Chapter Two: Marrying a Ghost Bride

Over the years, I had always followed my second uncle, arranging ghost marriages for the dead. Though I’d encountered strange things before, this was the first time I’d ever seen a corpse bleed. Why did such a thing have to happen right when my uncle was dispelling evil from the coffin?

Li Jun stood off to the side, trembling all over, clearly terrified. He whispered to me, asking what we should do.

I was at a loss myself, pacing anxiously around the room. Just then, the coffin against the east wall began to emit a series of creaks, and my uncle, his face ashen, climbed out. In our line of work, it’s said that interrupting the ritual of coffin entry can result in losing three years of one’s life at worst, or at best, a serious illness. That my uncle ignored these risks to come out showed how severe the situation had become.

When we arrived at the Li family’s ancestral graveyard in Huangjiahe Village, the sight before us left both my uncle and me speechless.

A night of heavy rain had triggered a mountain flood, tearing a gaping hole in the Li family’s ancestral tomb. The other coffins remained intact, but the one holding the newly buried female corpse, Wang Ying, had been half-exposed: the narrow end outside, the wider end within, part buried in yellow mud, part hanging in the air. But what was truly terrifying was the corner of the coffin, stained red, with blood dripping steadily to the ground.

Seeing this, my uncle grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. “You brat, where did you get this corpse? Dry or fresh?”

In our trade, these were technical terms. A “dry” corpse was one exhumed after burial; as long as the body held its shape, it was still usable. If it fell apart, it was called “scattered goods.” A “fresh” corpse was one recently deceased and not yet buried. Nowadays, with people wealthier, ghost marriages were usually arranged with fresh or dry corpses; few would use scattered goods.

I had no choice but to tell the truth—that I’d bought this fresh corpse from Zhao Dongsheng. My uncle was furious; had there not been so many people around, he probably would have kicked me.

He pulled the Li brothers aside. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry. My nephew is inexperienced and brought in the wrong kind of body. This ghost marriage must be annulled, and I will bear all your losses.”

Li Jun seemed reasonable, and I could tell from his expression that he respected my uncle’s words. But the elder Li’s face changed instantly. “Daoist Wang, the marriage is already set. How can you just call it off?”

My uncle’s gaze turned sharp. “It can’t go on. You saw it yourself—the coffin is bleeding. Have you ever seen a dead body bleed?”

“Then you’ll have to compensate my losses. Even our family tomb was dug up because of you,” Li’s expression soured, becoming unreasonable.

“Very well!” My uncle’s face remained dark, his words resolute. I knew from his tone that this matter would only become more complicated. My uncle was always prudent with money; if the matter weren’t grave, he wouldn’t have agreed so easily to Li’s terms.

A sly look flickered across Li’s face. “I spent eighteen thousand on this bride, gave you a thousand, and the ghost marriage cost six thousand—twenty-five thousand in total. Give me fifty thousand and this will be over. Otherwise, I’ll tell everyone you’re a fraud.”

I grew indignant at this. “That’s not fair, Li! We didn’t sell you the corpse, so why should we pay you—let alone double?”

My uncle immediately slapped me. “You fool, this is not your place to speak.” He turned to Li. “Brother Li, fifty thousand is fine, but I don’t have that much on me. I have thirty thousand now; for the remaining twenty thousand, can I write you an IOU?” My uncle shakily pulled out his wallet, extracted his only bank card, and handed it to Li.

Li took the card, asked for the PIN, and slipped it into his pocket. Li Jun, standing beside him, seemed about to protest, but his brother’s glare silenced him.

After writing the IOU, my uncle warned the Li family not to touch the coffin. “We’ll come deal with it tonight.” On the way back, my uncle’s face was clouded and troubled; I dared not speak to him for fear of a scolding. He had never been so angry in all these years. Fifty thousand gone just like that! I felt useless—tricked by Zhao Dongsheng and bullied by someone as heartless as Li. I silently vowed to make something of myself, so both my uncle and mother could live well.

Back home, my mother consoled both my uncle and me. My uncle locked himself away in his room for most of the day. I had no idea what he was doing until, near sunset, he finally emerged, carrying a bulging bundle and holding our family’s ancestral sword—its hilt made of rosewood, its blade of peachwood.

