Long, long ago, it is said that two mighty dragons soared across the skies of ancient Huaxia. One was a verdant green dragon, the other a brilliant yellow. They danced through the clouds, devoured mist, drew up oceans, and summoned rains. One day, weary from their endless flight, they descended to Earth. The green dragon transformed into the Yangtze River, and the yellow dragon became the Yellow River—surging endlessly through time, for millennia upon millennia.
The Yellow River, often revered as the Mother River of China, originates from the Bayan Har Mountains in Qinghai Province. It winds its way through nine provinces before finally pouring into the Bohai Sea. From a bird's eye view, the Yellow River appears like a giant, twisting "几" character—resembling a colossal, golden dragon coiling across the land.
As an old saying goes: "Live by the mountain, feed from the mountain; live by the water, feed from the water."
Those dwelling in mountainous regions mine coal and minerals; those among forests plant and fell trees. But for those living along the Yellow River, survival comes from ferrying and fishing. Yet beyond these common trades, two ancient and enigmatic professions emerged—steeped in legend and mystery. One was the Yellow River Workman, and the other was the Corpse Fisher of the Yellow River. Together, they were known simply as the Artisans of the Yellow River.
Let us first talk about the Yellow River Workman. Unlike typical river cleaners who remove mud and debris, these workmen tackled more arcane and disturbing matters—strange remnants of the river's deep history.
The Yellow River, ancient and vast, conceals countless secrets. No one truly knows what bizarre things may lie beneath its turbulent waters. Most of the time, they stay buried at the bottom, but during floods or droughts, some of these oddities break the surface.
For instance, after the catastrophic 1998 flood, many peculiar things surfaced along the river.
In Shanxi Province, ferry accidents became alarmingly frequent. Witnesses claimed to see a massive green fish, as large as a truck cab, lurking beneath the surface. Whenever a ferry crossed, the creature rammed it fiercely, capsizing the boat. Strangely, none of the victims' bodies were ever recovered—they simply vanished. Locals believed the monstrous fish had devoured them. With no other solution, the matter was reported to the Yellow River Conservancy Commission, which dispatched a team of Yellow River Workmen.
They arrived on a steel boat, but brought no fishing tools. Instead, they carried two holds filled with small, live fish, each the size of a palm. Sailing to the area where the creature had been seen, they dumped the live fish into the river, clapped their hands, and quietly left.
Curiously, the waters calmed from that day forward. The monstrous green fish was never seen again, as if it had sunk back into the river's dark depths with the swirling silt.
The 1998 flood also caused breaches across many sections of the river. While reinforcing the banks near Zhengzhou, workers discovered a massive white serpent. It measured over ten meters long and was as thick as a water barrel—pure white from head to tail, like Bai Suzhen from the legend The Legend of the White Snake. Many villagers came to worship the snake, believing it to be a celestial being.
But the snake refused to leave. No matter how hard the workers tried, it remained. The foreman eventually lost patience and gave the kill order. He and several workers used a heavy excavator to chop the creature into pieces, then set the remains ablaze. Oddly, instead of a foul smell, the air filled with a sweet, fragrant scent.
Many condemned the foreman's brutal act. Some warned that he and his crew would face supernatural retribution.
And, as if cursed, misfortunes began to unfold.
First, a worker dropped dead unexpectedly on site. Then, two others committed suicide by jumping into the river during the night—without warning, and their bodies were never found.
But the most terrifying event happened to the foreman himself. His wife gave birth to a baby girl, but to everyone's horror, the newborn had a forked tongue—like a snake's red tongue flicking out. While other children learned to walk, the girl never stood; instead, she slithered across the floor, twisting her body and hissing eerily, terrifying the neighbors. She became known as the Snake Girl, and was even featured in news stories.
The mighty Yellow River flows on, carrying with it an endless stream of strange and uncanny tales. That ends our brief look into the lives of the Yellow River Workmen. Now, we shift our focus to the other, even more legendary profession—the Corpse Fishers of the Yellow River.
Also nicknamed River Ghosts, these men earned their chilling title from working daily among the dead.
As the name suggests, their livelihood was fishing corpses from the river.
The Yellow River, while giving life to millions, has also claimed countless souls. Some were children swept away while playing, others were victims of boat accidents, suicides, or even murdered and dumped into the river. The types of corpses were as varied as they were tragic.
