stormed out, slamming doors and spitting curses about how Master He had grown too arrogant, too high and mighty to remember his old friends. Some even swore blood oaths never to darken our doorstep again.

 My diplomatic approach served me well enough - until mid-afternoon. That's when a black Alphard luxury van came prowling up to the shop, its aggressive parking leaving no doubt about its occupants' intentions. Four men built like brick walls emerged from its tinted depths.

 I didn't even have time to ask their business before the leader gave a curt nod. In one fluid motion, his men moved - two seized my arms, two grabbed my legs. Before I could draw breath to protest, they had me airborne, then bundled into the van's dark interior.

 The leader paused only long enough to yank down the shop's security shutter before sliding behind the wheel. The van pulled away from the curb with practiced efficiency.

 I started to rise, survival instincts kicking in, but massive hands clamped down on my shoulders from both sides. "Stay still," one of the men rumbled. "It'll be easier for everyone that way."

 To emphasize his point, he flexed his fingers, making his knuckles crack like gunshots. I shrank back instinctively, survival instincts shifting from 'fight' to 'diplomacy.' "Look, brothers," I said, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart, "I'm just a shop assistant. There must be some mistake here."

 My plea met with stony silence. The van merged onto the Second Ring Road, heading south through unfamiliar territory. After what felt like an eternity - but was probably closer to thirty minutes - we turned into a gated community of luxury villas.

 This was my first time in the provincial capital, and I was completely lost. As the van rolled to a stop, I caught sight of our welcoming committee: a single man in an immaculate suit, gold-rimmed glasses gleaming in the afternoon sun, standing at attention like a statue.

 He was the very picture of rigid formality - while the rest of the world wilted in shorts and t-shirts under the brutal summer heat, he stood there in his three-piece suit without a single bead of sweat, as if the weather itself dared not disturb his composure.

 The driver hopped out and exchanged hushed words with our suited greeter, gesturing in my direction. Whatever he said made the man's glasses flash with interest.

 The suited man's gaze fell on me, cold and analytical. "You're from the funeral shop?" His tone made it more accusation than question.

 "Just a worker," I stammered, words tumbling out. "I only started yesterday, I'm not—"

 He cut me off with a look that suggested he knew far more than I did. "Come with me." It wasn't a request.

 Without waiting for a response, he pivoted on his heel and strode toward the villa, each step precisely measured.

 The thugs' eyes bore into my back like physical weights. Flight wasn't an option - not with those mountains of muscle watching my every move. Swallowing hard, I resigned myself to whatever awaited inside and followed the suited man through the imposing doors.

 The hall blazed with artificial light, revealing a scene that belonged more in a supernatural gathering than a modern villa. Seven or eight visitors lounged on expensive sofas, but their appearance made me question my sanity.

 These weren't your typical business associates. Some wore impeccable black suits that would have looked at home in any boardroom - if not for the white silk sashes wrapped around their waists. Others were dressed in rough hemp garments, clutching wooden staffs that I recognized with a chill as traditional funeral implements.

 Still others wore what appeared to be beggar's robes, but these were no ordinary rags. Each garment was a masterwork of patchwork, hundreds of different cloth pieces sewn together in dazzling patterns - what Buddhist traditions called the 'hundred-patch robe.' Yet these robes blazed with impossible colors, and at every hem, cuff, and collar hung tiny brass bells. Most unsettling of all, these bells remained eerily silent despite their wearers' movements.

 A cold recognition crept down my spine. I knew these outfits from grandfather's ancient texts - and if they were what I thought they were, this gathering was far more dangerous than I'd imagined.

 The men in black suits with white sashes were the Yin Walkers - spirit guides who could traverse the boundary between life and death. Their suits weren't ordinary fabric, but specially crafted material designed to mask the wearer's living essence. The white sashes they wore were known as guide ropes, sacred tools for navigating the treacherous paths to the Yellow Springs - the Chinese realm of the dead.

 Then there were the Mourners, clad in white hemp and bearing ritual staffs. These were funeral specialists of a very particular kind - experts in helping troubled spirits find peace. When someone died with unresolved grievances, too bitter to leave this world behind, the Mourners were the ones you called to guide them to their final rest.

And finally, there were the Corpse Handlers from the Miao borderlands - masters of a darker art. Their patchwork robes weren't mere fashion; each scrap of cloth had been begged from ordinary households, carrying fragments of mortal life essence. Together, these hundred patches created a powerful ward against the walking dead.

 The brass bells at their collars were soul-catchers, silent most of the time but with an ancient purpose. They would only chime when a corpse was about to violate the natural order - when the dead were preparing to rise.

 We sized each other up in tense silence, these supernatural specialists and I, like strange beasts encountering each other in unfamiliar territory.

 The silence broke when the Mourner with the ritual staff spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Secretary Liu," he drawled, "if your boss has... lost faith in our abilities, he should say so directly. We can always take our expertise elsewhere."

 "Bringing in this... child," he gestured dismissively in my direction, "it's practically an insult to our profession."

 Secretary Liu's diplomatic smile appeared instantly. "You misunderstand," he said smoothly. "This young man is the disciple of Master He from the funeral shop. The boss specifically requested - no, insisted on his presence."

 At the mention of Master He's name, the atmosphere in the room shifted palpably. Every eye that had dismissed me moments ago now reassessed me with newfound interest.

 The Yin Walker's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ah, Master He's disciple," he purred. "Then you must have quite the expertise to share during today's appraisal of the deceased."

 Before I could confess my ignorance, the sound of approaching footsteps silenced the room. A group of men entered, clustered around an elderly figure whose ruddy complexion suggested robust health - or something else entirely.

Despite the summer heat that had everyone else sweating, the old man wore a thick Zhongshan suit as if warding off an unseen chill. His entrance transformed the room - the previously casual gathering of supernatural specialists snapped to attention. Yin Walkers, Mourners, and Corpse Handlers alike rose as one, bowing with genuine respect. "Boss Tang," they intoned in unison.

 Boss Tang waved away their formality with practiced grace. "Please," he said, his smile never reaching his eyes, "we're all experts in our own right. No need to stand on ceremony for an old man like me."

 His gaze swept the room before settling on me with unsettling intensity. "And this must be Master He's disciple! Such talent, such potential in one so young!" His praise rang hollow, carefully ignoring the fact that I'd been brought here by force.

 Still smiling that empty smile, he addressed the room. "As you all know, I'm a man of simple tastes. Just one... particular interest." He paused delicately. "My fascination with the walking dead."

 "I've summoned you all here today because I've recently... acquired something rather special. An ancient corpse of most unusual properties." His eyes gleamed with collector's fever. "I'd like you all to examine it. And if any of you can uncover its origins, well..." He let the possibility hang in the air.

 "Naturally," he continued, spreading his hands magnanimously, "I understand how these arrangements work. No one will leave unrewarded. Secretary Liu!"