[Two female leads + short story]
A female corpse wearing a red wedding gown was unearthed at a construction site in Huailing. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a smile.
During the forensic pathologist Jiang Lian’s initial examination, a copper wire in the foot-binding cloth snagged and tore her glove. The moment her fingertip touched the fabric, she heard a sharp crack:
Someone had stepped on someone else’s foot.
That night, Sui He brought over half a piece of white jade she had dug up beside a dry well for comparison. When the two pieces touched, two words appeared: Return Home.
When they opened their eyes again, they were lying on an intricately carved bed from the Qing Dynasty. Outside the window, the shadow of a woman with bound feet slowly passed across the paper screen, one step at a time…
“She’s waiting for us,” Sui He said.
Over the next seven lifetimes, they were dragged into seven cruel, murderous customs. The same woman died seven times. As seven-year-old Shen Yuan’s bones were broken, she said, “Don’t be afraid.” Seventeen-year-old A Chun sat up in her coffin and said, “You’re here.” Before A Lian was dragged away, she slipped a blade of grass through a crack in the door…
Every time they came close to death, the woman in the red wedding gown was there. She said nothing, only watched. Her face looked more and more like Sui He’s.
When they returned in the seventh life, the female corpse had vanished from the dissection table. All that remained was an empty wedding gown.
Jiang Lian’s right ring finger was cold as if she were dead. When Sui He looked in the mirror, her reflection was a beat behind…
They dug beneath the memorial archway and unearthed seven pairs of hands reaching upward, along with a name:
Shen A'e.
Jiang Lian’s mother in a “previous life,” and Sui He in a “previous life.”
“You didn’t come to save me,” she said. “The ones you’re saving are yourselves.”
Jiang Lian pressed the hand she never took out of her glove against the character “Jiang” on her great-grandmother’s name. Sui He covered her hand.
“Two people can lift it.”
Three hundred and seventy-two names, carved on one stele.
They said nothing more…
