Chapter 27: Floating Corpse

As he spoke, Professor Liu’s expression darkened, his face clouded with sorrow. “Fourteen lives,” he murmured, “just like that, lost to the depths of this reservoir. Not even their bodies can be recovered.”

The bus uncle pondered for a moment before asking, “So now you dare not send anyone to dive for the bodies, and instead you’re trying to drain the reservoir completely?”

Professor Liu nodded. He explained that the matter had attracted the highest attention. East Gate Village, he said, had been abandoned for twenty years, the reservoir left unused just as long. Now, with such tragedy unfolding, the authorities had granted permission to divert water and drain the reservoir. In recovering the fourteen bodies, they must also uncover whatever secrets lie beneath the water.

I gazed at the vast reservoir outside the tent. “With a body of water this size, draining it must be no easy task. How long have you been at it?”

“Nearly two months,” he replied.

I was stunned. “How can that be? After two months of draining, the water looks untouched!”

Professor Liu’s brow furrowed deeper. “That’s exactly my worry. It’s as if beneath the reservoir, a hidden river flows—the water never runs out, no matter how much we drain. Not even a hint of depletion, despite two months’ effort. And there’s something even stranger.”

“What else?” Bus uncle inquired.

“The water is changing,” Professor Liu answered. “At first, the reservoir was green. Half a month into draining, it turned yellow and turbid—we thought perhaps the mud below had been stirred. But a month ago, it started to turn black. Now, red streaks appear amidst the black water!”

“Let’s take a look,” bus uncle interrupted, striding out of the tent.

Standing at the reservoir’s edge, I saw for myself—the water was indeed black and red, eerily unsettling. The longer I stared, the more anxious I felt, a vague sense of unease gnawing at my heart.

Professor Liu stood beside us, asking again if we were from East Gate Village, if we knew what had happened there. He shared that he’d checked the village records; twenty years ago, over three hundred villagers vanished overnight. “Is it true?” he pressed.

Instantly, the story bus uncle had told me flashed through my mind—three hundred villagers, all leaping into the reservoir in a single night. I was about to explain when bus uncle stopped me.

He glanced at the water, then fixed Professor Liu with a grave look. “I know how to make those fourteen bodies surface, but once they’re found, you must promise me one thing.”

Professor Liu’s eyes brightened. “What is it? Tell me your method!”

“Promise me first.”

“What do you want?”

“Once the bodies are recovered, you must leave immediately, unconditionally, and never return to this reservoir.”

Professor Liu hesitated, thinking it over. “Why? We have a duty to uncover the secrets beneath this water.”

“You’re from the Geological Survey, not the Paranormal Investigation Bureau!” Bus uncle’s voice turned cold, startling Professor Liu—and even I felt a chill.

After a long pause, Professor Liu finally nodded. “I agree. What do you want to do?”

Bus uncle answered, “Call the families of the deceased. Have them bring one shoe for each victim, with their names and birthdates written on every shoe.”

With that, bus uncle fell silent. Both Professor Liu and I were taken aback. “Is that all?”

“What else?” bus uncle replied, then asked Professor Liu to arrange a tent for us to rest in overnight.

That night, Professor Liu followed bus uncle’s instructions, contacting the families to collect a shoe for each victim and sending someone back to the city to fetch them. Bus uncle and I spent the night in the tent.

I was anxious. We’d been led here by the female ghost, hoping to rescue Wang Feiyang, but neither she nor Wang Feiyang were anywhere to be found at the location shown in the photograph.

I suggested searching the village, but bus uncle refused. He insisted we deal with the reservoir first—once everyone left, we could enter the village. If we encountered the ghost now, none of these people would survive.

As for Wang Feiyang’s fate, it was out of our hands. If the ghost intended to kill him, even entering now wouldn’t save him; if not, another day would make no difference.

As we lay down, I asked bus uncle if the deaths in the survey team were related to the mass drowning of the villagers twenty years ago, and if he knew what secrets were hidden beneath the reservoir.

Bus uncle frowned. “Perhaps. More than that, I suspect the ghost’s ultimate purpose is tied to the secret below.”

I glanced at the reservoir outside. Nothing could be seen in the darkness, but a cold shiver ran through me, as if unseen eyes watched from the center of the water.

The next day at noon, the person Professor Liu had sent to fetch the shoes returned with a black bag containing fourteen mismatched shoes, each labeled with the deceased’s name and birthdate.

Bus uncle instructed them to lay the shoes neatly on the reservoir’s embankment. Then, he began to recite the names and birthdates written on each shoe, one by one.

After finishing, bus uncle chanted a string of incantations we couldn’t understand. At last, he pointed to the center of the reservoir and shouted, “Han Lian! Rise, come home!”

Han Lian must have been one of the victims. About a minute after his shout, cries of astonishment erupted—the sight stunned me. In the reservoir’s center, a pale, swollen corpse slowly surfaced, floating toward the shore.

The embankment was thrown into chaos. No one could believe their eyes. After all their efforts, they had failed to recover a single body, yet bus uncle had brought one up so effortlessly.

Bus uncle did not stop. He continued to call the names, and soon another body floated up, drifting to the shore.

In about ten minutes, eleven bodies were floating on the water’s surface. Professor Liu’s team began retrieving them, too excited to notice a crucial detail.

These bodies had been dead for at least two months. Normally, after so long underwater, fish and shrimp would have devoured them, leaving only bones. But these corpses, apart from being swollen and pale, showed no signs of having been eaten.

Faced with such an eerie scene, I wanted to ask bus uncle what was happening, but his gaze silenced me.

At last, bus uncle used this method to recover all fourteen bodies. Professor Liu and his colleagues thanked us profusely, but bus uncle only said, “Now that you’ve found the bodies, take them and leave this place at once.”

Unexpectedly, Professor Liu hesitated, as if he wanted to go back on his word.

Bus uncle frowned, reading his intentions. “You’re not planning to leave?”

“This matter is extraordinary,” Professor Liu replied. “Forgive me for breaking my promise. We’re grateful you recovered the bodies, but we must uncover the secret beneath this reservoir.”

Bus uncle’s face darkened. He seized Professor Liu’s collar. “If you value your lives, leave now! Do you know what happened here twenty years ago? On this very embankment, over three hundred villagers of East Gate Village marched together, all perishing in this reservoir.”