A Corpse Rises — Wait, You're a Guy!

The wooden puppet tilted its head, still smiling, but confusion flickered clearly in its eyes.

It hadn't understood what He Zhuoming had said, and it couldn't speak either.

Since it wasn't talking, He Zhuoming fell silent too, widening her eyes at it. After a long moment, the puppet finally grasped her meaning in its slow way.

First, it gave a gentle shake of its head, denying her accusation that it had gone mute. Then it pointed at its own throat, brought both index fingers together in an "X," and pressed them over its mouth.

He Zhuoming: "You can't talk right now?"

Lin Qingyun nodded.

He Zhuoming's eyes went wide. "Why not?"

Before Lin Qingyun could respond, she slapped her own forehead. "Oh, right, I forgot—you can't talk. Are you sick?"

Lin Qingyun shook his head again.

By now, He Zhuoming had completely forgotten about the corpse lying in the courtyard outside the window. All her attention was circling around Lin Qingyun. "Is it that... backlash thing? Didn't someone kill you once? The price of coming back to life or something..."

She babbled on with wild guesses, leaning in to study Lin Qingyun carefully, trying to spot on his face some sign of why he'd suddenly lost his voice.

But she'd only managed to get a little closer when Lin Qingyun pressed his index finger against her forehead and pushed her away.

He Zhuoming, her head tilted back from the push, demanded, "What are you doing?"

Lin Qingyun smiled, let go, and—before He Zhuoming could even feel baffled—flicked her forehead with lightning speed.

"Ow!" He Zhuoming clutched her forehead, teary-eyed, and flopped backward onto the bed, rolling twice.

He Zhuoming: "That hurt! Are your fingers made of iron?"

Lin Qingyun smiled, crossed his arms over his chest protectively, and formed a big "X" with them.

He Zhuoming sat up, rubbing her forehead—she was now a good two or three people's distance from Lin Qingyun, but she still couldn't understand what his gesture meant, so she guessed wildly: "Are you saying you made a mistake and shouldn't have flicked my forehead?"

Lin Qingyun shook his head.

He Zhuoming: "Are you saying your fingers aren't made of iron?"

Lin Qingyun shook his head.

He Zhuoming was shocked. "Your fingers really are made of iron?"

Lin Qingyun: "..."

He could barely keep his smile on. In fact, a strong urge to speak surged up in him; he'd only wanted Xiao He to keep her distance and not suddenly get so close.

But Xiao He's brain seemed faulty. His gestures had been so obvious, yet she kept misreading them.

Seeing that He Zhuoming was now eyeing his fingers with suspicion, Lin Qingyun sighed and held his hand out for her to inspect.

He Zhuoming leaned in to study it, then gave it a squeeze. After comparing his hand to her own, she squeezed her own: so different.

Lin Qingyun's fingers were longer than hers, and his palm was bigger.

She looked up at his head, neck, and shoulders, noticing that he was taller than her, and his shoulders were broader...

She'd always thought of Lin Qingyun as someone her own age. And before Lin Qingyun—before she'd transmigrated—He Zhuoming hadn't really liked boys her age.

She thought boys in her grade were idiots, mostly not that tall, with unpleasant voices—immature, vulgar, boring, disgusting...

But Lin Qingyun was tall, carried a clean scent, and had a lovely smile. He did look young, but not like the stick-figure immaturity of the boys she remembered.

There was a lithe uprightness caught between youth and young adulthood—even with his pretty face, it gave off an unmistakably masculine presence that you couldn't ignore.

Before, Lin Qingyun talked so much that He Zhuoming had never noticed this about him. Now that he'd suddenly gone quiet, it was easy to become aware of it while looking at him.

He Zhuoming thought for a long moment, then blurted out, "Qingyun! I just realized—"

Lin Qingyun looked at her with a smile.

He Zhuoming: "You're a guy!"

Lin Qingyun: "...?"

He Zhuoming let go of his hand and studied him with the wonder of someone discovering a new continent, circling around him—though not leaning in as closely as before.

Lin Qingyun couldn't help reaching out to press his hand on top of her head. He Zhuoming quickly slapped it away. "How many times do I have to tell you! Pressing on my head will stop it from growing!"

A knock and an old man's voice came from outside the door. Knowing Lin Qingyun couldn't speak right now, He Zhuoming proactively went to answer it.

It turned out the meal was ready.

The old man handed the wooden tray of dishes to He Zhuoming, smiling ingratiatingly. "I've also boiled some hot water—it's kept in the kitchen at the back."

"But I'm old and my head's muddled, and my eyes aren't what they used to be. Once the sun goes down, I sleep like the dead. I won't hear any calls in the night. If you two need hot water after nightfall, you'll have to fetch it yourselves."

"I've left some embers in the stove. The water should stay warm until the third watch."

He Zhuoming politely thanked the old man and carried the meal back to the square table in the room.

There were two dishes: a large bowl of stewed cabbage with radish, a plate of braised beef, two big bowls of rice, two steamed white buns, and a polished bamboo tube.

