Geisteraktien

Kapitel 1

This book is from , a free TXT novel download site.

For more updated free ebooks, please visit

tailor

Old Fu wielded his long, gleaming silver scissors, skillfully cutting the colorful fabric in his hands. The scraps of fabric fluttered around like flower petals, then silently landed on the table, stools, and floor, and a brand new garment was finished.

I. Rules for threading a needle

Old Fu was a renowned tailor in the capital, his skills considered unparalleled. From high-ranking officials to ordinary people, everyone frequented his shop. However, Old Fu had six rules for making clothes:

1. Clothes are only made for the dead; the living need not apply.

Second, the family members must inform the deceased of the true cause of death and must not conceal it; otherwise, they will bear the consequences.

Third, the fabric for the clothes worn by the dead was personally selected by Lao Fu, and the style was also decided by Lao Fu.

Fourth, during the period when Lao Fu is making clothes, the family must place the deceased in Lao Fu's shop so that Lao Fu can personally take measurements and cut the clothes.

Fifth, during the period when Lao Fu is having his clothes made, his family members are not allowed to come to the store to cause any interference. They can only come to pick up the goods on the delivery date.

VI. When the deceased is brought to the hospital, the family should also prepare offerings such as paper money, incense, and candles for the deceased.

Making clothes for the dead? Isn't that just making funeral clothes? Some people said dismissively, but Lao Fu's business was booming, with a constant stream of customers.

Old Fu was skilled at preserving corpses, so even if a body sat in his shop for a month or two, it wouldn't mold or rot. Since he was so adept at preserving corpses, why didn't he open a coffin shop or another business? The reason is simple: Old Fu's skill in making clothes for the dead was unmatched.

Old Fu was born with a pair of delicate, fair, and skillful hands, like a woman's hands. It was these hands that filled his purse with silver, so he cared most about these hands. He often bought women's special oils to maintain them. Although his hands would leave a strong fragrance, often attracting strange looks from passersby, he didn't care at all. He only cared about these hands, these hands that made money.

Old Rich had a unique way of making clothes for the dead. He would make all sorts of clothes in various colors according to the age of the deceased, whether they were male or female, young or old. He had a special pair of silver scissors, and all his clothes were made with these scissors. He also had a collection of numbered sewing needles, in various sizes suitable for everything from children to the elderly. In short, Old Rich's leather pouch contained all kinds of fine sewing needles of different lengths.

Every time Old Fu sewed new clothes, he would lock himself in that airtight wooden hut, light the incense and candles sent with the dead, offer the paper money specifically for the deceased, and drink a few mouthfuls of fine yellow wine. When everything was almost ready, Old Fu would wield his special large silver scissors, cutting through the fabric he had chosen, and a fine new garment would quickly emerge from his hands.

The next step is where Old Rich's true skill lies. Whenever he cuts out a new garment, he personally puts it on a dead person. Then he opens his leather pouch, selects a suitable sewing needle for the dead, threads it with the appropriate silk thread, and carefully sews it between the body and the garment. No one can remove a garment sewn by Old Rich from a dead person, because all the clothes he makes are sewn directly onto the body.

Old Fu was very particular about the thread he used. He would choose the thread according to the characteristics of the deceased. If it was an elderly person, he would use gold thread. If it was an unmarried woman, he would use white thread. If it was a newborn child, he would use black thread. No matter what kind of thread he used, Old Fu would perfectly integrate the thread, clothing, and the deceased, making it look completely natural.

There was one thing Old Fu cared about deeply: the cause of death. If the person died of natural causes, Old Fu would place a stub of a candle in their mouth. If the person died a violent death, Old Fu would sew up a stitch in each of their eyelids, nose, mouth, and ears with red silk thread. Why did Old Fu do this? Because he ran a 'Yin-Yang Tailor Shop,' a tailor shop that specialized in performing rituals to help the souls of the dead find peace.

Old Fu understood the principle of Yin and Yang transformation. The dead people he sewed, whether they died naturally or violently, never caused trouble in the world again. Therefore, he was very famous in the capital. No matter how expensive his price was, people would accept it and no one would bargain with him, especially the families of those who died violently.

And here comes another customer.

