Immortal Takeout - Chapter 1

On February 8, 2020, an elderly man in Maochun City passed away at the age of eighty-nine.

With Mr. Luo Xitang’s death, it seemed the last old-fashioned grocery store in Maochun City was also on the verge of shutting down.

Modern convenience stores liked to call themselves something trendy “like So-and-so Mart or So-and-so Supermarket”. But Da Luo Grocery was the real, traditional kind. Its sign was handwritten with a brush, and the door was patched together with wooden planks. The shop was tiny, yet it sold everything: rice, oil, salt, daily necessities, and all kinds of little trinkets from across the country ,unremarkable but interesting. Like a tiny sparrow, it was small but fully equipped.

The first to discover Luo Xitang’s body was his neighbor, Old Liu Tou. He was a local committee member, who was warm-hearted and actively involved in village affairs. Liujia Village was what you’d call a city village , a tiny patch of land on the urban edge. Though not quite part of the bustling city, it still fell under Maochun’s jurisdiction. Land there was still valuable.

When Old Luo died, the first thing Old Liu thought about was what would happen to his property. But before he could report it to the village committee, someone showed up at Da Luo Grocery claiming to be the new owner.

At least, that’s what he claimed.

It was lunchtime. Old Liu Tou was crouched in his courtyard, eating rice out of a porcelain rooster bowl. When he looked up, he caught a flash of movement ,a stranger passing quickly in front of his house, heading straight toward the old grocery store.

He hurried to swallow his hot rice, burning his tongue in the process. Slipping on his faded Liberation shoes, still clutching his bowl, he chased after the stranger.

“Hey! Young man, wait up!”

The man turned around and gave him a cold, hard glance. That look sent a chill down Old Liu’s spine. Goosebumps crawled up the arm holding the rooster bowl. He stammered, asking, “Who are you? Looking for Old Luo? How are you two related?”

The road led only to the grocery store. Beyond that was the main road, no other homes. Old Liu’s guess was right. The young man must be looking for Old Luo.

He was tall, pale, probably in his early twenties, with thick black hair and dressed lightly for winter. He was handsome ,definitely not from around here. What stood out most was the long, white umbrella he carried. Spotless. Blindingly white. In the middle of a sunny winter day, it looked… a little strange.

When the young man heard the question, his brows furrowed slightly. He tilted his head, his eyes bright like polished black onyx, gleaming with clarity. He suddenly jabbed the umbrella into the ground ,its tip sinking effortlessly into the soil with a sharp, metallic *clang!*

*Clang!*

Old Liu’s heart skipped a beat. His mind spun on its own, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out an answer.

“You’re Old Luo’s nephew?”

“Great-nephew,” the young man corrected him coldly.

Old Liu stared at him, confusion etched across his wrinkled forehead. Still, the words slipped out, “Ah, it’s Little Luo, isn’t it? Haven’t seen you in years. Came back to handle Old Luo’s funeral?”

The young man nodded in silence.

Old Liu repeated a few “good, good,” looking more at ease. His brows smoothed, and he said warmly, “It’s good you came. Sorry for your loss. If there’s anything you need, just let Uncle know. I lived next to Old Luo for years. We weren’t strangers.”

At that moment, Old Liu’s wife, Auntie Liu, came out with her own rice bowl. Seeing her husband had been gone too long, she marched out and scolded loudly from the gate, “Can’t even eat your meal in peace? Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

Her voice was loud enough to echo through the whole village.

She caught sight of the young man and fell silent, like her voice had been plugged up. Her expression stiffened into a smile. “It’s Little Luo, isn’t it? Haven’t seen you in ages ,you’ve gotten more handsome.”

Little Luo didn’t reply. He just turned and walked away.

The old couple watched him go, still eating and chatting.

“What was his name again, that great-nephew of Old Luo?”

“Something Luo… Luo Xiang, I think.”

“Luo Xiang? That’s it?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Strange… doesn’t ring a bell. He’s kinda odd.”

Auntie Liu chewed on a tough piece of beef tendon and scraped her teeth with her tongue. “Still, someone that good-looking isn’t easy to forget. I’d say he’s even better looking than those celebrities our daughter’s crazy about.”

Old Liu looked annoyed with his wife’s chatter. He set his empty bowl aside and went to cough mucus under the old pear tree.

