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"It’s the key to an old-fashioned dressing table from the Republic of China!" Chen Guohua examined the key under the light, noticing the seal script engraved on the handle that read "Zhou Ji Zhuang Lian."
Suddenly, he recalled the missing ring finger of the Charred Corpse in the Coffin Shop—the size of that skeletal finger matched perfectly with the notches on this key.
A scratching sound came from the Refrigerator. Chen Guohua approached with his gun drawn, and the cabinet door suddenly burst open. Zhang Cuiping's corpse sat upright, her scalp stitched with a Rebirth Knot spread like a spider's web, and entangled in her hair was a piece of a shattered mirror.
What reflected in the mirror was not a corpse but the scene of Zhou Huaisheng with a ring pierced through his skull.
The Qinghe Town Archives were filled with a musty smell that made it hard to see. Chen Guohua found a record in the Republic of China’s 37th-year household registration book: " the Zhou Wan Rong, deceased on the seventh day of the twelfth lunar month in the Year of Gengwu, married to Ghost Marriage, son of the Zhao family in the west of the city." The date of death was exactly forty-nine years apart from Li Xiuyun’s murder. In the yellowed marriage certificate attachment, the bride Bazi bore an uncanny resemblance to Zhang Cuiping.
Suddenly, the archivist screamed and pointed out the window. Beneath the moonlight, an old Sophora Tree hung with a skeleton dressed in bright red wedding attire, its hollow eye sockets facing directly at the Qinghe Town Archive window.
As Chen Guohua rushed to the tree, the dressing table's box in the skeleton's arms popped open with a click. Forty-nine braids were arranged into a Bagua Formation, with a carved wooden comb inscribed with spells at its center.
In the ruins of Zhou Family Old Residence, a compass needle spun wildly at midnight. Chen Guohua stepped over debris into the east wing. The dressing table’s mirror was already cracked, but the engravings on its frame matched "Zhou Ji Zhuang Lian" perfectly with those on the key.
When he inserted the Bronze Key into the lock, a surge of foul black water poured from the drawer, soaking a silk-covered notebook. "On the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month in Bingzi Year, Forty-Nine Calamities are upon us..." Chen Guohua's flashlight beam swept over hasty handwriting: "Tonight shall be for Wanrong’s life continuation; take Xushi Shengren’s heavenly spirit hair..." The writing abruptly stopped, and the last few pages were soaked in bloodstains, depicting a silhouette of an old woman combing hair, with a wooden comb tied at its ends—this was crucial evidence in Li Xiuyun's case.
Outside the ruins came the sound of Suona. As Chen Guohua burst out of the door, a funeral procession passed through town center, paper money flying everywhere.
The leading old man scattered Sophora wood shavings as sixteen men carried a Red Lacquer Coffin that suddenly leaked blood, pooling into a massive Rebirth Knot on the snow.
As the coffin passed by Chen Guohua’s side, its lid exploded violently, and forty-nine bloody wooden combs shot into the night sky like arrows.
In 2016, spring rain swelled up asphalt roads as Xu Wenshan's hiking shoes sank into cracks between blue stone slabs. He pulled out his brass compass; its needle trembled over the Funeral hexagram position.
His phone navigation had long lost its signal; just before it dropped to one bar, he caught sight of a message popping up in his WeChat group: "The owner of Qinghe Town’s Shroud shop died suddenly last night while clutching a carved wooden comb..."
Turning around a corner, rows of Funeral Parlors came into view. Each shop window displayed three-inch-wide Twenty Years items; Comb Teeth glimmered coldly behind rain-soaked curtains.
Xu Wenshan leaned closer to Zhou Ji Funeral Supplies’ window and noticed that what was engraved on the wooden comb wasn’t "Fortune and Longevity," but rather an inverted character for "Death."
"This is Yin Shu," said the shopkeeper in a dark blue coat as he pressed against the glass, his hooked nose nearly touching Xu Wenshan's forehead. "It can untangle past grievances; would you like to buy one?"
Xu Wenshan took half a step back and bumped against a tricycle behind him.
The cart was piled high with freshly unwrapped paper-made villas; surprisingly, there was also a Twenty Years item displayed on its second-floor bay window.
The old man pedaling covered his face with a straw hat and spoke hoarsely: "All Funeral Parlors in town have switched to selling Yin Shu now; they say it can ward off that Shou Tou Gui..."
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