Chapter Twenty-Six: The Woman in the Surveillance Footage

At that time, Cheng Zhen, then Chairman of Henan Province, was a man who revered the ancient. Upon hearing the news, he believed the jade coffin to be a rare treasure, surely containing precious relics. He ordered his men to invite a Daoist priest to perform rituals and extract the jade coffin from the river, then had it sent overnight to Kaifeng. Yet, that very night, both the priest and his two chief disciples died suddenly and violently.

Cheng Zhen was not greatly troubled by this and, as it happened, the renowned Master Yihong was preaching in Kaifeng at the time. Cheng invited him to Kaifeng to preside over the transfer of the coffin. However, as soon as Master Yihong approached the riverbank where the coffin lay, he dropped to his knees with a thud, unable to move another step, trembling in terror. He left behind only four words—“Yellow River Demon Coffin”—before fleeing in panic.

Left with no other choice, Cheng Zhen went to the site himself and demanded an explanation, but Master Yihong refused to speak, insisting only that the demon coffin harbored a deadly evil, and anyone who touched it would not survive the night. Unconvinced, for his power was great and his forces numerous, Cheng Zhen ordered his men to hold a gun to the master’s head and force him to open the coffin for proof. Yet, when Cheng returned to the river the following day, he found Master Yihong sprawled atop the jade coffin in a grotesque posture—dead, face blackened, veins bulging from hands and feet—the very same symptoms as the previous victims.

Now truly frightened, Cheng Zhen commanded his soldiers to guard the riverbank and summoned all the most famous monks and Daoists in Henan. He locked them in with the jade coffin and ordered them to find a way to resolve the matter—or face execution.

As everyone prepared for what they believed would be a night of certain death, a man with a southern accent appeared on the riverbank. He introduced himself as a “Treasure Suppressor” and recognized the coffin at once as a demon-quelling artifact, carved from field jade and sunk in the river for a thousand years, absorbing the spirit of heaven and earth. He explained it had become a powerful object, and only a special method could open it safely—else disaster would follow.

What happened after that remains unknown. On that night, Cheng Zhen drove away all the nearby villagers, including the monks and Daoists. By the next morning, the riverbank was deserted. The soldiers, the “Treasure Suppressor,” and the jade coffin had all vanished without a trace. With war and chaos raging year after year, the local villagers scattered, and no further word was ever heard.

I closed the book, and my mind conjured the scene from that night in Hezi Village, when the black coffin emerged from the water—identical to the “Yellow River Demon Coffin” described in the records. I began to wonder if there might be a connection between the two.

First, both coffins were discovered in the river, one while fishing out a corpse, the other during a live sacrifice. Both events involved the dead being cast into the river, drawing forth malevolent objects.

Second, each time the coffin surfaced, a foul stench accompanied it—something ordinary river water would not produce. According to the “Ancient Treasure Suppressor’s Manual,” “Wind governs descendants, water governs wealth. No wind, no prosperity; no water, no riches. Where the wind reeks and the water stinks, such are ‘evil sites’—there will be no treasures or celestial spirits, only the birth of monsters and demons.”

Finally, the contents of both coffins were anything but ordinary.

Those female corpses could not have become jade mummies without the black coffin’s aid. Before the coffins were opened, Hezi Village was peaceful, untouched by tragedy. Everything began with the opening of the black coffin. I suspect, just as the “Treasure Suppressor” said, that the jade coffin sealed evil spirits, and the same is true of these black coffins.

Unfortunately, all the black coffins were swept away by a flood. If only we could recover them, lure the jade mummies back inside, and reseal them, our current troubles could be resolved.

I exhaled, replaced the ancient manual in its secret compartment, and noticed dawn already breaking outside. Through the doorway, I could hear the bustle of the street. I stretched my limbs, went out for breakfast, and sat downstairs eating, waiting for Tong Xiaomeng to wake.

I hadn't expected to wait until noon. When Tong Xiaomeng finally came down, she looked much more spirited than last night, her hair freshly washed and draped over her shoulders, a faint fragrance of shampoo lingering as she approached.

I brought her the warm buns I’d bought. As she ate, she asked what I planned to do next.

That question caught me off guard. I doubted monks or Daoists could help. The monks at the Great Compassion Monastery couldn’t even tell fortunes accurately, let alone subdue jade mummies. I might as well buy a submachine gun—it would probably be more effective.

