I was still immersed in the story Elder Chen had been telling about the Tima people when the middle-aged man's words failed to register immediately. Old is old, after all, so why would he need help? It was only when I heard Elder Chen's voice catch, murmuring to himself, "Why did the old man have to pass away at this precise moment?" and observing the middle-aged man's demeanor and dress, that I suddenly understood: the man was saying his grandfather had just died.

Seeing the change in Elder Chen’s expression, before I could ask, he pointed at the middle-aged man and said with regret, "His grandfather was that old fellow, Xiang..."

"What?" The four of us blurted out in unison, alarmed. I rushed downstairs in a panic, grabbed the middle-aged man who was still kneeling, and breathlessly demanded, "When did your grandfather pass away?" The man flinched, looking at me strangely, mumbling, "Just a short while ago, around 1:50 PM..."

One fifty? Wasn't that exactly when we started lunch? I beat my chest and stomped my feet in desperation, acting like a madman. The middle-aged man stared at me as if he’d seen a ghost, his expression clearly conveying: I, his dutiful grandson, haven't grieved this much; what the heck are you, a stranger, getting so worked up about? When he saw Ji Ye, Tan Ping'er, and Man Niao Niao trailing closely behind, all looking utterly crestfallen, his expression became complex, his eyes unseeing as he stared blankly at the four of them, utterly bewildered why these four strangers seemed to take the death of his grandfather so seriously. Tan Ping’er reached out to help the middle-aged man up, but he snapped out of his daze, shook off her hand, and stubbornly remained kneeling in the rain. I told Tan Ping’er, "Don't pull. It's local custom; the messenger of death cannot cross the threshold of another's home until the master invites him to rise..." Then Chen asked the middle-aged man, "I'll go right away—has the body been prepared for the coffin?" "Prepared for the coffin" meant washing and dressing the deceased.

"No, sir. You'll find this strange. My grandfather was perfectly fine this morning, sitting on the stilt house singing and telling stories. When I went to call him for 'Shangwu' at noon, he wouldn't answer. Seeing him smiling down below, completely ignoring me, I thought it was odd. Maybe the old man was sleeping with his eyes open? I ran upstairs to nudge him, but he wouldn't move. I got a fright and checked for his breath, only then realizing the old man had... gone!" The middle-aged man’s eyes grew moist as he spoke. "When my father knew the old man had passed, he immediately burned paper offerings and set off firecrackers, preparing to bathe him, but we discovered we couldn't move him at all. My father and I pulled his arms and legs for a good while, but we couldn't straighten his body out, so he's still sitting on the stilt house just as before. My father thought something was strange, so he quickly sent me to invite you over for help..." (Shangwu: Lunch)

"This old man, could he have some unresolved matters?" Elder Chen muttered, waving his hand at the middle-aged man. "Hurry on. I’ll come to help." He helped the middle-aged man up, and they left. The four of us exchanged glances, didn't have time to bid farewell to Elder Chen's wife, and hurried after the old man and the young man toward the middle-aged man's house.

Seeing us four following, Elder Chen briefly introduced us to the middle-aged man, explaining that we were actually preparing to seek out his grandfather to inquire about something. The middle-aged man understood the situation, gave us a helpless smile, showing an expression of deep regret.

The middle-aged man's home was right on Xuanwu Mountain. Previously, we had been so preoccupied with the mounds of graves covering the mountainside that we hadn't noticed the large expanse of farmland behind Xuanwu Mountain. The man's house sat beside the fields, not far from those two ancient fir trees standing together.

Entering the bamboo grove, we saw that the middle-aged man's home was also a two-story stilt house. About a dozen people were already gathered upstairs, several heads wrapped in white mourning bands bobbing in the crowd. It was noisy, and from what we gathered, they too were perplexed by the fact that the old man’s body could not be straightened out. Logically speaking, the old man had only recently passed, and given it was the height of summer (the fifth and sixth months), his body should be "dead but not stiff." Why couldn't they move him?

The mountain folk were simple and sincere; they knew clearly who had elderly relatives and the condition of those elders. Upon hearing the sound of the "passing firecrackers" for anyone frail and aged, they wouldn't wait for the family to personally send invitations; they would immediately drop whatever they were doing, rush over, set up tea and water, erect temporary shelters, and collaboratively arrange the funeral site quickly. But this old man had died without any preceding illness. The neighbors gathered around had no mental preparation; hearing only a few short bursts of firecrackers, they assumed the children were merely playing. They had no idea that the venerable centenarian, who could eat three bowls of rice at a sitting, had ascended to heaven. Therefore, not many people had come to help yet, and encountering this baffling situation of a body refusing to straighten, everyone felt it was strange, gathering around and forgetting many necessary funeral arrangements. The black lacquered coffin intended for the burial had not even been brought into the main hall yet.

