Chapter One: The Dead Bleed

The practice of ghost marriages is seen by some as superstition, by others as a remnant of feudal tradition. But to those of us in the trade, it is an act of virtue and kindness.

Usually, when a person dies, they are interred in the ancestral tomb. Yet some are not permitted entry—those who died unnatural deaths, children whose lives were cut short, and those who passed unmarried. Their souls carry grievances, denied peace in both life and death, and may well stir up trouble among the living.

Our task is to find suitable matches for these lonely remains, to bury them together, offering comfort to their wandering spirits and removing their resentments, ensuring tranquility for their families. This is what is known as a ghost marriage.

When I was five, my father left my mother and me behind to travel the world. My mother and I sought refuge with my second uncle. He was a “Walker,” a profession once closely related to the old coroner’s trade, later branching out into its own line. People call us “Walkers”; outsiders, out of respect, address us as “Master Daoist,” although in truth we have nothing to do with Daoism.

Years passed, and my mother and I survived on the money my second uncle earned arranging ghost marriages. It wasn’t a way to get rich, but it kept us comfortable enough. At first, I disliked the trade, but as it was passed down through my family, I had little choice but to continue.

One day, my second uncle told me he was going to spend six days in a coffin to purge evil energy, fasting and isolating himself inside, and asked me to look after the house.

He had just sealed himself in when some folk from Huangjiahe Village arrived, looking for Master Wang—that is, my second uncle. In our line, there’s no formal title; we call ourselves “Walkers,” while outsiders use the honorific “Daoist Master,” though, as I mentioned, we have no connection to the Daoist faith.

The visitor was a man in his forties, named Li Jun. He brought gifts and a red envelope. The value of the gifts didn’t matter, but the envelope had to hold at least a thousand yuan—that’s the going rate these days. He explained that his elder brother’s son, working on a construction site, had fallen to his death before he could marry. Now, with compensation from the developer, the family wanted to arrange a ghost marriage for the deceased, preferably with a young, pretty girl.

I called Zhao Dongsheng to see if he had any suitable “wet goods”—a corpse that hadn’t fully decomposed. Zhao said he happened to have one: a beautiful young woman who died unmarried, though the price was steep. With my second uncle absent, I took the middle-aged man to inspect the “goods.” My role was only to make introductions, facilitate the process, and see to the rituals.

Zhao Dongsheng lives in San-shi-li-pu and is a well-known Walker himself. He runs a shop selling paper offerings, but his main business is trading in corpses. He’s not exactly reputable—often dealing in bodies dug up or stolen by grave robbers—and my second uncle had warned me more than once not to do business with him, saying he’d eventually meet his comeuppance.

But with my uncle sealed away, I had no other source for a suitable corpse, so I had no choice but to turn to Zhao.

When we arrived at his shop, I saw bright wreaths and paper effigies of people and horses at the door—mere fronts for his real business: trafficking in bodies. The air inside was chilly and oppressive, common for those in our line of work, which is also why my second uncle spent six days each year sealed in a coffin to cleanse himself.

Zhao’s complexion was already pale, a sign of the heavy yin energy he carried, but I wasn’t worried—my uncle always said I had strong yang energy, enough to ward off any ill influences. I told Li Jun to stay close behind me; it wouldn’t do for him to get caught up in the yin aura.

Zhao shut the door and led us to his basement. Under the harsh white light, the place felt even more sinister. Against one wall stood a large freezer, inside which was a young woman’s corpse, well preserved thanks to the temperature. Her face was ashen, lips blue, but her features marked her as a delicate city girl, not a rural one.

I’d seen many corpses in my time, but ones this well preserved were rare. I pulled Zhao aside and asked if she’d died violently. He swore she hadn’t—she’d succumbed to an incurable illness and was sent straight to the morgue, from where he’d acquired her just yesterday. Her name was Wang Ying, complete with date and time of birth.