And so, the profession of corpse fishing emerged. Their role was to retrieve bodies from the river, for which grieving families would pay handsomely. Sometimes, families actively sought their help to search for a missing loved one—these cases cost even more.
This profession has long stirred public debate. Some see it as unethical, exploiting grief by charging for the return of a body. Others argue that it's hard-earned labor, and that these men deserve compensation. In fact, many believe corpse fishers perform a noble act by helping the dead find peace.
Personally, I believe any trade that doesn't involve crime or cruelty deserves respect. Those living in luxury can never understand the sheer hardship of those struggling to survive.
Moreover, corpse fishing is not a trade one can simply walk into. You can't just hop on a boat and expect to make a living fishing out bodies. Even if you succeed, misfortune may follow—if you aren't truly prepared.
Like all ancient trades, this one comes with a strict set of customs, taboos, and rituals—some bizarre, all deeply rooted in generations of experience, often paid for with blood. Believe them or not, they are to be followed.
First, a corpse fisher must be born under yin fate and possess the water element in their Five Elements. Only such individuals are believed to have strong enough fate to avoid being dragged under by vengeful river spirits.
Second, only men can become corpse fishers. Women, being yin by nature, are more vulnerable to the yin energy of the dead—leading to illness or worse.
A corpse fisher may train only one apprentice in his lifetime. The initiation is grim: the apprentice must soak in a "corpse pool" filled with real bodies for seven days and nights, to rid themselves of all fear of death.
This "corpse pool" isn't used for black magic. When a body is fished out and the family doesn't immediately claim it, the corpse must be preserved. So corpse fishers keep them in these pools, shaded and cool, and treat them with a special embalming solution—ensuring the bodies remain as intact as when first recovered.
When a corpse fisher dies, he must be buried in the river—water burial. His remains are offered to the fish and shrimp, symbolizing the merging of his soul with the Yellow River.
Beyond the rules, there are many taboos. Though they may seem strange, these customs are grounded in hard-earned wisdom.
For example: never fish during thunderstorms. If a corpse slips away three times, it must not be pursued again. Before each outing, offerings must be made to the River King—including a large red rooster. When the boat returns, the rooster's throat is slit, and its body offered to the river—a ritual tribute.
Now you may ask: how do I know so much about this mysterious trade? I won't hide it—my grandfather, Tuoba Lie, was a real, honest-to-goodness corpse fisher. Our Tuoba family is well-known along the ancient Yellow River path as "River Ghosts."
A few years ago, a set of viral images claimed to show corpse fishers, sparking fierce debate online. When I told my grandfather about it, he fumed: "Those aren't real corpse fishers! They're charlatans! It's scum like them who ruined our name!"
Let me set the record straight: a true corpse fisher would never throw unclaimed bodies back into the river. They revere the dead. When a family comes to identify a body, the fisher will slaughter a red rooster and host them with respect—an act known as driving out misfortune. If no one comes for a corpse, the body is eventually cremated after a brief ritual, and the ashes are scattered in the river.
Before our story begins, I'd like to leave you with this thought:
"Respect the corpse fishers of the Yellow River—for they are the ones who help lost souls find their way home."
My name is Tuoba Gu.
It's said that during the Northern Wei dynasty, the Tuoba family was part of the aristocracy. But with time and the fall of dynasties, our once-proud lineage fell into ruin, scattered across the land. Somehow, our ancestors ended up in Hezi Village near Sanmenxia, where they settled by the Yellow River for generations. Because of that, our connection to the river runs deep.
I never knew exactly when our ancestors became corpse fishers of the Yellow River. I only know that by the time the craft reached my grandfather, it was no longer passed down. He had intended to teach my father the trade, but tragedy struck—my father died in a boating accident before he could learn, leaving behind a clueless little boy and a mother broken by grief. My father's death devastated my mother. She sank into sorrow, and two years later, she too passed away, following him into the afterlife.
It was my grandfather who raised me, all by himself. Because I had no parents, he named me "Gu," which means orphan.
Since no one could watch over me, Grandpa always brought me along on his corpse-fishing trips.
I remember one summer when I was seven, I accompanied him on a job. That day, he was hired to recover the body of a little girl who had drowned in Panshi Village upstream. Her grieving parents had begged him for help.
Before setting out, Grandpa brought along a bright red rooster. He chopped off its head and splattered the blood over the deck, chanting strange words:
"Oh mighty king… protect your descendants… you are the eternal spirit… let the wandering souls go home… grant us a safe path along the ancient Yellow River… yi ya yo… yi ya yo…"
Kneeling beside him, I mimicked his tune, trying to sound just like him.
