Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Blazing Demon Slayer Chapter Sixty: Crows Crying, Sun Veiled; Twin Coffins Revealed in Shock

As the group chatted among themselves, Lu Qichang went off to prepare breakfast for them. Given Chen San’s current state, it was clear he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Yang Chengzi and Chang Yu gathered up the bedding from the floor and, with the help of several young men, carried Chen San into Lu Qichang’s house and dropped him onto the bed. Chen San, being a burly man, was now as heavy and inert as a dead pig without his senses.

After some bustle, breakfast was served—a large pot of thin porridge and pickled cucumbers that Lu Qichang had made himself. Everyone except Chen San helped themselves without ceremony. As they ate, Yang Chengzi discussed Chen San’s situation with the monk, Sui Chang.

Chen San was still unconscious, and the grand formation could not be undone for now. As before, Sui Chang set up another formation to temporarily isolate their presence from the outside. More than half of the spirit-summoned birds and beasts had already died. They considered using the spirit-summoning technique again, but Sui Chang’s reasoning was sound: there weren’t many paths here, and if they used the technique once more, it would reveal their position. Their pursuers could simply follow the dispersal of the birds and beasts to find Chen San. After weighing their options, they decided to wait until Chen San woke up before taking action.

At most, they’d wait two days. After breakfast, Sui Chang went to arrange the formation in Chen San’s room. The young men went about their tasks—some chopping wood, others picking vegetables, and two set off with bows and arrows to hunt. Chang Yu clung to Yang Chengzi, pestering him to tell stories about ghosts and monsters.

Lu Qichang summoned two carpenters from the village to rebuild the outer doors. Before the doors were even installed, a villager named Liu Wangfu arrived. Liu Wangfu was a native of the east end of the village, a farmer by rights, but recently the authorities had begun repairing the official road. This road was crucial for transporting grain and military supplies, so the government was particularly attentive. Orders came down from above, and they immediately started recruiting labor. Liu Wangfu and the other young men from the village were conscripted to help.

For these villagers, working on the official road wasn’t a big deal—their crops were their real concern. But with forced labor, they had no choice, so the farm work was left to their families. Fortunately, the roadwork wasn’t unpaid; they received a few copper coins daily, which somewhat made up for the neglected fields. Thus, there was little complaint among the young men.

Repairing the road was not complicated. They dug up soil from elsewhere to fill in the surface, then spread two layers of crushed gravel, each piece a bit smaller than a coin—enough for carriages to pass without scattering, and comfortable to walk on. Though not especially sturdy, such roads sufficed compared to mud tracks and the passing horses and carts. Every three years, another layer of gravel would be added, making maintenance relatively easy.

Liu Wangfu didn’t come seeking Lu Qichang for nothing. While digging earth to repair the road, he and the others had unearthed a black wooden coffin in a nearby wasteland.

At first, when they struck the coffin’s lid, the young men dared not dig further. They reported it to the overseer, who then informed the county magistrate. The magistrate and his adviser decided that since the coffin had already been unearthed and there was neither monument nor grave, it amounted to an unintentional offense. However, simply burying it again would be disrespectful and might provoke trouble. They ordered the workers to finish uncovering the coffin, intending to have a priest perform the necessary rites and reinter it properly, thus showing due respect.

So, once the coffin was fully uncovered, Liu Wangfu came to find Lu Qichang—the only priest in the area. Who else could they call? Lu Qichang, upon hearing the story, furrowed his brow and turned to Yang Chengzi, who sensed something odd and decided to accompany Lu Qichang to the site.

Chang Yu wanted to go as well, and since it was broad daylight with the sun high, Yang Chengzi agreed. He explained the situation to Sui Chang, and the three of them followed Liu Wangfu to the wasteland where the black coffin had been found. After the laborers had removed the coffin and placed it beside the grave pit, they went back to their roadwork.

The site wasn’t far, but not especially close either; by the time they arrived, half an incense stick had burned. In the distance, they saw the black coffin lying amid the weeds. Even in broad daylight, Yang Chengzi sensed nothing unusual. The group circled the coffin, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The only peculiar detail was that the coffin was sealed with seven nails on each side—fourteen in total. Normally, a coffin had only seven nails. Apart from this, there was nothing else notable. Yang Chengzi peered into the grave pit. There was nothing remarkable there either, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, compelling him to examine the pit more closely.

Some grave pits are inhabited by snakes, weasels, or hedgehogs—creatures with high spiritual sensitivity who guard graves from other animals. But this pit was completely empty, illuminated clearly by the midday sun. He walked around a couple of times but found nothing, though the uneasy feeling grew ever stronger.

Lu Qichang approached Yang Chengzi. “Elder Brother, do you sense anything wrong? This seems just an ordinary coffin to me—nothing strange about it.”

Yang Chengzi shook his head. “There’s nothing obviously wrong, but I can’t shake this feeling—something’s not right here. This is wasteland, with no gravestone, and no one knew a coffin was buried here. Judging by the nails, it can’t have been buried long—twenty or thirty years at most. Such cases require caution. If it had been here longer, it would just return to dust, but coffins buried only twenty or thirty years are the ones to watch out for.”