He Zhuoming pried off the bamboo tube's lid and a whiff of alcohol rushed out. She wrinkled her nose and quickly covered it again.

Lin Qingyun still wasn't eating, and when she asked if he wanted a drink, he shook his head too.

He Zhuoming thought wasting food was bad, and she was starving, so she ate Lin Qingyun's portion as well.

Once the food was mostly gone, He Zhuoming opened the bamboo tube again and swirled the liquid inside. She'd never had alcohol before—the smell stung her nose, but she was curious, so she dipped a chopstick in and put a drop on her tongue.

"Ugh, spicy—bleh bleh bleh!"

He Zhuoming jumped up, spitting and crying from the burn.

Lin Qingyun had been looking out the window, but at the commotion he turned to watch her—tongue out, hopping around in place, she rushed over to him. "Qingyun, Qingyun, Qingyun—water, water, water!"

Lin Qingyun spread his arms, looking innocent.

He Zhuoming had no time to guess what that expression meant. She grabbed the waterskin hanging from his belt, unscrewed it, and gulped down a big mouthful.

Even after drinking, her mouth still stung. She covered her face, a bit deflated, and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Lin Qingyun walk over to the square table and pick up the bamboo tube of alcohol.

He Zhuoming complained: "It tastes awful—the flavor is super weird, and it burns my mouth so bad it hurts..."

Lin Qingyun suddenly tipped his head back and drank all the alcohol in the tube.

As he swallowed with his head tilted up, his Adam's apple became very prominent, bobbing up and down. After a moment, he set the completely empty tube back on the table.

His face hadn't changed at all—still as pale as porcelain, only his lips looking extra glossy from the wine's touch.

He Zhuoming was stunned by his tolerance, forgetting her complaints as she stared at him shaking the empty tube. Only when Lin Qingyun walked up to her and tilted the fully empty tube to show her did she speak.

He Zhuoming: "...You, you want more?"

Lin Qingyun blinked, his expression turning thoughtful—he'd finally dropped that identical copy-paste smile and showed something besides it.

After a moment of silence, he shook his head and put the tube back.

He was just curious.

When he saw Xiao He hopping around, spitting and red-eyed from the alcohol, he'd grown curious about the thing she'd just drunk—he wanted to know what the "wine" that made her cry tasted like.

But even after draining the entire tube, he couldn't taste a thing.

Of course he couldn't.

The complete "Lin Qingyun" couldn't taste any food to begin with, and blood scraped off Lin Qingyun's body—just a few drops—had even less hope of tasting anything. He couldn't even smell.

After discovering that he could neither taste nor smell the alcohol, the wooden puppet felt something strange. His heart seemed to hollow out, some piece collapsing inside, leaving him heavy and dull.

He Zhuoming, not understanding, circled around Lin Qingyun, then craned her neck to study his face. "You're not red at all!"

"How are you so good at holding your liquor?"

Lin Qingyun lowered his eyes and smiled, his gaze following her as she moved. Suddenly he reached out and touched her cheek with his index finger—he didn't know why he did it; the motion came without thought.

Every inch of the girl's cheek was red and warm from that sip of wine she shouldn't have taken, and when he touched her face, she visibly froze, stopping mid-step.

The sky outside had gone completely dark. On this moonless, starless night, the only light in the room was a single oil lamp. The light was thin and scattered, making Lin Qingyun look less distinct to He Zhuoming's eyes, his features blurred and hazy.

And he was smiling—a faint smile, a hint of dimples rising, dense lashes half-shading his pupils.

He Zhuoming jumped back, clutching her heart—her face was burning, and her thoughts were a mess.

She turned and walked to the far edge of the room, fanning her face vigorously. It didn't help much. She even felt like the breeze from her own hand was warm. She propped herself with one hand on the wall, eyes darting wildly around the empty space before slowly stealing a glance at Lin Qingyun.

He was still standing there, his arm lowered—his curled fingertip pressed against his own palm, as if the temperature of Xiao He's face had transferred to his hand.

He Zhuoming coughed lightly, clearing her throat. "Um—d-do you feel like it's really hot in here? Let's go for a walk outside!"

Without waiting to see how he reacted, she pushed open the door and headed out.

The outside air was indeed fresher than inside. After a few deep breaths, her heartbeat calmed down somewhat.

But Lin Qingyun came out right behind her, walking up to her side. He Zhuoming touched the spot on her cheek he'd touched, and looked elsewhere.

He Zhuoming: "It's pretty dark out here... tonight's cloudy, huh..."

After she said this, there was no response, and remembering Lin Qingyun was mute for now, He Zhuoming slapped herself on the mouth in annoyance.

But she couldn't bring herself to really hit herself; after a light tap, the second motion turned into a touch—she clucked her tongue, feeling her tongue was still a bit spicy and sore.

Her gaze drifted sideways to sneak a glance at Lin Qingyun, only to find he was looking at her too.

The moment their eyes met, He Zhuoming quickly turned away and stared at the ground, pretending to watch her step.