After the chant, he stuck burning incense sticks into a bowl of sticky white rice. He placed the rooster's head at the bow, bowed three times in deep reverence, then sank the rice and rooster into the river. It was an ancient rite—corpse fishers had to pay tribute to the Yellow River King before every trip, to ensure safe passage.
The sun that summer was merciless, scorching everything it touched. Our little black-curtained boat offered some shade, and Grandpa told me to hide under the canopy while he sat outside, motionless, puffing on his dry tobacco pipe. His skin was dark as coal—sun-scorched from years on the water.
We set off in the afternoon, and by dusk, we finally spotted the girl's body. She had bloated from soaking too long, and her clothes had likely been washed away. Naked and swollen, she drifted like a pale little piglet on the current.
Grandpa paddled the boat closer, took out his corpse net, and stared intensely at the floating body. That net was said to be passed down from our ancestors. It looked like a scoop, with a long peachwood pole and a large black mesh net tied at the end. So many hands had gripped that pole that it was worn dark and shiny. Strange patterns—what Grandpa called "corpse-binding runes"—were carved into it.
But the net itself was anything but ordinary. It had been woven from the hair of virgin girls, soaked in black dog's blood for three days and nights, then dried under the sun for forty-nine days. Only with such preparation could the net suppress the deadly energy on a corpse, preventing it from turning violent during retrieval.
The girl's body was quickly pushed toward our boat by the current. I held my breath and watched as Grandpa raised the net high, swung it skillfully, and dipped it into the water with precision. In one smooth motion, he scooped her out and laid her body on a black grass mat.
The stench was overwhelming. I pinched my nose, nearly gagging.
Grandpa was unfazed. He crouched down, studied her bloated face, and sighed heavily.
"So young… poor child."
He pulled a yellow talisman from his coat. I recognized it—it was a corpse-binding charm, drawn in red cinnabar ink. Grandpa always prepared a few before a job. According to him, these talismans kept the corpse still and prevented sudden reanimation.
Smack!
He pressed the talisman firmly onto her forehead. Then he folded the grass mat skillfully, wrapping her gently to shield her from the sun, and laid her inside the canopy.
I'd seen corpses before, but I was still just a kid. Having one so close made me nervous, and I begged Grandpa to head home.
The moon was beginning to rise. Grandpa paddled the boat gently—night corpse fishing was taboo because of the heavy yin energy. It could bring misfortune. Yellow River corpse fishers always returned before dark.
He hummed a tune while rowing. The oar sliced through the water with a gentle splash. He seemed in good spirits—the retrieval had gone smoothly, and giving the girl back to her family was a good deed.
Suddenly, soft crying echoed over the river.
Grandpa stopped rowing, listening intently. The sound was distant yet haunting, sorrowful and eerie, as if coming from nowhere—and everywhere. It didn't sound human.
I had been dozing in the canopy, but the sound woke me. My heart pounded.
Looking around, the river was empty except for our little boat. So where was the crying coming from? Could it be… from beneath the water?
I turned to Grandpa, scared. His face was stern, and he began rowing faster without a word.
But the crying only grew louder. It multiplied, as though many voices were weeping from the riverbed—mournful, heart-wrenching cries that made my skin crawl.
And then, through the chaos, I thought I heard them say,
"Hungry… we're so hungry…"
And just like that, something even stranger happened—the water turned blood red. Whirlpools appeared, and from within them, pale skeletal hands reached out.
I was so terrified I couldn't breathe. I burst into tears, screaming.
"Don't be scared, child!" Grandpa shoved an old copper coin into my palm.
It was ancient, covered in green corrosion like moss. A red string threaded through its square hole. Cold to the touch. I didn't know why he gave it to me, but I clutched it tightly, too afraid to speak. My hands and body trembled uncontrollably.
Grandpa flung open his coat and began rowing furiously, his oar spinning like a wheel. But no matter how hard he rowed, the whirlpools held our boat in place. We just kept circling inside that red-tinted water.
Then, clumps of hair began surfacing from beneath the boat—long, black strands floating upward. Where did they come from? I couldn't think straight. My mind had gone blank.
The hair slithered up the sides of the boat like living vines, coiling and climbing. My scalp went numb. I nearly fainted.
"Grandpa… Grandpa…" I shook with fear, my voice cracking.
