Scrying the Will of Heaven

My parents died shortly after I was born. People said my birth chart clashed with the rest of the Li family, bringing bad luck. Coincidentally, Old Ji—the village’s childless, lifelong bachelor—took me in and raised me as his own.

Back in the day, Old Ji made a living reading fortunes and interpreting written characters. These days, he sells funeral offerings and oversees burials. When I was little, he insisted that my fate was tainted by dark energy, and he forced me to “adopt” the ghostly deity from the City God Temple at the west end of the village as my godfather. Because of that, every time I passed the temple, I had to call out, “Hello, Godfather!” to the statue of the ghost.

My classmates laughed at me. They said I was nuts for recognizing a ghost as my father. I had to put on a tough face and shout back, “Not listening! Not listening! Stupid turtle chanting scriptures!”

As I got older, I started helping Old Ji at his funeral shop and completely cut ties with my birth family.

That is, until one day, my cousin Li Guoqing came knocking. He said my grandfather had passed away and left word before dying that I, his only direct grandson, had to attend the funeral. Otherwise, there’d be no one to carry the funeral banner. Then he sat down and started writing the guest list on an old funeral notice—clearly planning to freeload off our shop’s resources.

The first character he wrote was “丰” (Fēng). Its form had a long horizontal stroke in the middle and two shorter ones above and below. Old Ji took one look at it and frowned, his thick spiral eyebrows twisting together.

The first character written always carries the strongest omen. Old Ji had already taught me quite a bit about character divination, though I was still too young to do public readings. After Li Guoqing left, I asked him if that character meant something bad.

Old Ji thought for a moment and warned me: “Be careful—something might go wrong.”

Then he grabbed a big white rooster and brought it along. I had no idea what for.

I knew from his teachings that if a bad omen showed up during a reading, you weren’t supposed to explain it on the spot. Still, it left me with a gnawing sense of unease.

On the day of the burial, I led the procession wearing mourning clothes, following custom. The coffin cart came behind me. But as we reached a crossroads, there was a loud BANG—the cart tipped over, and my grandfather’s coffin tumbled out, landing right in the middle of the road.

Everyone panicked, scrambling to lift the coffin while shouting at the driver. Li Guoqing screamed about compensation, while the driver looked bewildered, insisting he hadn’t done anything wrong—he’d been driving straight. Maybe it was a sign the dead didn’t want to go.

People glanced nervously at each other. Old Ji calmly brought out the white rooster and tied it to the head of the coffin.

Li Guoqing stared. “Why tie a flapping chicken to the coffin?”

Old Ji replied gravely, “A fallen coffin is a bad omen. It likely means the old man isn’t willing to leave. Tying a live rooster to the coffin head guides the dead’s soul. If you don’t, you’re just asking for trouble.”

That’s when it hit me—Li Guoqing’s character “丰” looked like a crossroads with something sprouting sideways from the center. Combined with the fact we’d be burning paper offerings at the actual crossroads, it clearly pointed to some sort of mishap during the funeral. I couldn’t help but shiver.

The relatives didn’t dare argue anymore. They hurried on with the procession, all wearing that look of “please let him pass peacefully.”

My grandfather was to be buried with my grandmother, who had passed seven or eight years earlier. But since no one had visited her grave in years, the site was overgrown and hard to find. Eventually, Li Guoqing located the spot and dug up the burial pit, revealing her old black lacquered coffin beneath.

As he stared at the pit he’d just dug, he seemed... confused. I noticed and asked him what was wrong. He brushed it off and resumed organizing the burial.

Traditionally, we were supposed to kneel and wail at this point. If we stayed silent during the burial, our descendants would be born mute.

I followed along, humming half-heartedly with the rest. But when I glanced over, I noticed something odd—the rooster that had been tied to the coffin had disappeared.

Li Guoqing casually said, “The burial’s almost done. That rooster looked pitiful tied up like that, so I killed it. We’ll cook it later. Don’t worry, you’ll get a share.”

I wanted to slap him. The rooster needed to be alive to ward off evil. But we were already at the final moment of burial. There was no time to fix it.

The coffin was being hoisted by a crane. Just as it was about to lower into the grave, the rope snapped with a sharp CRACK—the coffin dropped with a heavy THUD, landing directly on top of my grandmother’s coffin. It split open.

My grandfather’s body, dressed in burial robes, tumbled out—and somehow landed upright, stiff as a board, standing beside the shattered coffin.

My heart sank. Li Guoqing shrieked, “He’s come back to life! He’s turned into a zombie!”

Everyone screamed. Some of the women fainted.

Old Ji, who’d been waiting at a distance as per custom, heard the commotion and rushed over yelling, “You idiots! Someone get an umbrella! Don’t let the corpse touch sunlight!”

But no one dared go near. Though the corpse didn’t move, everyone was too scared to act. I had no choice. I grabbed a large black umbrella and leapt onto my grandmother’s coffin lid, holding it above my grandfather to shield him from the sun. I muttered, You really can’t let go of the living world, huh? Gotta make your exit this dramatic?

The coffin lid beneath me was old, made of cheap wood. Before I could even steady myself, I heard a crack underfoot—and then I fell right through.

The world flipped upside down. Pain shot through my back and shoulders like lightning, and my arm throbbed with heat. As I groaned, I suddenly realized—something was beneath me. I’d landed on someone.

Right. I was lying inside my grandmother’s coffin. On top of her remains.

I had mentally prepared to see her bones. But when I looked up...

“Holy crap!” I screamed.

It wasn’t a skeleton—it was a young woman!

Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes resting against her cheeks. She had a delicate oval face and features so refined they looked hand-painted. I’d never seen a woman this beautiful, not even on TV.

I froze. No way. I slapped myself. What the hell was a gorgeous young woman doing in my grandmother’s coffin?

She was only wearing a silk camisole—nothing underneath. The fabric clung to her body, outlining every curve. But the nightgown was torn, like it had been yanked at... like she’d been attacked before she died.

Then I heard Li Guoqing’s voice, trembling from above: “Poor kid died with her eyes open!”

I shouted, “I’m not dead! Somebody help me up!”

I tried to move, but the coffin was too cramped. We were packed in tight. As I struggled, my injured arm gave out. I fell forward—face landing right against her cheek.

I’d never been this close to a woman before. My ears buzzed. My heart raced. I couldn’t stop a wicked thought from flashing through my mind. She felt... real.

Then I saw it.

Her lips, which had been tightly closed—had curled up slightly.

She was... smiling?

Every muscle in my body locked up. My brain went blank.

Then I noticed something else—the inside of the coffin had a single character scrawled on the wall: “怨” (yuàn, meaning “grievance” or “resentment”).

It was faintly reddish-brown. Dried blood.

She had been buried alive.

The character was missing its “roof” radical, suggesting she had no home to return to. The “heart” component was squashed flat, as if trampled. She had clearly been betrayed—filled with hatred and despair.

Who the hell was this woman? Why was she buried in my grandmother’s coffin?

Suddenly, Old Ji’s shocked voice echoed from above: “What the hell—it’s her?!”

He knew her?

The family exploded into chaos. They pulled me out of the coffin, shouting in panic when they saw the girl inside.

“Who the hell is this chick?! Where’s Grandma?!”

Right. I’d almost forgotten. If she was in the coffin—then where was my grandmother?