He ordered me to catch the old rooster crowing in the yard, and under cover of darkness, we returned to the Li family’s ancestral graves in Huangjiahe Village, where the Lis were already waiting.

My uncle had the rooster killed, its blood collected in water, to which he added cinnabar and incense ash. He then burned a prepared talisman, mixing the ashes in, and handed the concoction to me. “Da Chuan, drink a mouthful.”

Talisman water was never drunk except in dire circumstances; the situation was evidently worse than I’d imagined. I forced down a sip—the taste was a nauseating, fishy-sweet stench—and barely managed not to retch. My uncle also drank some, then instructed everyone to unearth the coffin and remove the nails. He had everyone step back, then together we opened the coffin.

As the lid came off, a chill wind swept out.

Inside, Wang Ying lay quietly, her face deathly pale, her crimson bridal gown startlingly bright. Between her legs, blood trickled down. My uncle frowned, muttering as he grabbed my hand and guided it into the woman’s trousers; with a flick of his finger, he pulled out the silver needle I’d inserted the night before, carefully sealing it in a small porcelain vial.

Perhaps it was my imagination, but as my uncle withdrew the needle, I could have sworn Wang Ying’s body trembled ever so slightly. Yet, on closer inspection, she remained still.

From his bundle, my uncle produced a coin the size of a teacup, threaded with red string, and hung it around Wang Ying’s neck. He then lifted her out, motioned for everyone to step back, removed her bridal gown, and dressed her in casual clothes before returning her to the coffin and sealing the lid.

“Brother Li, I can’t owe you any more money. May I have this coffin?” my uncle asked, pulling Li aside.

“In your dreams! You’ve already turned our family’s affairs upside down, and even the ancestral tomb was washed out. Yet you still want the coffin? Not a chance! Take your corpse and get out. I need this coffin to marry off my son,” Li snapped, his anger palpable. I wanted to argue, but my uncle stopped me, hoisted Wang Ying’s body onto his shoulder, grasped my hand, and marched away without a backward glance.

Li Jun, a more reasonable man, caught up to us and apologized, saying his brother’s temper was just like that. My uncle paused and said, “Please tell your brother—don’t use that coffin again. If you try to marry off your nephew in it, the consequences will be even worse.”

With that, we left Li Jun standing there. I wanted to ask my uncle something, but in the end, kept silent.

We didn’t return to the village but waited in a grove at the entrance. My uncle handed me a thousand yuan and told me to fetch Wang Xiang and borrow his van.

When Wang Xiang learned we needed his van to transport a corpse, he hesitated, but the thousand yuan convinced him. At Zhao Dongsheng’s house, my uncle wouldn’t let us inside; he went in alone, and a heated argument broke out. Clearly, my uncle was furious that Zhao had sold us a pregnant corpse. I vaguely heard Zhao protest that the girl wasn’t pregnant—that she was, in fact, a maiden, and had died an unnatural death.

After the commotion, my uncle came out, not leaving the body with Zhao, but bringing it back with us. He said nothing the entire way, his breath heavy, eyes fixed. I knew he was deeply angered—not just by the loss of reputation, but also by the fifty thousand gone.

What I couldn’t understand was why my uncle didn’t return Wang Ying’s corpse to Zhao Dongsheng. A body in such condition would keep for two weeks buried underground—he could have resold it. But I dared not voice this; my uncle always had his reasons.

Back home, he pulled me aside, his face drawn. “Da Chuan, this time, we were in the wrong.”

I hurriedly asked what he meant. He explained that the girl truly wasn’t pregnant—her swollen belly was not from a child but from a “spirit fetus,” a manifestation of resentment, not related to any man.

I asked what we should do. His reply sent chills down my spine.

“Da Chuan, there’s no other way. You must marry this girl.”

My heart lurched. She was a corpse, and I was alive—how could I marry her?

My uncle frowned. “She died a violent death, her heart full of resentment. When you pierced her spirit fetus with the silver needle, you broke its seal. If you don’t marry her, our whole family, even the entire village, will suffer.”