CORPSE WHISPERER

Just as I puzzled over the skeleton's inconsistencies, Grandfather spoke: "Yang'er. Determine this person's occupation in life. Cause of death. Male or female. If female, did she bear children? Age at death. Any illnesses. Say all you know."

"Grandfather… is this a test?" I asked.

"Consider it one." He took a slow drag from his pipe.

What kind of twisted test is this? I thought. Dragged from bed in the dead of night, hauled to an unhallowed burial ground to dig up a grave. Under heaven, was there another grandfather like mine?

"Look quickly," he urged, stamping his feet against the cold. "This place's chill seeps into old bones. I cannot endure it long."

I forced myself to focus on the bones. Suspicious rustles and the graveyard's oppressive aura clawed at my concentration. But gradually, I shut them out. The assembled skeleton stretched nearly 1.8 meters – a tall figure in life. Yet the feet were absurdly small. Human proportions dictated a foot-to-height ratio of roughly 1:7. This defied logic… unless the person had bound their feet like ancient women, creating 'lotus feet'.

Setting that aside, I assessed sex. Robust joints suggested male. But the flared pelvis screamed female, complete with the pitted scars of childbirth on the pubis. I lifted the skull. Tooth wear indicated an adult in their early thirties. Yet the femur bones told a different tale: light density hinted at calcium loss, and subtle curvature suggested lifelong pressure – hallmarks of old age. The contradictions mounted.

...

...

The arms were the final absurdity. Thickened joints characteristic of leg bones. Had this person walked on all fours?

From skull to toe, the skeleton was a grotesque puzzle of mismatched clues. Then, abruptly, understanding dawned. Grandfather's test was far deeper than mere identification. An answer crystallized in my mind.

Rising from my crouch, dizziness washed over me. Black spots danced before my eyes; my legs felt like stone. Grandfather stood amidst a litter of pipe ash – I'd been absorbed for half an hour.

"Well, Yang'er?" he prompted.

"This individual," I stated, "was approximately thirty years old. Both male and female. Born into confinement, living on all fours. Diet was coarse. Bore seven or eight children. Drowned. Then… was hacked to death."

"That is your conclusion?" Grandfather's voice held icy scorn.

"Yes. Because this is not a single person!"

"Oh?" Interest sparked in his eyes. "Explain."

"Every bone below the skull," I said, pointing, "is borrowed from beasts. The legs are goat. The arms are pig. The pelvis belongs to an elderly sow. The hands and feet? A jigsaw of fragments – likely dog or cat."

I picked up the skull, turning it to show the neck vertebrae. "As for cause of death? See this clean fracture. Decapitation."

A slow, approving nod. "The pupil can be taught. The ancients said, 'Blind faith in books is worse than no books at all.' Had you failed to distinguish human from animal bone, further teaching would be wasted breath. Good. Very good. The Song lineage… truly has its heir."

"But Grandfather," I pressed, the mystery gnawing at me, "what is this skeleton?"

Grandfather took a long pull from his pipe and began the tale of the Patchwork Corpse.

Thirty years past, near Willow Tree Village, lived a wastrel named Huang San. A bachelor, his life revolved around liquor, gambling, and scaling widow's walls. He'd driven his own mother to an early grave before turning twenty.

No wife would have him. He borrowed money relentlessly, souring the whole village. Driven out, he drifted between laborer jobs, gambling away every coin he earned. Once, he fled a debt of 5,000 yuan – a king's ransom then, enough to build houses. Creditors stormed the village. Relatives, refusing the burden, swore they didn't know him.

Days later, a black plastic bag was found by a mountain path. Inside: a bloody human head. Police published photos. A distant uncle identified it as Huang San. Presumed murdered by creditors, the villagers deemed it self-inflicted ruin. Conservative and litigious-averse, they filed no suit. The police shelved the case. Huang San's head was returned, a grim token of a lineage extinguished. Fears arose of a restless ghost. Discovering Huang San's mother hailed from Chao-Shan, they performed a 'Proxy Burial' – crafting a body from animal bones. Laid to rest whole, they hoped his spirit would find peace.

Finishing the tale, Grandfather instructed me to rebury Huang San's remains. As I patted down the last earth, he drew a sheaf of spirit money from his coat. A match flared. He set the yellow paper alight upon the grave mound.

"Brother Huang San," he intoned, smoke curling into the dark, "we disturb your rest. I know your death was unjust. You left no children to tend your spirit. These paltry offerings may seem slight. On the anniversary of your passing next year, I vow to summon monks and Daoists. They shall perform rites to appease your wandering spirit."

As the last word faded, a chill wind, born of nowhere, snatched the burning paper. Flames danced wildly. Within the gust, I thought I heard a faint, mournful weeping. Ash swirled upwards, vanishing into the night sky.

Rooted in terror, I felt Grandfather's hand press my head down. "Kowtow. Apologize."

Rising shakily, I found the wind gone. My voice trembled. "Grandfather… do ghosts truly exist?"

"Some truths dwell where belief takes root, and vanish where it falters." His gaze was profound. "But remember this, Yang'er: A coroner's work is an affront to the dead. Only by maintaining reverence in every examination can you stand blameless before Heaven and Earth."

"I will remember," I vowed.

A sudden hope flared. Did this mean…? "Grandfather, I passed your test. May I… may I become a forensic examiner for Detective Sun?"

"No!" The word cracked like a whip. "The Song family prohibition is absolute! It cannot be broken!"