Chapter 152: Night Visit to the Funeral Home

I said to Haozi, "Alright, your undercover mission is over. Go back to the station and collect your informant bonus."

Haozi grinned. "Thanks, Brother Song, but I'm not leaving just yet. The Black Panther gang will definitely be suspicious of me. I'll hang around a few more days, see if I can find any other leads."

I warned him, "Be careful out there."

Seeing how flushed and relaxed he looked, I knew his undercover gig was pretty comfortable — not like gathering crime evidence, so zero pressure.

After parting ways with Haozi, I called Wang Dali and told him I needed to do a corpse inspection tonight. I asked him to bring my gear over. Then I headed to the police station to brief Huang Xiaotao on the situation.

We hung around the station for a while. At six o'clock, Wang Dali arrived. The three of us had dinner together. Huang Xiaotao then told us to get in the car. Wang Dali looked confused and asked, "Aren't we going to the autopsy?"

"Not at the station," I said mysteriously. "Somewhere else."

If I told him it was the funeral home, he'd probably bolt halfway through!

The funeral home was out on the city outskirts. It used to be a large mass grave site before cremation became the norm after liberation. Rumor had it the place was haunted. Once, a driver was hired late at night to take a passenger to the funeral home. He didn't want to go at first but agreed after extra pay. When they arrived, the passenger vanished — leaving only a stack of hell money on the seat.

Another time, a long-haul driver stopped nearby to stretch. Suddenly, a thick fog rolled in, and through it appeared a procession of ancient palace maids and eunuchs holding lanterns, escorting an elderly woman out of the funeral home. Their faces were expressionless. Terrified, the driver fell ill once home. A renowned exorcist was called in and declared that the driver had disturbed wandering spirits. The only cure was to go to the funeral home, kneel, and burn incense. Upon inquiry, it turned out a few days prior an old lady had died of a heart attack, and her descendants burned many paper effigies — the same figures the driver had seen.

...

As we drove deeper into the outskirts, Wang Dali grew restless, repeatedly asking, "Song Yang, where exactly are we going?"

Only when we were almost there did I say, "The funeral home."

Wang Dali's mouth slowly dropped open. Suddenly, he shouted, "Let me out! Let me out!"

Huang Xiaotao cast a disdainful glance in the rearview mirror. "Look at you — is that how a man acts?"

Wang Dali pulled a miserable face. "You two going to a funeral home at this hour — looking for a thrill, huh? Don't you know that place is haunted?"

I said, "This time it's special. This corpse has to be inspected secretly — and I'm the only one who can do it."

The forensic exam needs to be silent, leaving no trace so the Black Panthers won't catch on. If a coroner starts cutting into the body there, the Black Panthers would definitely come looking for a fight.

I couldn't help but think how easy it was to pit two rival gangs against each other. Just stir the pot a little, stay undercover, and they'd start fighting each other.

Wang Dali nervously said, "What if we run into something… unclean inside?"

I replied, "Like I always say, ghosts don't hurt people. If you're really scared, you can leave now."

We were already at the outskirts. Wang Dali looked out the window, sighed, and said, "The boat's already set sail before you told me. Guess I'm stuck with you guys now…"

The funeral home was pitch-black at night. Pale moonlight illuminated the large letters: 'Nanjing City Funeral Home.' Outside, only a solitary street lamp flickered. Huang Xiaotao parked nearby, and we approached the front gate. I used a wire from my bag to jimmy the lock.

The door creaked loudly when we pushed it open. Wang Dali jumped behind me in an instant.

Huang Xiaotao laughed, "That's all you got?"

She turned on her phone's flashlight, but I told her to dim it — we might get spotted by patrols, and we had no official clearance to be here.

Our footsteps echoed through the silent corridor. We arrived at the morgue. Through the small observation window on the door, I saw rows of beds. White sheets covered the bodies underneath, revealing vague human shapes. Some beds were empty.

Wang Dali swallowed hard. "So many dead people… what if one of them comes back to life?"

I chuckled. "Aren't you the coward? Stop imagining things, or you'll just get more scared."

I didn't know where the Black Panther boss's body was exactly, so I had to check each bed. Wang Dali waited outside nervously.

The corpses varied — some recently deceased, others long dead. I felt a bit excited. I'd heard of a 'body farm' abroad where scientists study decomposition, but in our country, only the funeral home gave such an 'eye feast.'

Huang Xiaotao, though used to dead bodies, still seemed uneasy with so many at once. She quietly grabbed my hand — her skin was cold and smooth. She smiled at me, "Your hand's so warm."

That made me feel a sweet warmth inside.

Some bodies had died violently — traffic accidents, suicides. The funeral home had morticians who 'beautified' the bodies. I spotted a corpse wearing a fake nose.

I asked, "What's up with that nose?"

Huang Xiaotao said, "Probably broke it when falling face-first during the jump, then they put a prosthetic on."

Wang Dali called from outside, "Can you two stop poking around? I'm scared standing here alone!"

I waved him off, "Then come in!"

He replied, "It's scarier inside."

Suddenly, Huang Xiaotao screamed, "Song Yang! Someone's behind you!"

I turned — nothing was there. She was clutching her stomach, laughing. She had been teasing Wang Dali.

I whispered at her, "Cut it out."

I called Wang Dali a few times but got no response. Thinking he fainted, I stepped outside. He was crouched against the wall, clutching his chest, tears in his eyes.

"Is it… real?" he asked.

I told him Huang Xiaotao was just joking.

In a crying voice, Wang Dali begged, "Xiao Tao, please don't do that again. I almost passed out."

Huang Xiaotao apologized, "Sorry, sorry. I'll buy you a drink when we get back."

I looked up and caught a glimpse of a figure drifting at the end of the corridor. It looked like a woman, hair loose, wearing a long white robe reaching her feet, gliding silently past.

My smile faded instantly.

Huang Xiaotao asked, "Song Yang, did you see something?"

To avoid scaring Wang Dali, I said, "Nothing. Wang Dali, stay close to us."

He panicked, "No way, I'm not going in!"

Huang Xiaotao and I went further inside to continue the search. The morgue stretched at least five or six meters. When we reached the far end, we heard Wang Dali talking outside.

"Xiao Tao, where are you? Song Yang?"

Huang Xiaotao and I exchanged glances. She was about to call out, but I shushed her, "Don't — he'll freak out."

Wang Dali kept talking. "Xiao Tao, are you going to the bathroom? Want me to come with you?"

He hadn't turned on his phone's flashlight. Without my night vision, he must have mistaken something for Huang Xiaotao.

I nudged Huang Xiaotao and headed outside. Wang Dali was stunned to see her standing there.

"What are you doing here? Then who was I just talking to?"

Huang Xiaotao smiled, "I was just going to ask you the same thing."

Suddenly, Wang Dali flailed his arms in hysteria and let out a long, piercing scream, "Ghost!"

After his shout, he sobbed, "Yang Zi, I want to go home."

I comforted him, "Don't overthink it. Ghosts don't hurt people — just remember that and stick with us."

Muttering "Ghosts don't hurt people," Wang Dali followed us into the next room, constantly glancing over his shoulder.

I asked why he kept looking back.

He said, "I'm just making sure nothing's sneaking up on me. Better safe than sorry."

I almost laughed — the bigger the coward, the wilder the imagination.

Suddenly, a body behind Wang Dali slowly sat up. The white sheet slipped down, revealing a pale face.

Huang Xiaotao and I both widened our eyes…