Chapter Twenty-Six: The Heart Longs for the Soul’s Return

The three of us talked for a while, then Zhang Qi and the village head stepped aside, leaving Wei Qi to approach me. He pulled me into a corner and whispered, “Wang Ying has made her move.”

“What do you mean?” Although I’d overheard some of what Zhang Qi said, it hadn’t been clear—I missed most of it.

“Wang Ying separated her spirit from her corpse. The officers at the station think she died suddenly, and now they want me to talk to you about what to do next. You have to act like you’re desperate, or they might suspect something,” Wei Qi murmured.

“Uncle Qi, in this kind of heat, with the sun’s energy so strong, what if something really happens to Wang Ying?” My worry was genuine. Wang Ying might be my ghost bride, and though I’d considered letting her go, everything she’d done for me since last night was more full of feeling than most living people. Not to mention, she only stole the money and bedding for Wei Qi and me. I truly didn’t want her to get hurt.

“It shouldn’t come to that. But the weather is scorching, so we need to get her body back as fast as possible. If it’s sent to the hospital and they discover something, that’s trouble; and if the body starts to decay, it’s even worse,” Wei Qi said, frowning. He always saw further ahead than me.

“So, what should I do?”

“Grieve. Show your hatred. Go rough those two up! Right now, they’re so scared they won’t dare fight back—just make it look real. And while you’re at it, let’s squeeze them for a bit of compensation. They’re no good, those two—just bullies who push the villagers around,” Wei Qi advised.

I understood. It was a good chance to vent, and to stick up for Wang Ying. Rolling up my sleeves, I stormed out. Zhang Qi and the village head were standing there, looking lost and afraid. Remembering how Zhang Qi had threatened me with a stun baton, I leapt forward and punched him square in the face—hard. “Damn you! Give me back my wife!”

Despite being bigger and having some training, Zhang Qi did nothing to fight back, maybe because he knew he was in the wrong. My punch broke his nose, and I felt an immense satisfaction. This punch was for every villager he’d bullied over the years.

Just as I was about to hit him again, Wei Qi dragged me aside. The village head hurried over to mediate, “Brother, don’t be angry. What’s done is done—let’s think about what to do next.” He was shaking, too—after all, this was a matter of life and death.

I’d made up my mind: this one needed a lesson, too. He colluded with petty officials and oppressed the villagers. I swung and hit his cheek—he clearly didn’t expect it, and crouched down, clutching his face.

Several villagers rushed over, holding me back as I struggled and shouted curses, mixing crude and polite words without care. The more I yelled, the more it felt as if my own wife had really died; I was getting into the role—my eyes even grew red.

Wei Qi called Zhang Qi and the village head aside, squatting in the corner to negotiate. Meanwhile, I exhausted myself struggling, all my pent-up resentment pouring out.

I didn’t know how long I fought, but eventually, drained and powerless, I collapsed on the ground, shouting. Yingzi, a good woman, hugged my arm, her eyes red with sympathy for what she thought I’d suffered.

After a good while, Wei Qi came over and helped me into the house, handing me a piece of paper. “Dachuan, is this alright?”

I didn’t bother to look at it. “Uncle Qi, whatever you say. Just bring Wang Ying back quickly—I’m afraid she can’t bear this sunlight.” My throat was hoarse, my body utterly weak, as if I’d truly been overwhelmed by grief.

Wei Qi nodded, pressed my fingerprint on the paper with my hand, and went out.

Zhang Qi and the village head left, and Wei Qi came back in with a bank card. “Dachuan, it worked. A hundred thousand! We’ll have plenty to drink.” He shoved the card into my hand, grinning.

I tossed the card aside. “Uncle Qi, would you die without drinking? I don’t want the money—just bring Wang Ying back!” I couldn’t explain it, but a sense of dread gnawed at me, as if Wang Ying would never return.

Wei Qi stared at me, then slipped the card back into my hand. “The agreement’s signed—just keep it. I’ll go check outside. They should bring Wang Ying back soon.”

He left, and I sat alone in the room as the villagers outside gradually dispersed. My heart, heavy with sorrow, felt no joy at having gained a small fortune. Suddenly, I missed home—missed my mother, and wanted to bring Wang Ying home to meet her.

The sound of a car engine grew closer, and I knew it must be the police bringing Wang Ying’s body back. I rushed out, and sure enough, there was the police car. The young officer inside shrank away at the sight of me—I glared at him, almost wanting to slap him, but instead hurried to open the door and carry out the body.