Grandpa's face was grim.
"Listen to me, child. I have to go underwater. Stay inside the boat. No matter what you hear or see, do not make a sound. Understand?"
I bit my lip and nodded.
"Good boy. Don't be afraid." Grandpa tore off his coat and dove into the bloody water.
The sky darkened. A cold wind rose. I hugged myself, trembling. I was all alone on the boat… except for the dead girl's body. That thought made me glance back. She was less than two meters away, wrapped in the mat—but I could still see her pale, swollen face. Mud and sand leaked from her ears and nose. The corpse charm fluttered in the breeze.
I felt like she was smiling at me.
I turned away, too scared to look again.
The crying had stopped. The river fell silent. Grandpa never resurfaced—not even a ripple remained. My heart pounded. What if he had drowned? He was all I had left.
Tears streamed down my face.
Then suddenly, the silence was broken by the clanging of gongs—clang, clang, clang.
I gasped and leaned over the edge, trying to see into the water. But it was too dark, too murky. A black haze swirled beneath the surface.
And then… the gongs fell silent.
The blood in the water began to fade.
Above, a crescent moon rose. My clothes were soaked with sweat. And I was still waiting.
After a long while, I finally snapped out of my fear and shouted at the empty river, "Grandpa! Grandpa! Where are you?"
Splash!
Grandpa clambered back onto the boat from the stern, soaking wet, water dripping from every part of him. He looked utterly exhausted but still managed a weak wave at me.
"Boy, let's go home!"
He never told me what exactly was under the water that night. From then on, though, he rarely brought me along on corpse-fishing trips. A few times I insisted on going with him, only to be sternly scolded and driven off the boat.
Eventually, Grandpa urged me to focus on my studies. He wanted me to leave Hezi Village when I grew up and live a better life. To build my resilience, he even sent me to study martial arts at Songshan Shaolin Temple when I turned twelve—I trained there for two whole years.
Maybe kids without parents just grow up faster. I studied hard and, by eighteen, was admitted to a prestigious university in the northwest. Having grown up around odd and eerie things, I developed a strong interest in the mysterious, so I chose archaeology as my major. I became a student of the famous Professor Ye Sheng, a well-known figure in northwest Chinese archaeology.
Professor Ye saw promise in me—probably because I was hardworking and had a natural instinct for archaeology. Despite being in my twenties, I had already gained significant field experience. Besides me, Professor Ye had another key assistant: Gu Meidi.
Technically, Gu Meidi was my junior—we graduated from the same university, but she was a year behind me. She was incredibly knowledgeable, versed in astronomy, history, geography, and biology. Her photographic memory earned her the nickname "the walking encyclopedia." On top of that, she was no slouch physically either—rumor had it she held a fourth-dan black belt in Taekwondo.
But what really made her famous—at least in university gossip—was her so-called "ghost eye," the supposed ability to see spirits. Whether or not that was true, no one could say for sure.
That day, we were assisting Professor Ye at a dig site near an ancient tomb in Zhengzhou. By the time work wrapped up, the sky had turned crimson, sunset streaks flowing like silk across the horizon. We had just returned to the rest tent when a team member approached me.
"Comrade Tuoba Gu, you're finally back! Your phone's been ringing all day. I ended up answering it for you—it was your grandfather. He said it's urgent and told you to call him back as soon as you returned!"
I was a bit puzzled. Grandpa rarely called me, knowing how busy I was. What could be so urgent that he'd break that rule today? A strange unease stirred in my chest.
After a long series of dial tones, I finally heard Grandpa's hoarse voice:
"Hello?"
"It's me, Grandpa," I said. "I just got back from the dig. You sounded anxious—what's going on?"
There was a pause, then Grandpa spoke slowly.
"Xiao Gu… can you come home for a bit?"
I hesitated. "I'm swamped these next few days. Could you tell me what this is about first?"
After a brief silence, Grandpa said, "A couple of days ago, I pulled something strange out of the Yellow River. Something… not right."
I blinked. "Something strange? What was it?"
Then Grandpa asked abruptly, "Xiao Gu, have you ever seen a coffin?"
I chuckled. "Come on, Grandpa—I study archaeology. I've probably seen more coffins than women!"
Grandpa lowered his voice. "But have you ever seen a coffin… hidden inside a tortoise shell?"
"What?" I was stunned. "A coffin… inside a tortoise shell?"