We followed Elder Chen upstairs and craned our necks to see an elder seated upright in a rattan chair. He had the face of youth with hair like frost, his expression serene, hands resting on the chair, body slightly leaning forward. His face was slightly plump, wearing a smile that seemed profound and inscrutable, his eyes fixed forward, his pupils bright. This doesn't look like an old man who has passed away. Is this the last Tima man, Xiang, from Tangya? I thought to myself, while also noticing a very old, trembling man in his seventies, sweating profusely while trying to adjust Xiang Laohan's arm, muttering repeatedly, "Dad, my good Dad, you're dead and you're still playing a trick on your son. Usually, you enjoyed the best food and clothes; why are you playing games now?" Some helpers nearby also pulled at his limbs, including several strapping young men. The strange thing was this: common sense suggested that with the combined strength used to push large boats, moving a dead old man should be effortless. Yet, Xiang Laohan was like an iron-cast Bodhisattva; not only could they not move his limbs, but they couldn't even budge the rattan chair he was sitting on an inch.

The seventy-year-old man, seeing Elder Chen ascend the stairs, rushed forward like spotting a savior and dropped to his knees. "Brother, what in the world is going on here? My older brother Xiang lived seventy-eight years and has never seen anything this bizarre. My father he..." Elder Chen helped up the old man, who introduced himself as Xiang Yaoge. The crowd naturally parted a gap. Elder Chen approached Xiang Laohan, scrutinizing him from head to toe, then reached out to wipe Xiang Laohan's eyelids. As soon as his hand was withdrawn, Xiang Laohan's eyelids snapped back open. Standing behind the crowd, I felt those eyes staring directly at me, sending my heart hammering. I quickly avoided Xiang Laohan’s gaze, pretending nothing was amiss, and glanced around. I noticed Man Niao Niao downstairs, head held high, forcing an air of composure, but on closer inspection, I saw the fellow had a cigarette dangling from his lips, the yellow filter half-burned down. I secretly found it amusing: with all that good flesh and bone, he had less guts than Tan Ping’er.

Turning back, I saw Ji Ye squeezing into the crowd. Xiang Yaoge and Elder Chen were deeply preoccupied, not noticing Ji Ye’s movements. After finally pushing through, Ji Ye grasped Xiang Laohan’s elbow and gave a slight lift; Xiang Laohan obediently released his left hand, which had been gripping the chair tightly. Seeing this, the crowd instantly fell silent, staring dumbfounded at Ji Ye. Ji Ye himself was unprepared for such an easy accomplishment and stood frozen, wide-eyed. Seeing this, Xiang Yaoge, forgetting his old age and frailty, fell to his knees before the forty-something Ji Ye, tears streaming down his face, sobbing uncontrollably, "Please help me... my old father... sob!" When Tan Ping’er saw an elder well past seventy kneeling stiffly before Ji Ye, who was in his forties, she felt compassion and tried to push through to help Xiang Yaoge up. I quickly pulled her back and whispered, "It's alright. In a situation like this, the family must kneel to beg help from anyone; it's a local custom..." Tan Ping’er hesitated but nodded slowly.

Ji Ye quickly helped Xiang Yaoge up, saying, "I'll help you. You're old, your bones ache; please stand up." Some people nearby were unconvinced. Seeing Ji Ye make the deceased Xiang Laohan release his grip, they assumed Xiang Laohan had finally complied with some last wish and tried pulling Xiang Laohan's arm again, only to find the right arm rooted as if in the ground—it wouldn't budge. Ji Ye looked puzzled for a moment, then grasped Xiang Laohan’s right hand and lifted it effortlessly. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and the way they looked at Ji Ye immediately changed.

I also found it very strange, but then I considered that Ji Ye possessed special skills; perhaps he was using his professional expertise to make the obstinate corpse of Xiang Laohan finally behave. A few sturdy young men, still unwilling to accept it, went to pull Xiang Laohan's arm again, but it remained unmovable, while Ji Ye managed it with ease. A playful remark floated out from the crowd: "This old man is like a little gūai gūai er (toy); he only listens to this elder brother to be yā..." (yā: to play with/manipulate).