Under our persistent questioning, Big Brother Peng finally said, "To be honest, I don't even know who that person was."
Li Damin and I exchanged glances, clearly skeptical.
Big Brother Peng sighed helplessly, "That day, when I woke up, it felt like I'd had a wild dream. Everything that happened seemed so distant, like a dream, yet so real at the same time. When I came to, my family was overjoyed—celebrations aside, I went back to the hospital for a check-up. My heart condition was still there, but it had improved significantly. Then someone told me, 'You know how you got this second chance at life, right? It was thanks to a noble person's help…'"
Everyone chimed in, saying that when Big Brother Peng was rushed into the emergency room, no one noticed a stranger sitting in the hospital corridor. This person was utterly unremarkable, dressed plainly, reportedly wearing a hat, looking like an honest, hardworking laborer.
With relatives and friends anxiously waiting, no one paid attention to such a person.
When Big Brother Peng was wheeled out of the emergency room and his wife fainted from shock, the stranger stood up, walked over to Peng's body, looked at it, and said, "This man can still be saved."
Since Peng's death had been so sudden, everyone was devastated by the tragedy. When someone said this, they were instantly seen as a savior.
Of course, things weren't that simple—doctors scoffed, and the family was skeptical, but I won't go into all that. The stranger only said that saving the deceased didn't require complicated measures. He just needed to go with the hearse to the crematorium. If the man didn't wake up by the time they reached the morgue, then it was fate, and no one could save him.
In today's society, help always comes with a price. Shockingly, the stranger demanded a whopping one-third of Big Brother Peng's company shares.
Hearing this, I didn't react much, but Li Damin seemed to think of something and asked, "Big Brother Peng, did this person know you before?"
Big Brother Peng shook his head. "Never met him in my life."
"Then how did he know you owned a company and ask for shares?"
Big Brother Peng said, "Hold on, let me finish."
At the time, Peng's son was furious and said, "As long as you save my dad, forget one-third, I'll give you half the company!" The stranger replied, "You said it—don't regret it." Then he got into the hearse and headed toward the crematorium.
The stranger made a peculiar request: he had to be alone with the body in the back of the hearse, and no one else was allowed. A bit of context here—in our area, every hospital has "one-stop funeral service" agents who linger around, handing out business cards to grieving families, promising to handle all funeral arrangements smoothly and send the deceased off properly.
These funeral services are closely tied to the crematorium, and the hearse is arranged through their connections. It might just be an old van, but not just anyone can ride in it. There's the crematorium driver, a funeral service agent, and one family member allowed to accompany the body. The driver stays in the front, while the agent and family member stay in the back with the coffin, escorting the body to the crematorium's cold storage for the final leg of the journey.
The stranger's request to be alone with the body in the back broke the rules. Before the funeral agent could object, Peng's son intervened. Though only a third-year college student, the young man was resolute and composed. He said, "There's no way I'm leaving my dad's body alone with a stranger. No offense, but what if you mess with his body back there? You can do whatever you need, but I have to be there to watch."
The stranger looked at Peng's son and said, "Alright, kid, don't regret this."
"There's nothing to regret. That's my dad," the son replied.
At this, Big Brother Peng's face lit up with pride. He tapped the ash off his cigarette. "I'm content in this life to have a son like him. He's usually a bit reckless, like a kid, but when it matters, he really steps up."
Since the family had no objections, the funeral agent and the driver were happy to stay out of it. They sat in the front—driver and co-driver—while the back held Peng's body, the stranger, and his son.
One more detail: when the funeral service collects a body, they use a coffin. I've seen it—it's not the large, red-lacquered coffins from rural areas or novels, with one end wider than the other. These are small, delicate coffins covered in yellow satin.
The yellow satin is adorned with dark, somber patterns of the Eight Trigrams or images of ascending to immortality, giving it an eerie, ominous vibe.
There's a ritual for placing the body in the coffin: cleaning the body, plugging the seven orifices with cotton, wrapping it in yellow silk, and then two strong men—one at the head, one at the feet—lift it into the coffin. Before sealing it, a family representative must call out, "XX, go in peace!"