"That's right. I've spent most of my life on the Yellow River, and I've never seen anything like it. It gave me the chills. I figured, since you're studying archaeology, maybe you should come back and take a look."
To be honest, I'd seen all kinds of coffins—stone ones, jade ones, octagonal, anthropoid… buried underground, sunk in rivers, even hidden inside tree trunks. But a coffin hidden in a tortoise shell? That was completely new to me. The more Grandpa described it, the more intrigued I became.
"Did you open it?" I asked.
"No," Grandpa replied. "It didn't feel right, so I left it alone."
"Okay," I said. "Don't touch it again until I get there. I'll come home as soon as I can."
After hanging up, Professor Ye walked over and asked, "What's going on?"
"I've got to head home for a few days. Something happened," I said.
He patted my shoulder. "You rarely ask for time off during fieldwork. It must be serious. Mind telling me what happened?"
Professor Ye and I were more than just mentor and student—he was like family. So I told him the truth. "My grandfather said he pulled a strange coffin from the Yellow River. He wants me to go check it out."
"A strange coffin?" Professor Ye frowned.
I nodded. "Very strange. According to my grandfather, the coffin was… inside a tortoise shell."
Professor Ye's expression changed slightly. "A coffin inside a tortoise shell? I've never heard of such a thing. This might be beyond you alone. I'll have Gu Meidi accompany you."
I quickly declined. "No need to trouble her. I can handle it. Things are already busy enough here—she should stay and help you."
Professor Ye insisted. "Don't underestimate this. I'll feel better if she goes with you. There's not much left here I can't manage. Captain Li's team can assist."
With that, he called Gu Meidi over. "Gu Meidi, I've got a task for you—go home with Tuoba Gu."
"Huh?" she blinked in confusion. "Go home with him? What for?"
"To dig," Professor Ye replied with a smile. "Archaeology."
With the professor making it clear, I couldn't refuse anymore. I packed quickly. A provincial archaeology team jeep dropped us at the train station.
In the early morning hours, we boarded a train bound for Sanmenxia. I couldn't sleep—my mind kept drifting back to the bizarre coffin. The train rumbled through the night as I stared blankly into the pitch-black sky.
"How long is the ride to your place?" Gu Meidi asked.
"About five or six hours to Sanmenxia city. Then we'll catch a long-distance bus to the county, and finally a minivan into the village."
"Hold on!" She rubbed her temples. "Good grief, just hearing that gives me a headache. How remote is this place of yours?!"
I gave her an apologetic smile. "I told you, you didn't have to come. Professor Ye insisted."
She stretched lazily and said with a smile, "Well, I've been working nonstop lately. A little getaway sounds good. But now that I think about it… what exactly am I going home with you for? What did Professor Ye mean by archaeology? What happened at your place? You should probably fill me in. I'm not following you blindly."
With all her questions piling up, I gave in and told her, "A few days ago, my grandpa pulled a coffin from the Yellow River."
"A coffin?" she raised an eyebrow. "What, was there treasure inside?"
"No, not at all," I shook my head. "Let me finish. This isn't an ordinary coffin—it was hidden inside a tortoise shell."
"What?!" Gu Meidi's jaw dropped. For someone as well-read as her, this was clearly something new.
"Grandpa thinks the thing is cursed or unnatural. That's why he wants me to check it out."
She stared at me, puzzled. "Okay, but… what does your grandpa actually do? How did he even find a coffin in the river? Is he a fisherman?"
I laughed and shook my head. "Not quite. He has a very unusual profession—he's a corpse fisher on the Yellow River."
"What?! Wait, what?!" Gu Meidi rubbed her ears in disbelief. "A… corpse fisher? Is that even a real job?"
"Yup," I said. "He helps families retrieve drowned bodies from the river. That's what he's done all his life."
She blinked. "Okay… that makes a little more sense now."
Woooooo—
With a long whistle, the train finally pulled into Sanmenxia Station.
I stood up, stretched, and instinctively reached out to hold Gu Meidi's hand as we got off the train—just to keep from getting separated in the crowd.
The morning sun bathed the station in a soft glow. The crisscrossing rails shimmered under the light, whispering forgotten tales of the past.
As we walked out of the station, I turned and asked if she wanted some breakfast. But Gu Meidi just stood behind me, cheeks flushed red.
"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned. "You feeling okay?"
She glanced at me shyly. "How long are you planning to hold my hand?"
