I Bury the Gods Among Mortals

Gods can die.

If they die without burial, disaster follows.

There is a funeral home in the old city. Its sign bears three words: White Ceremonies.

On the surface, it arranges funerals for the living. In secret, it carries the coffins of gods.

Before Grandpa passed away, he gave three instructions:

The lamp must never go out.

When carrying a coffin, never look back.

Hold my funeral the day after tomorrow.

Three mornings later, Grandpa's coffin came back by itself. Seven nails had been driven in, perfectly straight.

The hands crossed inside the coffin clutched a warm copper nail.

Chen Geng bit his finger, let his blood seal the carrying pole, and took up the Book of Divine Burials, passed down for six generations.

The book records burials, not killings. Each time he lays a god to rest, it records a name and grants him a gift, while adding another measure of weight to his shoulders. If he wants to take something from the book, he must first bear what it gives him.

From then on, Chen Geng carried the funeral banner out into the world:

He buried the City God who had guarded the old city for four hundred years. That night, every streetlamp in the city shone until dawn. Not one went out.

He drove a ninth nail into the coffin on Yanhui Mountain, which had only eight. That nail had a name: Chen Jiuzhang.

He tended to the affairs of a god stitched together by a seamster from the bones of the dead. The book recorded nine names for that job.

The more work he did, the closer he came to the truth.

Why are there no gods in the Nine Provinces?

Because the gods of this land were not driven away. They lay down in the land themselves, their bones becoming mountains and their blood nourishing fields. They buried themselves.

Other gods demand that people bow before them.

The gods of the Nine Provinces stand guard even in death.

And Chen Geng must arrange the final funeral of the age of gods.

Once that funeral is over,

only mortals will be buried in the Nine Provinces.