Lu Qichang shivered, catching the implication in Yang Chengzi’s words, and swallowed nervously, at a loss for what to say.

Chang Yu kept her distance from the coffin, watching Yang Chengzi intently. She heard their conversation clearly and felt a rising fear. Having read many books, her mind raced with possibilities—what if something suddenly leapt out of the coffin? The wind rustled the grass, startling her enough to cry out and run to Yang Chengzi’s side.

Strangely, after Chang Yu’s shriek, the distant sound of crows cawing began to echo intermittently. Yet there were no woods nearby—the area was wide open.

For Yang Chengzi and Lu Qichang, this was a dire omen. In Daoist tradition, the cawing of crows in broad daylight, especially covering the sun, portends disaster—no need for divination; within three days, someone nearby is sure to die. The cawing they heard was not a single bird, but a chorus, as if warning them that many deaths were imminent.

Lu Qichang, hearing the cawing, grew deeply uneasy. He had only read about such omens in Daoist texts—never before had he heard them in real life.

The crows’ calls carried a mournful, world-weary quality, as if they saw through the vanity of life and death. Though he’d never heard them before, there was no mistaking the sound.

Yang Chengzi offered no comfort to Chang Yu. He circled the coffin and grave pit several more times, but still found nothing amiss. With the day advancing, he conferred with Lu Qichang: for now, they would leave the coffin where it was. Each would search for an auspicious burial site, and when the proper time came, they would reinter the coffin. If nothing else occurred, this matter would be settled for now. Later, they would perform a ritual to divine whether any evil had befallen this land.

With that, they set out separately to search for a good burial site—Yang Chengzi and Chang Yu heading south, Lu Qichang north. There were no large forests nearby, but some sparse trees were visible several dozen li to the north, and perhaps further on there would be woods and water—a suitable place for a feng shui burial.

Though distant, the county magistrate could not afford to be careless. An unmarked, newly unearthed coffin could bring grave trouble; loss of office or even one’s head was at stake. So the magistrate had ordered them to spare no expense or effort in properly reinterring the coffin. The roadwork could wait—there was no war, and a short delay mattered little.

To the south, Yang Chengzi found water but no woods. Still, he wanted to see if there was a suitable spot. Places near water are more likely to gather spiritual energy; with the help of a formation, a feng shui site could be created, and as long as it remained undisturbed, it would continue to benefit the land.

Yang Chengzi and Lu Qichang had only just begun searching when the two villagers watching the coffin suddenly called out. Both men hurried back. When they arrived, nothing seemed amiss with the coffin, but the villagers waved them over in haste. The coffin remained by the grave pit, but something had happened underneath.

Yang Chengzi immediately noticed that a large clump of earth had fallen from the left wall of the grave, revealing a hole about the size of a human head. Within the hole, there was more black wood—identical to the coffin above.

Yang Chengzi frowned. Was there another coffin inside? If so, why were they buried separately? Was it a coincidence, two coffins buried together? Unable to puzzle it out, he discussed with Lu Qichang, and they decided that if it was indeed another coffin, they would exhume it as well and bury them together, hoping to learn the reason for the separate burials.

They called the villagers over, moved the upper coffin aside, and began digging down. Before long, they struck the lid with a dull thud. Clearing the earth, they uncovered another coffin, identical to the first.

Again, the group lifted the coffin out. Like the previous one, it was sealed with fourteen coffin nails and bore no name or monument.

Though Yang Chengzi was a priest, he had never heard of using fourteen nails to seal a coffin. If it were to ward off evil spirits, so few nails would hardly suffice. Perhaps it was a local custom, but Lu Qichang—who had lived there all his life—had never heard of such a thing. Though the coffins were unearthed, none of Yang Chengzi’s questions had been answered.

He jumped into the grave and inspected it carefully, probing the walls with a spade to make sure there were no more coffins before climbing out. Looking at the two identical coffins, Yang Chengzi felt disinclined to meddle further. As before, he and Lu Qichang split up to seek out auspicious burial sites.

Along the way, Yang Chengzi couldn’t shake his curiosity about why the coffins were buried in this fashion—so much so that he even considered opening one to investigate. Chang Yu was equally curious, though her interest lay not with the contents but with why there were no tombstones for either coffin.

Yang Chengzi explained several possible reasons, which Chang Yu listened to intently. As they walked and talked, Yang Chengzi surveyed the landscape. After nearly three li, he found a secluded spot surrounded by tall grass, at a good distance and direction from the river. With the addition of a bagua formation, this could become an excellent feng shui site—a place where water gathers, winds are channeled, and the land would prosper, bringing blessings to future generations.

Having found a suitable spot, the two retraced their steps. Returning to the coffins, they found the villagers keeping their distance, wary of any lingering evil. Yang Chengzi only smiled, saying nothing.