The corpse Wang Ying had possessed was still cool but pliant—her spirit hadn’t left her for long. I carried her into the main room. At the door, I turned sharply to Wei Qi. “If you’re really my uncle, close the gate! Don’t let anyone in.”

Wei Qi snapped to attention, shooed away the onlookers, and shut the gate.

I laid Wang Ying on the bed. The female corpse looked no different than when they’d taken her away—her face still rosy, her skin elastic, only still and unresponsive, her eyes tightly closed.

“Wang Ying, don’t be afraid, you’re home now.” Looking at her peaceful, sleeping face, a wave of sadness rose within me. The first time I’d seen her, she’d looked just like this—when I dressed her and put on her makeup, I felt nothing. But now, seeing her lying there as if asleep, I was deeply uneasy.

“Wang Ying, Wang Ying, you’re home! Wake up!” I shook her shoulders.

She didn’t move, just lay there as silently as when Wei Qi first carried her back. Seeing her so lifeless, I felt afraid. Had the sun’s energy outside really scattered her?

“Wife, wife, wake up!” I gripped her cold hand, shaking it hard.

Still, she didn’t move—not the slightest sign of breath.

“How could this happen?” Wei Qi asked, anxious.

“Wife, please, don’t scare me! Say something!” I shook her shoulders, panic rising.

“Dachuan, stop shaking her. Wang Ying’s spirit probably didn’t follow us back. With so much sunlight, she might be hiding anywhere,” Wei Qi explained.

With his words, I imagined Wang Ying huddled fearfully in some corner, arms wrapped around herself.

“Uncle Qi, please, I beg you—you’re a master of yin and yang, a guide of spirits, you must have a way. Help me find Wang Ying’s soul!” I pleaded, shaking his shoulders.

Wei Qi put his arm around me, making me sit. He spoke with gravity. “Dachuan, don’t panic. I’ll help you find Wang Ying’s spirit, but not now. We have to wait until nightfall—then we’ll go out and call her soul. But… but…” He hesitated.

“If you have something to say, just say it! Don’t beat around the bush,” I snapped.

Wei Qi hesitated again before saying, “Dachuan, I’ll do my best, but I need you to know: we might not find Wang Ying’s soul. With the sun so strong, I can’t say if she can hold on…”

His words made my anxiety worse. I grabbed his hand. “Uncle Qi, if you can’t help me find Wang Ying, I’ll leave you and never see you again.”

He hadn’t expected such a reaction, and bit his lip. “Dachuan, I’ll do everything I can. Rest here a while, I’ll go home to prepare. Once it’s dark, we’ll call for her soul.” He hurried off.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the motionless corpse, my heart aching. Scenes of Wang Ying flashed before my eyes—from the very beginning to now, it had only been a little over ten days, but we’d gone from strangers to a bond that crossed life and death. I remembered how she’d stayed up all night cleaning the house, and my heart shattered. If she could return safely, I swore to treat her well, as I would any living person.

Looking at her tightly closed lips, I suddenly remembered something. I bit my own finger, pulled her lips apart, and let my fresh blood drip into her mouth. I longed to see her eagerly drink my blood as before, but nothing happened—my blood merely trickled from the corner of her mouth, down her neck.

As I wiped the blood from her neck, tears welled up in my eyes.

Time passed both quickly and slowly. I sat at her bedside, calling her name again and again, wishing she would open her eyes, sit up, and throw her arms around my neck. But an entire afternoon passed and she remained there, utterly still.

At dusk, Wei Qi returned, carrying a bowl of noodles—Yingzi had made it. He said he’d already eaten, and urged me to eat as well before we went out to search for Wang Ying’s spirit.

I had no appetite for noodles, but he insisted. “It’s too early to call her back, and you’ll need your strength.”

Convinced, I ate quickly. Then Wei Qi cut a lock of hair from the corpse’s head for me to keep in my pocket, threaded a sewing needle and pinned it to my clothes. Just like that, we left the house—no flashlights, just walking towards town. With every step, I called out as Wei Qi had taught, “Wang Ying, come back. I’ll take you home!”

As I called, I opened the mouth of the soul jar to let her in. Wei Qi followed, and whenever we crossed a bridge, stream, or uneven path, he would burn paper money and incense—bribing the wild spirits guarding the way, so they wouldn’t hinder Wang Ying.

We spent nearly two hours retracing the road to the town’s police station, the same route the police car had taken—where Wang Ying’s soul had been lost, and where we must find her.

When we returned home, we quickly closed the gate. I rushed into the room, clutching the soul jar. Under the dim lamp, I peered inside—there was nothing. It was completely empty.

Wei Qi stared at the empty jar and let out a deep sigh. “Dachuan, it’s over.”