My Years in the Funeral Industry

My name is Jiang Huai, and I was born in the land between the Yangtze and Huai Rivers.

That year, a rumor spread that I had spied on someone in the restroom, and I was expelled under pressure. When Grandfather heard, he didn’t go to confront anyone; instead, he muttered some strange, mystical words. Soon after, the two of us were thrown out of the gates.

Barely a few days after my expulsion, the other party in the rumor—Li Xuan—died!

According to my former friends, Li Xuan gave birth to a stillborn child in a public toilet, then bled from every orifice and died as well. Even those who saw her body had nightmares for several nights.

As the saying goes, when the living grieve, the dead are at peace. Li Xuan’s death brought new business to our family.

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Jianghuai Funeral Services.

Deep in the narrowest stretch of Three-Foot Alley, beneath a sign of ten flashing neon characters, stood three connected shopfronts—my family’s business.

Aside from the glass doors, which were reasonably clean, the rest of the windows were plastered with every kind of flyer imaginable.

“Nemesis of infertility.”

“Licensed locksmith.”

Most absurd of all, one flyer advertised both a house for rent and a reward for someone willing to bear a child.

I once asked Grandfather why he didn’t chase away those who posted these advertisements. He replied, “Everyone’s just trying to make a living. Life isn’t easy for anyone.” He told me that when he first opened the shop, he’d advertise at wedding banquets and in maternity wards.

He