Volume Two: The Secret Burial in the Gorge Chapter 112: The Cliffside Burial

"Country folk don't have so many rules," the old stall owner glared at me. "Take it or leave it. If you don't want to eat, get lost."

I shrank back, not daring to say another word. I quickly forced a smile and asked, "Old Man Tan... oh, excuse me, Mr. Tan, I just saw a group of people walking through the village dressed in burial shrouds..."

Before I could finish, the old man froze and suddenly stood up from his chair. I was startled, wondering what had gotten into him.

He walked right up to me, staring intently. "You saw them?"

His reaction was so intense that it seemed my sighting of those people was completely unexpected. But I had seen them; there was no need for me to lie. I nodded heavily to show that what I said was true.

Old Man Tan shook his head, muttering to himself, "Impossible... you saw them, but why would they..."

As he spoke, he leaned in closer. A thick, pungent scent of strong tobacco radiated from him, hitting my nose so sharply that I felt the urge to cough. Too embarrassed to let it out, I held it back, feeling utterly miserable.

He reached out with hands as dry and claw-like as an eagle’s and began to pat me down.

"Mr. Tan, what are you doing?"

"Are you carrying anything to ward off evil?" he asked while searching.

"Something to ward off evil?" I thought for a moment, then pulled out the Five Emperors Coin my third uncle had given me. "Does this count?"

My third uncle had warned me repeatedly never to reveal this coin easily. He didn't know how many people in this world might covet it, and displaying it could invite unnecessary disaster. However, this old stall owner had saved my life—I never would have made it out of that mist without him. Despite his temper, he didn't seem like a bad person, so I didn't hesitate to take it out.

As soon as he saw the ancient coin, his eyes lit up, his gaze locked onto it. Seeing his expression, I suddenly felt a twinge of regret. Could he have ulterior motives for this coin? I instinctively backed away.

Realizing he had lost his composure, he sighed and said, "So you have an object to ward off evil. It seems this is what saved you."

"Mr. Tan, why do you say that? What exactly is going on with those people?" I was unnerved and pressed for an answer.

"They are dead."

I nodded; I wasn't surprised by that. Who walks around in the middle of the night dressed in burial shrouds if they’re alive?

Old Man Tan continued, "We have a custom here: when people die, they aren't buried in ancestral graves. Instead, they are taken to the mountains for cliff burial."

"Cliff burial?" The term was entirely new to me. I had heard of earth burial, sea burial, and even tree burial, but never this.

He nodded, signaling for me to keep listening.

"Cliff burial is simple enough to understand. After someone dies, we perform a ritual and throw the body from the mountain peak. It’s a tradition that has existed in our region for a long time—it seems to date back to the Eastern Zhou Dynasty."

I grimaced, finding it incredible. Usually, when a relative passes away, the younger generation treats the body with the utmost care, placing it in a coffin and laying it to rest in the earth. To throw a body off a cliff—wouldn't that smash it to pieces? Wasn't that a desecration of the deceased? But I knew that some local customs were strange and carried many taboos, so I kept my questions to myself.

The old man seemed to read my mind. He calmly packed another bowl of tobacco, took a few puffs, and explained, "The tradition is that the higher the mountain peak, the higher the status of the burial. As the body falls, the soul is purified by the mountain winds. Naturally, the longer the fall, the greater the purification. Once the body hits the bottom, it is usually shattered. Wild mountain dogs then consume the flesh, leaving behind only some residual bones, which the family keeps for veneration."

It was the first time I had heard of such a strange burial custom, and it sent a cold shiver down my spine. Thinking of the dead walking in the mist, I asked, "But the people I ran into—why weren't they cliff-buried?"

He glanced at me. "Who said they weren't?"

"But their bodies... they were clearly... intact..."

"That’s because you only saw their ghosts. Their bodies have already been pieced back together and taken back up the mountain," he said indifferently.

I was shocked. Everything he said tonight was beyond my experience—completely unheard-of.

"Why... why piece them back together? Wouldn't their bodies be eaten by the mountain dogs?" I decided to get to the bottom of it. If I was already here, I needed to know. Perhaps this would lead me to news about my third uncle or those two couriers.

"That’s because... sigh, don't just keep asking questions, eat... do you think my pancakes are no good?" He finished his tobacco, tapped the pipe against his shoe, and gestured to the pancake in my hand.

"Oh, no, they're good, I'm eating." I forced myself to eat, trying to ignore the memory of him defecating earlier, and stuffed a few bites into my mouth.

"It’s because not everyone who undergoes cliff burial dies of old age. Many die unnatural deaths—car accidents, murder, or lingering resentment. Because their souls haven't dissipated, they linger around the body. Even if the flesh is shattered, the wild dogs won't touch it. So, these bodies remain intact, though broken into pieces. Three days after the cliff burial, the family goes to the bottom of the cliff to search. If they find the remains, they hire a bone collector to gather the parts and a corpse-stitcher to sew them back together. After the resentment is dispelled, they choose a day to perform the cliff burial again. This repeats until the body is finally consumed by the mountain dogs."

I realized then what was happening. It was a harrowing lesson.

"The people you saw in the mist," he added, "are those whose bodies have been stitched back together, led by the Soul-Guiding Banner to be cliff-buried once more. Once they reach the mountain, they will re-enter their bodies for the ritual. Some of them are already on their third burial. We hold these rites every six months, on the thirteenth of the third lunar month and the seventh of the ninth lunar month."

I glanced at my phone. The calendar displayed exactly the seventh day of the ninth lunar month.