Her heart started thumping wildly again. She felt a subtle tension and awkwardness. She wanted to say something, but was afraid that Lin Qingyun's silence would only make things more awkward.

So neither spoke, and He Zhuoming just kept walking with her head down. When she finally looked up, she realized they'd reached the backyard of the relay station—she could even see the handcart with its white cloth not far away.

He Zhuoming's feet screeched to a halt.

Honestly, it wasn't that she was scared senseless. After those days in the village, she'd carried too many corpses, and she was somewhat immune to dead people now.

But the old man running the relay station had said the dead man was a cultivator disciple, and that put He Zhuoming on edge.

Because she vaguely recalled that in the original novel, cultivators who died violently could turn into vengeful spirits—there was a related plot in one of the male lead's dungeons.

She had no idea how strong this cultivator who died at the relay station was.

And even if the dead cultivator didn't suddenly turn into a ghost or zombie, the monster that killed him was still out there.

He Zhuoming had read in a detective novel that murderers often returned to the crime scene to savor what they'd done—what if the monster had a similar quirk!

The more she thought about it, the more wrong this place felt, and the air seemed to turn cold.

She hugged her arms and urged Lin Qingyun: "I feel like something's off here... let's hurry back to the room!"

Lin Qingyun blinked, puzzled: Xiao He had just said the room was too stuffy and wanted to go out for a walk. But before even half an incense stick of time had passed, she was again leading the charge back inside.

Xiao He was so changeable.

He Zhuoming had no time to wonder what Lin Qingyun was thinking; she hurried back into the main hall.

The front door and windows had already been closed, all dark except for the lamplight from her and Lin Qingyun's room upstairs.

Suddenly, the clouds outside scattered, and a bright full moon hung high in the sky.

Moonlight filtered through the paper-paned doors and windows, dimly lighting the hall. A black shadow clung to the door's surface as a bloody red quickly soaked through the paper—He Zhuoming saw it clearly, her scalp going numb with terror, and she turned to run back.

She hadn't made it two steps before colliding with Lin Qingyun's chest. She looked up at his face and, without a word, grabbed his hand and ran with him!

The only way left was the backyard, so the two of them had no choice but to run there.

Once in the backyard, He Zhuoming instinctively looked at the handcart: it was already empty—the white cloth and the corpse were both gone!

He Zhuoming's face crumpled. "I knew it! Stick with the male lead, and either a corpse rises or a monster shows up!"

Clutching at her last shred of hope, she looked back at Lin Qingyun. "Can you beat it?"

Lin Qingyun also looked back toward the main hall, then smiled and shook his head at He Zhuoming.

As if to match his head shake, a huge crash came from the main hall—the sound of doors and windows shattering!

And the old man tending the relay station was true to his word: he'd said he'd sleep like the dead after nightfall, and he did. Even with all that noise, he didn't react at all, as if he didn't exist.

So He Zhuoming, sobbing, dragged Lin Qingyun into the kitchen at the back and shoved every jar and bucket she could see behind the door to barricade it.

Lin Qingyun followed her example and found a few heavy things to push up against the door.

Soon they'd moved everything they could. He Zhuoming was panting, sitting on the stove to catch her breath. She looked up and saw Lin Qingyun also breathing hard.

Lin Qingyun normally did everything with total ease, and this was the first time He Zhuoming had seen him so disheveled: sweat beading on his forehead, short hair sticking up in a mess, a few strands tangled with his earring.

She was staring at him when he suddenly looked up and met her eyes.

Lin Qingyun, for once not smiling, pointed at his own hair. He Zhuoming had just carried a couple of low stools from the pile of firewood, and her already braided hair had caught a few thin dry twigs.

He Zhuoming blinked in confusion.

Lin Qingyun frowned slightly, and pointed at his hair again.

He Zhuoming thought for a moment, then the light dawned. "Oh, you can't untangle it, right? Not to criticize you, but what's the point of worrying about that at a time like this? If your hair's tangled, it's tangled—I don't have time to help you untangle..."

Lin Qingyun realized that He Zhuoming still hadn't understood him.

He sighed, walked up to her, and reached up to pluck the twigs from her hair, showing them to her.

He Zhuoming: "..."

Lin Qingyun smiled, and placed the twigs in her hand. He Zhuoming scratched her cheek, then broke the twigs into several pieces in her hands.

The two leaned against the stove, its warmth seeping into He Zhuoming's back through the stone. In front of them was a pile of junk blocking the door; if they raised their eyes a bit, they could see the top half of the kitchen door.

Like the main hall door, it was a wooden frame with paper. Since the sky had cleared now, moonlight made that half of the kitchen door glow bright.

He Zhuoming hugged her knees and, belatedly, began to worry. She whispered, "Oh no, we were so busy piling things against the door that we only blocked the bottom half—the top half is open. Is this door even sturdy? What if it comes through the top..."

Before she could finish, Lin Qingyun suddenly reached out and covered her mouth.

Part of the moonlight streaming through the upper half of the door was blocked. A human-shaped shadow floated outside that half-open door.