"Oh! Sorry—my bad!" I quickly let go, scratching my head in embarrassment. I swear, I didn't mean anything inappropriate. It was just instinct, given the crowd.
I expected her to scold me. Instead, she leaned in and whispered in my ear,
"This wouldn't happen to be the first time you've held a girl's hand… would it?"
Red-faced, I dashed off. "I'll go buy us some breakfast!"
Honestly, I'd never had any romantic thoughts about Gu Meidi before. But after that moment, my heart started thumping like crazy. I had to admit—yes, it was my first time holding a girl's hand. And hers was soft, warm, and… unforgettable.
Around midday, we finally arrived back at Hezi Village.
Hezi was a small, unremarkable fishing village on the banks of the Yellow River. Most of the villagers made their living from fishing. The ancient Yellow River flowed right past the outskirts, roaring softly like a song that had echoed through five thousand years of Chinese civilization.
Walking along the narrow ridges between the fields, a breeze from the river blew gently against my face. The air carried a damp, earthy scent. There was none of the noise or glitz of the big cities here—only a quiet calm and peace. After spending too long among steel and concrete, stepping into this countryside untouched by the hustle of modern life felt like a purification of the soul. The restless mind found stillness; the heart, a breath of clarity.
Gu Meidi stretched her arms and said cheerfully, "It's been ages since I breathed such clean air. Tuoba Gu, whenever you've got time, you should bring me to the countryside more often!"
"Sure, absolutely," I mumbled in reply, not sure if there was a hidden meaning behind her words.
In recent years, the government had been ramping up rural development, and even remote places like Hezi Village had seen newly built housing. These modern homes, designed and constructed by the authorities, resembled garden villas—clean and stylish.
Our family had also built a new house a couple of years ago. But Grandpa couldn't bear to leave the old place, so the new house had remained empty until now. In honor of my return, Grandpa had opened it up today and set out a table of fine food and wine in the garden.
"You're finally home, little Gu!" Grandpa put down his long-stemmed tobacco pipe and welcomed me with a wide grin.
Before I could say anything, Gu Meidi had already stepped forward and introduced herself warmly, "Hello, Grandpa! My name is Gu Meidi, I'm Tuoba Gu's colleague."
"Nice, nice!" Grandpa narrowed his eyes as he looked her up and down, then suddenly blurted out, "You're little Gu's girlfriend, aren't you?"
"Huh?!" I blinked, about to explain, but Gu Meidi was faster: "Grandpa, you're sharp! You figured it out right away!" As she spoke, she boldly hooked her arm through mine. I nearly tripped on the spot.
Grandpa's face lit up like a blooming flower. "Little Gu, you've got great fortune, huh! Come in, come in, my future granddaughter-in-law. I've made you a feast!"
Grandpa cheerfully went inside. My cheeks were burning with heat. I turned to Gu Meidi and whispered, "Why… why'd you say you're my girlfriend?"
She replied casually, "I didn't want to let the old man down. And besides, with that country-bumpkin face of yours, having someone like me pretend to be your girlfriend—you're making a killing."
"You…" I rubbed my face. Damn it. What part of me looks like a farm boy? At least I resemble Andy Lau, right?
But truth be told, Gu Meidi really was stunning. Back in college, she was voted one of the top ten beauties, the campus goddess of the archaeology department, and the dream girl of many. Though a northern girl, she had the delicate, graceful features of the south, with porcelain skin so flawless it almost glowed. The word "beautiful" truly suited her.
Lunch was lavish. For people like us, used to rough meals on the road, it had been ages since we'd eaten like this. Grandpa was an amazing cook, and Gu Meidi couldn't stop praising the food—she was practically licking her bowl clean.
Grandpa brought out a jar of aged huadiao wine. "Come on, future granddaughter-in-law, share a drink with this old man?"
"Gladly!" Gu Meidi was as bold as any northern girl.
He poured her a full blue-and-white porcelain bowl.
Gu Meidi picked it up and examined it. "Grandpa, this bowl's quite the treasure. If I'm not mistaken, it's a royal bowl from the Kangxi period of the Qing Dynasty, right?"
Grandpa clapped with delight. "You're amazing! What a smart girl!"
Gu Meidi chuckled, "You flatter me, Grandpa. It's just part of the job. Cheers!"
The two hit it off quickly, chatting away like old friends, draining that whole jar of wine between them. I sat there, feeling more like an outsider than the host.
