Chapter 14: Dead Man Qin

I turned with the Wu brothers to look. By the window sat three men in outdoor jackets, studying us with calculated casualness. They had the hardened look of men accustomed to dangerous work. The speaker had unusually bright, alert eyes that contrasted sharply with his otherwise unremarkable face - the kind that would blend seamlessly into any crowd, a useful trait in his line of work.

 Old Wu nodded politely. "First come, first served. We'll wait." Then he lowered his voice to me, tension evident in his whisper: "Tomb raiders. Don't know which ancient grave they're after, but it must be significant for them to be here. Don't provoke them - they'll kill without hesitation or remorse."

 I felt the blood drain from my face. While practitioners like the Xiangxi Corpse Handlers and Mount Wu Mourners operated in legal grey areas, they were still fundamentally law-abiding citizens, despite their dangerous trade. They helped families deal with troubled spirits and difficult deaths, providing a necessary if unsavory service.

 But tomb raiders were an entirely different breed - they held absolutely no respect for law or life. They plundered ancient graves without hesitation, trafficking priceless artifacts, and even desecrating corpses when it suited their purposes. Human life meant nothing against profit. Of course, if caught, they faced execution - a fate many would say was too merciful.

 Grandfather had warned me repeatedly about three types of people in our world: the curse masters from the South Sea whose black magic could destroy entire families, the poison masters from Miao territory who could kill with a touch, and the wandering tomb raiders who would sell their own mothers for the right price.

 Old Wu quickly found us seats away from them, clearly wanting no trouble. But the raiders had other ideas.

 "Mount Wu's clan, by your dress?" The bright-eyed man smiled with practiced charm. "I'm Qin He - though folks in our circle know me as Dead Man Qin. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

 Old Wu couldn't ignore such a direct overture - it would be too dangerous. "Wu family branch line, eldest brother," he replied carefully.

 Dead Man Qin's grin widened. "Mount Wu's mourners in the Taihang Mountains? Now that's interesting. Care to trade news? Perhaps we could help each other."

 This was common practice in our world - sharing intelligence to identify common goals or potential competition. Sometimes it led to profitable cooperation; other times, to deadly rivalry. The trick was knowing which was which before it was too late.

 Old Wu matched his confidence, though I noticed his hand never strayed far from his staff. "Since you're asking..."

 Dead Man Qin's blackened teeth showed in his smile - a common mark of tomb raiders who spent too much time breathing the poisonous air of ancient graves. But before he could speak, the clear ring of tiny bells cut through the musty air.

 Everyone turned to the door as a woman in flowing white robes and a broad bamboo hat entered. She moved with an unnatural grace, each step perfectly measured, bells jingling softly at her wrists. The very air seemed to grow colder in her presence.

 A beautiful woman alone in this remote shop at midnight? Among our death-trade crowd? The wrongness of it raised every warning flag I possessed.

 "Brother Zhang," Old Wu whispered urgently, "what is she?"

 Before I could answer, the woman's head snapped toward us with impossible speed. Under her veil, a deathly pale face flashed for just an instant - enough to show us those weren't human eyes looking back.

 Old Wu broke into cold sweat but held firm, striking his mourning staff against the floor with a resonant clang that carried subtle power. The woman merely tilted her head, like a predator considering whether prey was worth the effort.

 "Shopkeeper," her voice was hollow, echoing as if from deep underground. "Have any substitution effigies?"

 "Everyone wants effigies tonight!" the old man snapped from behind his counter, remarkably brave or foolish. "Sit and wait! Stop interrupting my work!"

 She made a soft sound that might have been amusement and settled into a chair with fluid grace. Across from her sat a formless spirit, one of the shop's regular customers. Without warning, her hand shot out - the spirit screamed in soul-deep agony as she drew it into herself like smoke into a bottle.

 I gasped involuntarily. Not human - a soul-devouring corpse! One of the most dangerous things walking under heaven.

 "No fighting in my shop!" the owner bellowed with surprising authority. "You'll ruin my reputation, woman! This is a place of business!"

 "Sorry," she said with honeyed sweetness that only emphasized her otherworldly nature. "Just so hungry... It's been days since my last meal."

 "Spit it out! Return it now! Or no business with you - ever!"

 She hesitated, clearly reluctant to give up her prize, then regurgitated the dark essence with visible frustration. It reformed into the spirit, now significantly weaker, its form barely holding together.

 The terrified soul fled instantly, not even pausing to look back. Other spirits followed suit, leaving the shop suddenly empty. The woman's presence had cleared the room more effectively than any exorcism.

 "Rule-breakers like you are the worst!" the shopkeeper raged, his earlier fear giving way to professional indignation. "Why harm my regular customers? How do you expect me to run a business?"

 The woman seemed to laugh, the sound like wind through a graveyard. "Sorry, shopkeeper. Old habits."

 I whispered urgently to the Wu brothers, keeping my voice as low as possible: "She's an outsider - a soul-devouring corpse. One of the most dangerous things we could encounter."

 As Old Wu's questioning look asked for more, I explained the dark practice from Northern Henan: when someone was near death, dark practitioners would seal their nine orifices with cinnabar, trapping their souls within the corpse. Special methods preserved the body while forcing the soul to re-integrate with its dead flesh.

 The resulting creature would move like a living person, but it wasn't truly alive. They feared sunlight, possessed inhuman strength, and felt no pain or sensation. Most importantly, they craved souls with an endless hunger that could never be satisfied.

 Only by consuming fresh souls could they maintain their existence. Without this constant feeding, they would finally dissolve into nothingness. Where to find such souls? Murder was easiest, especially those who trusted them - family, friends, anyone who wouldn't expect death from a loved one.