II. Needle holes

Old Fu raised an eyebrow at the newcomer. It was a woman, wrapped in a long black coat with gold trim, the hem almost touching the ground. The hood completely covered her face, making it impossible for anyone to see her features.

"How did he die?" Old Fu asked, his distinctive ravenous cawing audible, his mouth full of yellow teeth agape. His shop catered to the dead, so he never bothered with formalities; he always got straight to the point.

"Died of illness." It was an old woman's voice; she coughed a few times as she spoke.

"What illness?" Old Fu always liked to get to the bottom of things; it was his rule.

"She died from being weak and catching a cold." The old lady coughed a few more times, and this time she was a little unsteady on her feet and took a few steps back, but fortunately she managed to grab the table in time.

Old Fu squinted at the pair of bony, lifeless hands she inadvertently revealed; he liked seeing things like that.

"I'll have someone bring the body over this evening. Here, take this." The old lady handed over a white package from her tightly wrapped black coat, and Lao Fu reached out and took it.

There were a full five hundred taels! Old Fu could feel the amount of silver inside with just a light touch, a skill he had honed over many years. Satisfied, Old Fu tucked the silver into his pocket. He didn't like leaving such things on the counter; he always felt it was unsafe.

"I want the best fabric and the best thread," the old woman shouted.

Old Fu couldn't help but sneer and glance sideways. He hated being told what to do, and it seemed that the person in front of him wasn't from the capital and didn't even know the shop's rules.

“I know you have your own rules.” The old lady seemed to sense Lao Fu’s displeasure. She took out another white package from her thick black coat and said, “My only request is that it be made of the best fabric.” With that, she tossed the package to Lao Fu as well.

A satisfied smile spread across Old Fu's face, his yellow teeth gleaming with a dirty light, and his eyes were completely squinted into slits.

evening.

A coffin arrived at the shop on time, delivered by two young men who looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years old. Without expression or a word, they placed the coffin on the cart Old Fu had indicated and left without looking back. Old Fu paid no attention to their actions; he stretched out his hands and pushed the cart forcefully towards the enclosed wooden hut.

The cabin was small and simply furnished. Besides a table for offerings, there was a wooden bed for the body, a stool next to the bed, and a basket for tools and cloth next to the stool. All that remained were the bare, white wooden walls, with the only ventilation coming from a somewhat worn wooden door. But usually, when Old Fu was making clothes, this door was tightly closed.

Tonight was no exception. Old Fu closed the wooden door as usual, opened the second white package given to him by the old lady, inside were a pile of incense sticks and candles, as well as paper money for the dead. Old Fu took a tinderbox from the basket, lit one of the incense sticks, and placed it on the copper plate fixed on the offering table. He then casually placed a few paper money on the offering table as well. Next, he took out the flask of his treasured wine from the basket, tilted his head back, and immediately gulped down a few mouthfuls of the yellow liquor. Old Fu instantly felt refreshed and invigorated. Everything was ready; he could begin.

The deceased was a young woman, seemingly unmarried. "What a pity," Old Fu shook his rather large, not-so-round head. He reached for his special silver scissors. He had chosen two pieces of fine blue and yellow fabric; he only needed to glance at her to accurately cut them to the perfect size, down to the millimeter—Old Fu was quite confident in this.

In no time, Old Fu had finished cutting the clothes. He carefully slipped them onto the woman's body, then took a leather bag from the basket and opened it, revealing a variety of sewing needles. Old Fu became excited; sewing clothes onto a dead body was his favorite thing to do. Without thinking, he picked up the size five needle—a perfect fit for his years of experience. He excitedly threaded the white silk thread through the eye of the needle and gracefully tied a knot at the end. With an excited expression, he slowly approached the woman, intending to start with her neck—a habit he had long cultivated.

The sewing needle stopped five inches from his neck. Old Fu felt like he was seeing things, so he rubbed his eyes hard. It wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him; it was real!

The sewing needle fell silently to the ground, and Lao Fu almost fell off the stool. He clearly saw that there was already a ring of needle marks around the woman's neck, and the size of the needle marks matched the sewing needle in Lao Fu's hand perfectly.

"Impossible, absolutely impossible," Old Fu looked at the woman in front of him in disbelief.