I examined the body carefully, then brought the terrified Li Jun over. I unfastened the corpse’s blouse to let him see her chest—an essential step, as sometimes men disguised as women were passed off as female corpses. My uncle had once bought a body for a client, only to discover it was a dead man dressed as a woman. Since then, he insisted all “wet goods” be verified in front of the client.

Li Jun, after verifying, quickly agreed.

As they discussed the price, I idly studied the paper figures Zhao had crafted. Eventually, Li Jun approached me, asking me to help negotiate, saying Zhao wanted twenty thousand yuan. Honestly, for such a well-preserved corpse, with those looks and build, it wasn’t an unreasonable price. But since I brought the client, it was my duty to help him save some money. I persuaded Zhao to reduce the price, and, giving me face, he settled for eighteen thousand.

Because the body couldn’t be transported during the day, Zhao invited us to drink with him while we waited. He cooked two simple dishes, and the three of us drank until we were thoroughly drunk. That night, under cover of darkness, we loaded the corpse into the car and set off. Before we left, Zhao covertly slipped me three hundred yuan—a little incentive, hoping I’d bring future clients his way. He also whispered that I shouldn’t bargain on behalf of the clients, but should instead help persuade them to accept his prices.

That was a revelation. Zhao was my steady supplier; clients rarely returned. There was no reason to side with them over him. No wonder his business prospered—he knew the ropes.

We arrived in Huangjiahe Village after ten, where Li Jun’s elder brother, Old Li, met us with red-rimmed eyes. He gripped my hand, pleading with me to do right by his son—dead before he ever had the chance to marry, he should at least have a good life in the underworld. I assured him I would see to everything.

Ghost marriages have their customs, which vary by region. South of the Yangtze, they are celebrated as joyous occasions; north of the river, as funerals. Here, though we are north of the Yangtze, we follow the southern custom—weddings in all but the absence of drums, gongs, and firecrackers.

Old Li’s son had a rough appearance in life and an even worse one in death, likely a shattered body lying limp in the coffin. Compared to the female corpse, the difference was stark. As I changed the woman’s clothes for the ceremony, I noticed something amiss—her lower abdomen was slightly swollen, as if she were pregnant. Alarmed, I hurried aside and called Zhao Dongsheng, asking if the corpse was pregnant. At first, he dodged the question, claiming ignorance and promising to check.

I was furious. Now I understood why my uncle warned me against Zhao—this man was indeed unscrupulous. In ghost marriage tradition, it is strictly forbidden for the bride to be pregnant; to wed a pregnant woman foretells disaster and scandal for the family. I didn’t know why, but that was what my uncle had taught me.

Fortunately, he’d also taught me a remedy. After dressing the bride, I discreetly inserted a silver needle into her abdomen to “nail down” the child, a harsh measure, but necessary to avert future calamity and protect the interests of the client.

With that done, the ritual proceeded in orderly fashion. Just as the coffins were being interred, a sudden wind rose, followed by thunder and lightning in the northwest. The villagers helping out hurried to finish. As I recited the union rites, rain began to pour down.

I thought that would be the end of it, that everything had gone smoothly. But I was wrong. The matter was far from over; in fact, it was just the beginning, one that would ultimately force me down a road of no return.

When I returned home late that night, my mother was still waiting for me. She always did, no matter how late my uncle and I came back, keeping the stove blazing so we could warm ourselves for a minute or two—she believed fire could ward off evil.

After warming myself, I went to bed. In the early hours, I was half asleep when a loud, urgent knocking erupted at the door. Dawn was just breaking—who could be so desperate at this hour?

I opened the door to find Li Jun, breathless and panic-stricken. “Master Wang, something terrible has happened!”

His frantic demeanor made my heart skip, but I forced myself to remain calm. “Don’t worry. Tell me what happened.”

“Last night’s heavy rain washed the coffin out, and—there’s blood leaking from the corner of the coffin!”

I was stunned. How could this be? The dead do not bleed—after death, the blood coagulates. How could there be fresh blood?