After the meal, Gu Meidi insisted on cleaning up. I stayed behind with Grandpa, sipping tea beneath the grape arbor in the garden.
Grandpa took a slow sip, smiling with satisfaction. "That girl's wonderful—beautiful, well-mannered, well-educated, and hardworking. What's that poem… 'Such beauty must have come from heaven; rarely does one see it here on earth!'"
Grandpa hadn't had much schooling, but he loved poetry and often wrote verses of his own. He was also an avid calligrapher. His brushwork was well-known around the village—any weddings or funerals, big or small, everyone asked him to inscribe something. He often said, "People assume our line of work lacks culture. That's why I study hard—to better myself and change their narrow view of us."
After some small talk, I finally brought up what I really wanted to ask. "Grandpa, I remember you hadn't gone out on the river for a couple of years. What made you change your mind and go again recently?"
He lit half a dried tobacco stick and puffed deeply. "Someone asked for my help."
"Oh? Must've paid you a handsome fee, right?"
Grandpa was still well-known along the Yellow River. Normally, people who invited him personally would pay a good amount. But in recent years, due to his age, he rarely went out. So if he had taken the job, it must've been for a significant price.
To my surprise, Grandpa said, "Nope. I didn't take a cent this time."
"What?" I looked at him in disbelief. "Not a single coin? Why not?"
He exhaled a puff of smoke and spoke slowly, "Remember what I always told you? In life, some things matter more than money. Half a month ago, a couple from Yuncheng, Shanxi, came looking for me. They'd lost their son to the river and wanted my help. Their story broke my heart. The father used to be a miner but lost a leg in an accident. The mother farmed alone in the village. Their son, barely in his teens, dropped out of school to support them. He worked hauling sand at the river's edge, overworked and exhausted. One misstep, and he fell into the river—vanished without a trace. After heavy rains upstream, they figured the body had drifted downstream. So they came to me. When I heard their story, I agreed to help—free of charge."
I looked at Grandpa with admiration. This—this was what being a Yellow River corpse fisher truly meant. A quiet kind of nobility, a humanity that modern society often seemed to lack.
I asked softly, "Did you find the boy?"
Grandpa answered with a question of his own, "What do you think? I'm a Yellow River corpse fisher—if I accept a job, I finish it. The kid was in terrible shape when I found him, swollen like a pale cocoon. But I brought him up and placed him in the corpse preservation tank. His parents will come to take him home in a few days."
I nodded. "And what about that turtle-shaped coffin?"
"That was from my second outing. I went out three times—the boy was found on the third trip. But on the second, just as I was about to head back, I saw something floating—a dark shell on the water. Thought it was a thousand-year-old turtle spirit. But when I hauled it in, I realized… it wasn't a turtle. It was a coffin hidden inside a turtle shell."
I put my teacup down. "Where is it now?"
"In the backyard of the old house. I'll show you after this."
Once Gu Meidi had finished cleaning up, we followed Grandpa to the old house across from the new one. Just a narrow path between fields separated them.
Back when people were poor, homes were made from whatever was available—yellow earth packed into bricks from the riverbank, roofs topped with tiles or straw. We called them "mud houses."
As soon as we opened the gate, a chill breeze swept through, rustling a few fallen leaves.
Grandpa said to Gu Meidi, "Future granddaughter-in-law, this place is thick with yin energy. Maybe you should wait outside?"
Gu Meidi smiled, "Don't worry, Grandpa. I'm a trained archaeologist. I've been in tombs far more haunted than this. Besides, I'd love to see what that turtle-coffin looks like."
We passed through the central room and entered the backyard, where the strange coffin lay in silence.
Gu Meidi and I put on sterile gloves and each picked up a special archaeological cleaning brush.
The turtle coffin was nearly two meters long and about a meter high. Two enormous turtle shells—each the size of a table—covered the top and bottom, encasing a jet-black coffin that radiated an ominous stillness. The whole thing resembled a massive clam. Strangely, despite years submerged in the river, the coffin showed no signs of decay.
I asked Grandpa to bring a basin of clean water. I added chemical agents into it, turning the liquid an icy blue. We dipped our brushes in and began gently scrubbing the mud and moss from the shell's surface.
The courtyard was still. Occasionally, the chirp of an insect from the grass outside deepened the eerie silence.
The sun blazed on our backs, sweat rolling down our faces.
Working together, Gu Meidi and I slowly revealed the true form of the turtle shell atop the coffin.