There is only one person in the world who knows this kind of craft. Although he knows this craft, even he himself cannot peel the sewn clothes off the dead body, let alone ensure that the dead body is intact.

The woman's body was covered in needle marks, and the locations of these marks were exactly the same as Old Fu's sewing technique. Most importantly, needle marks were also visible around her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears...

This method can only be used on people who die a violent death.

III. The alluring madam

Old Fu walked into the Butterfly Fragrance Courtyard, a place he frequented.

"Oh, you've arrived!" A woman with heavy makeup and a seductive appearance walked towards him, her voice enough to make any man's heart tremble.

Old Fu, grinning with his yellow teeth, immediately went up to her and said, "Miss Xiao Xiang, you've become even more beautiful in just a few days!"

"Come on! You men talk a good game, but you never tell the truth," Xiao Xiang said coquettishly, giving Lao Fu a sidelong glance.

"Hehe." Old Fu let out a silly laugh.

"You're here to see Madam Xu, aren't you?" Xiao Xiang asked, glancing sideways and fiddling with a strand of hair on her chest.

“That’s right.” Old Fu grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “I’d like to trouble Miss Xiao Xiang to call him.”

"Hmph!" Xiao Xiang snorted reluctantly, then turned and shouted upstairs, "Aunt Xu, we have guests!"

"Thank you very much, Miss Xiao Xiang," Old Fu said politely.

"No need to thank me, you're Aunt Xu's guest. Aunt Xu is the one in charge here." Xiao Xiang once again displayed her unique charm, giving Lao Fu a flirtatious wink.

Old Fu quickly took out a few pieces of silver from his pocket and handed them over, saying, "Thank you very much, Miss Xiao Xiang."

"No need to thank me, no need to thank me." Xiao Xiang looked at the broken silver in her hand with some disappointment, cursing inwardly: What a stingy old fox!

"Who is it? Who's looking for me?" A series of crisp footsteps sounded from the second floor, followed by a person leaning against the stairwell and shouting down.

Old Fu frowned and looked Xu Mama up and down. She wore a blue robe with a golden-yellow overcoat embroidered with the characters for "fortune, prosperity, and longevity," and a black woolen hat, revealing only the remaining hair behind her ears and a long braid at the back of her head—a picture of opulent attire. Thick foundation on her face concealed her naturally rough skin without a single flaw, and her bright red lips and heavily made-up eyes made Old Fu feel nauseous every time he saw her. He simply couldn't understand why a grown man would like to dress himself up in such an androgynous way.

"Oh, it's you! Old Fu, it's rare to see you, it's been quite a while!" When Mrs. Xu saw Old Fu, her eyes immediately lit up. He swayed down the stairs, his thick waist swaying.

Although Lao Fu was already used to his walking posture, he still felt like vomiting every time he saw it, and he couldn't help but cover his mouth.

"Manzi, hurry up and get some good wine and food. I'm going to drink with Lao Fu until we drop today." As she spoke, Xu's mother put her arm around Lao Fu's shoulder and said softly, "Lao Fu, come on, let's go sit in my Dieyaxuan."

Old Fu felt goosebumps rise all over his body. He quickly moved aside and said, "You can go, but you'd better keep your hands to yourself."

"Haha—" Mrs. Xu let out another burst of womanly laughter. She loved seeing Lao Fu like this; it was amusing.

Mrs. Xu poured a glass of wine for both Lao Fu and herself, and gently raised her glass, saying, "Lao Fu, what made you decide to come see me today?"

Old Fu snorted; he really couldn't stand his effeminate manner.

Mrs. Xu laughed even harder, so much so that the wine in her glass was shaken out.

"Alright, I've come to see you because I have something to discuss," Old Fu said seriously.

"Oh?" Mrs. Xu finally stopped laughing.

"I received a dead body yesterday evening," Old Fu said with some melancholy.

"So this is what you do, collecting dead people isn't surprising!" Mrs. Xu said to him nonchalantly.

"But..." Old Fu really didn't know how to start the conversation.

"But what is it? You're a grown man, why are you stammering like this?" Mrs. Xu put down her wine glass and said.

“It’s a woman. Her body is intact, but… it’s covered in needle marks.” Old Fu finally mustered the courage to speak.