But the stranger made another request: Big Brother Peng's body wasn't to be placed in a coffin. It should be laid on a stretcher and loaded into the hearse. Relatives and friends murmured among themselves, some urging Peng's wife and son not to let this mysterious stranger do as he pleased. "Old Peng died so suddenly—don't let him be disrespected in death." Peng's wife, a teacher but overwhelmed as a woman in such a situation, was at a loss. Her son, however, stood firm under immense pressure, fully cooperating with the stranger. "If my dad doesn't come back to life, we'll settle the score later."
Big Brother Peng's body, naked except for a white sheet, was lifted onto a stretcher and loaded into the hearse. The stranger and the son went in with it.
The hearse started up, roaring along the city highway toward the crematorium in the suburbs.
Other relatives and friends followed, some in private cars, others in taxis.
Li Damin, impatient, blurted out, "Big Brother Peng, what did that guy do to you in the back of the hearse?"
Big Brother Peng took a deep breath. "I've asked my son about that day countless times, but he won't talk. Ever since I came back, he's been in a bad state—his face always grim, barely smiling. He often locks himself in his room. I'm worried he's shutting down."
I blinked. "Could it be… he gave you his lifespan?"
Li Damin glared at me. "Don't talk nonsense!"
Big Brother Peng was stunned. "What do you mean, gave me his lifespan?"
Scratching my head, ignoring Li Damin's look, I said, "Your life was supposed to end, but to keep you alive, some master performed a ritual, borrowing your son's lifespan to extend yours…"
Big Brother Peng stared at me, then burst into laughter, tears streaming down his face. "Xiao Liu, you've got some imagination. That's the wildest thing I've ever heard."
I got a bit defensive. "It's not that far-fetched. You know about that bizarre case in XX, right? It shocked the whole country—a kid in the countryside was killed, hung from a beam with a weight tied around his neck…"
"Enough, shut up!" Li Damin frowned. "Don't go spreading rumors."
I wanted to say more, but Big Brother Peng waved it off. "Maybe there's some forbidden life-extending ritual out there, but that's not what happened to me. After I kept pressing him, my son finally told me what happened that day."
In the back of the hearse, a dim bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a faint, gloomy light. The body lay in the middle on the floor, with the stranger and the son sitting on opposite sides. For some reason, the cramped space was bone-chillingly cold, with an eerie chill that made the son shiver uncontrollably, lips pale, clutching his arms.
The stranger asked, "What's your father's name?"
"Peng Liang."
"Good. Listen to me. Now, hold your father's hand."
The body lay on the stretcher, the white sheet loosely covering it, one pale hand exposed. The son hesitated. Though it was his father's hand, it was still a dead man's. The instinctive fear of a corpse isn't something you shake off easily.
The stranger fixed him with a piercing gaze. "If you're too scared to hold it, get out."
The son gritted his teeth. "Fine, I'll do it." He crouched down and grasped his father's hand. It was ice-cold, stiff, like holding a block of ice, despite the body having only recently gone cold.
The stranger stood, pulling a black plastic bag from his inner pocket. With his back to the son and the dim light obscuring his actions, it wasn't clear what was in the bag. After some rustling, he pulled out three long incense sticks.
These weren't ordinary incense sticks. Though only the length of an adult's hand, they were thick and sturdy, a vivid reddish hue with what looked like curved patterns drawn on them.
He inserted the three sticks into a delicate incense burner, then casually lit a cigarette. The cigarette glowed as he exhaled a smoke ring, then used the cigarette to light the incense.
As the incense burned, it released a thin, cloying fragrance, somewhat like the smell of roasted pig's head.
The stranger glanced at his watch and muttered, "Still some time." He sat on the bench, closing his eyes to rest.
The son, anxious, said, "Are you going to save my dad or not? Why are you just sitting there?"
"There's no saving him yet. His soul hasn't reached…" The stranger trailed off, the last word spoken quickly and mumbled, not quite sounding like Chinese. The son didn't catch it clearly.
After a while, the stranger opened his eyes, checked his watch, and said, "It's about time."
He took a deep drag on his cigarette, cheeks puffed out, and approached the body. He lifted the white sheet, revealing Big Brother Peng's pale, lifeless face.
The son couldn't bear to look, turning away as tears welled up.
The stranger leaned down, face-to-face with the corpse, and slowly opened his mouth. He made a blowing motion, exhaling a stream of white smoke from his lips. The smoke, thick like cream, settled over Peng's face, seeping into his nostrils.
"What are you doing?" the son cried out in alarm.
The stranger ignored him, continuing to blow the smoke calmly.