Perhaps seeing my uncertainty, Tong Xiaomeng asked, “In your line of work, don’t you know any extraordinary people or strange circles, like the Blue Coat Society?”

“What’s the Blue Coat Society?” I asked, curious.

She pursed her lips but didn’t explain. Instead, she popped a few more buns into her mouth and said, “When I was out in Xiangxi on a field trip with Professor Gu, I met some corpse-drivers. They’re hired by the families of the dead to guide the corpses into the mountains for burial in ancestral shrines. Do you think there might be people who specialize in dealing with water corpses—someone who could handle these jade mummies?”

I looked up in surprise. “Corpse-fishers?”

Tong Xiaomeng, a half-eaten bun in her mouth, stared wide-eyed at me. “You know them?”

I shook my head. “Those days are over. Now, the police or official salvage teams recover river corpses. The old corpse-fishers, who used to extort huge fees, mostly had no real skill. Last winter, they pulled a corpse from the Hai River and demanded a hundred thousand from the family. The woman couldn’t pay and jumped into the river herself. Fortunately, the river froze that night—she didn’t drown, but she was crippled for life.”

“These people are monsters!” Tong Xiaomeng said fiercely, biting into her bun.

I grinned. “You’d make a great doctor in the ICU.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled.

“Just stand at the door and shout ‘Don’t die!’ and every family will give you a silk banner in thanks.”

In the afternoon, Jin Yitiao delivered a batch of goods I’d stored with him, including several Indian statues pre-ordered by customers. I placed them on the antique display facing the main entrance. It was the first time Jin Yitiao and Tong Xiaomeng met. He glanced at us with a knowing smile and announced he’d be leaving at dawn for the ancient Yellow River route—he’d be gone for some time and wouldn’t be dropping by my shop at midnight.

I asked why he was going. He explained that the items brought by southern smugglers were too large for him to transport alone, so he’d brought photos and wanted to see them himself. He also hoped to find a bargain from the old river workers.

“Will there be Yellow River corpse-fishers?” Tong Xiaomeng asked from the side.

Jin Yitiao gave her a surprised look. “Why, did something happen in your family?”

I dragged him away and told him to get lost.

Tong Xiaomeng’s question seemed to strike a nerve. She hardly spoke for the rest of the afternoon and went upstairs to bed without dinner.

I forced down a few bites of supper and sat in my chair, reflecting that Tong Xiaomeng’s question made sense. Yellow River boatmen were an unusual lot in the past—if it involved the river, nothing was beyond their skill. I sent a text to Jin Yitiao: “Keep the corpse-fisher matter in mind. Let me know the moment you hear anything.”

He didn’t know what was going on, but replied simply, “Okay!”

By ten o’clock, the streets were deserted. I locked the doors and windows, turned all the lights up, and sat behind the counter, flipping through the “Ancient Treasure Suppressor’s Manual” while watching the surveillance monitors.

The blood jade on my chest was still warm, and my cigarette burned quickly in my fingers. Seated behind the counter, I absently rubbed the jade, eyes locked on the black-and-white feed of the shop’s entrance. I glanced around, suddenly feeling a strange emptiness.

It’s a hard sensation to describe—not a chill in the air, but something more intangible. It’s like waking up alone from a nap with no alarm, finding it’s already dark, with no one to wake you, no messages or calls on your phone—a profound sense of isolation.

Besides the emptiness, there was a faint fishy smell, as if carried in by the wind through the door crack. I checked the monitor, then walked to the door. Before I could open it, I heard the soft patter of dripping water outside.

Uneasy, I turned back, staring at the surveillance screen. There I saw a woman in a qipao standing at the door. She slowly raised her head—her eyes were black hollows, gazing directly at the camera.

Those eyes were cold and mocking. In the monochrome image, she looked like something from a horror film, deeply unsettling.

She watched for a while, then the corners of her mouth twisted into a sinister smile before she turned and left.

At that moment, my phone vibrated on the desk. I snapped to attention and glanced at the screen—it was a message from Jin Yitiao.

“I’ve got news about the corpse-fishers. Are you coming with me tomorrow?”

I didn’t hesitate. I picked up my phone and replied at once: “I’m in!”