The wine glass spilled instantly; it was spilled by Xu's mother.

"How could that be? Who else in this world knows this kind of craftsmanship besides you! Besides, even you couldn't separate the clothes from the dead body perfectly after sewing them up, so how could anyone else do it? Are you seeing things?" Mrs. Xu simply didn't believe what Old Fu was saying.

Old Fu gulped down several mouthfuls of wine. He believed he was seeing things, but after careful examination, he confirmed it was true and exactly the same as his method of needle application. He said weakly, "His eyes, nose, mouth, and ears all have needle marks."

Looking at Lao Fu's tense expression, Xu's mother couldn't help but shudder. She realized that Lao Fu hadn't lied to her, and she suddenly felt a sense of unease, an indescribable unease.

Old Fu was drunk, slumped over the table. Xu's mother and Manzi carried him to bed; he was going to spend the night at Dieyaxuan. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten drunk. Looking at his drunken state, Xu's mother couldn't help but kick him hard, saying, "Coward! All you do is drink!"

Old Fu just groaned a few times, then turned back to the inside of the bed and went back to his daydreams.

Mrs. Xu shook her head helplessly; how could he still be sleeping at this hour? He ignored him and went up the stairs to the second floor of Dieyaxuan, his own room, where no one was allowed to enter without his permission.

He locked the door from the inside, then nervously opened the sandalwood cabinet and plunged inside, rummaging through its contents. Finally, he found the square peach wood jewelry box at the very back of the cabinet. Hesitantly, he opened the box…

The box wasn't big, but it could just fit a pearl the size of a quail egg. The pearl was nothing special, except for a faint white glow; otherwise, it was unremarkable. Perhaps it could be sold for some money when one was destitute, but this one, Xu's mother would never sell.

As usual, Mrs. Xu finally breathed a sigh of relief and slowly closed the box. Just as she closed the cabinet door, she murmured to herself, "Perhaps it's just a coincidence."

The Tailor (Part 4): "There's a Pickled Vegetable Restaurant Across the Street"

Old Fu hesitated, circling around a few times as he scratched his messy, bird's-nest-like hair, considering whether to go over now.

It was almost noon when Lao Fu finally stamped his foot, made up his mind, casually put on the greasy sheepskin coat, pushed open the shop door and went out.

Across the street was a pickled vegetable shop. There were many such shops in the capital, but only this one was willing to be Lao Fu's neighbor. The proprietress, Xue Qiuqiu, was a cruel and ruthless woman. Anyone who came to buy pickled vegetables from her shop would be ripped off. Those who refused would be cursed and their ancestors cursed, wishing them ruin and death. Although her words never came true, most customers felt unlucky. Those who had been cursed or ripped off, as well as those who had heard of her reputation, would avoid the shop altogether. Therefore, her pickled vegetable shop had very few customers.

Old Fu was the only regular customer at that pickled vegetable shop. Every year on this day, he would take his money and walk unsteadily to the other side of the street to buy a pound of pickled cucumber strips. He did this every year without fail.

"You're here—" Xue Qiuqiu said in a hoarse voice, her mouth agape, spitting out bits of melon seed shells, her almond-shaped eyes rolling upwards.

"Hmm." Old Fu, like a wronged wife, lowered his head and only gave a soft reply, not even having the courage to look up.

"Pickled cucumber strips?" Xue Qiuqiu said irritably. She hated seeing Lao Fu's spineless appearance.

"Hmm." Old Fu still drooped his huge head and responded softly.

"You can't even get a fart out of him!" Xue Qiuqiu finally couldn't help but curse again.

Old Fu pursed his dry lips and swallowed, saying, "Today is the seventh day of the fourth month."

Xue Qiuqiu threw the handful of uneaten sunflower seeds on the ground, wriggled her plump body, lifted the wooden bucket beside her, grabbed a handful of pickled cucumber strips with her fat hands with red-painted nails, put them in a piece of tattered paper, wrapped them up haphazardly, handed them to Lao Fu, and said coldly, "My memory is excellent, I don't need you to remind me!"

Old Fu quickly reached out and took the packet of pickled cucumber strips, placed a few taels of silver on the table, and then turned and scurried into his shop.