Yes, he seemed odd but also vaguely familiar. Old Luo’s great-nephew, Luo Xiang, twenty-two, just graduated this year. Old Liu remembered Old Luo saying ages ago that he planned to pass the shop to Luo Xiang. Looks like that was true.

And really, in a place like this, even if the shop had some value, no stranger would come pretending to be a relative just to claim it , especially not during mourning. Besides, inheritance had to follow the law; you couldn’t just walk in and take the property.

Old Liu finally felt at ease. He started rolling a cigarette and thought about visiting the young man later , maybe to see if he needed help. After all, distant relatives weren’t as helpful as close neighbors.

But Luo Xiang was surprisingly capable. He handled everything swiftly, hospital paperwork, police reports, burial arrangements. It was simple, but nothing was overlooked. He even completed the ownership transfer. Efficient and precise.

The memorial for Luo Xitang was set for February 14th, the seventh day after death, the *touqi*. It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny, with clear skies.

Old Liu had doubts. Luo wasn’t a bad man, but he’d lived alone, and had no close family. Who would mourn him? Why go through the trouble of setting up a funeral?

Still, the rightful great-nephew had made the decision. As an outsider, Old Liu couldn’t say much. On the morning of the memorial, he and his wife brought incense and paid their respects on behalf of the village.

He had meant not to get involved, but when he saw the setup inside Luo’s home, he couldn’t help feeling something was off.

The whole place was bare. Just a photo and a few sticks of incense. No offerings, no candles, not even a table properly arranged. Not even the simplest white mourning setup.

The Luo home was old. Half mud wall, half brick. It looked rushed, unfinished. The threshold was rough stone, pockmarked with rain. Luo Xiang sat on it, legs stretched out, reaching the eaves. His white umbrella rested beside him. He held a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling lazily as his expression faded between near and far.

“No tofu rice, no meal, everyone comes and goes as they please. The old man wanted it simple,” Luo Xiang said slowly, sounding a little annoyed.

Old Liu frowned. He couldn’t help nagging. “Kid, you’re still young. Maybe you don’t realize, but funerals are serious business. Even a simple one needs proper form. You need offerings, incense, things arranged right. And where are the guests? I haven’t seen a soul, did no one show up?”

“They’ll come when it’s time,” Luo Xiang cut in curtly.

Old Liu’s face flushed red from the tone. He paused, wanting to say more.

But just then, the umbrella suddenly rolled off the step, tumbled outside, and with a *pop*, opened on its own. It spun a few circles before settling, casting a perfect round shadow.

A plump gray sparrow flew down from the pear tree, chirped once, and darted under the umbrella. It hopped around, then bent down, pecking at tiny bugs in the dirt.

Luo Xiang exhaled another puff of smoke.

Old Liu froze, eyes wide. He had completely forgotten what he was going to say. In the end, Auntie Liu dragged him back inside by the ear.

Back home, Old Liu sat, turning the whole thing over in his mind. A perfectly good umbrella opening by itself? That was strange.

What also nagged at him was the lack of guests. Half the day had passed, and not a single person had come to pay respects. It was shameful, really.

Old Liu felt it was a real injustice for Old Luo.

Old Luo had been a good man, Old Liu thought to himself. He mulled over everything he remembered about the man’s life. Old Luo was an outsider who had come to Liujia Village more than forty years ago. Back then, Liujia Village hadn’t yet been incorporated into Maochun City,it was a backward, isolated little farming village, and it was rare to see strangers come in.

But Old Luo was kind and easy to get along with. He never made enemies, was steady in his work, and ran a small business with integrity. Before long, the villagers had accepted him. He settled down, put down roots. Some of the village women even tried to set him up with a match, seeing he was alone.

But in the end, Old Luo remained a bachelor all his life, running a modest little general store with care and attention. Year after year, through spring and summer, autumn and winter.

Old Liu used to drink with him all the time. A plate of peanuts, a plate of boiled soybeans, and a five-yuan bottle of Erguotou ,they could talk the whole afternoon away.

Old Luo always said he was content on his own.

But now, seeing him with no wife, no children, no one to send him off… in the end, it really was a sad fate.

In old age, death comes for everyone. Sooner or later, no one can hold out forever.

Old Liu grieved for his old neighbor in his own way, and couldn’t help but think about his own remaining days. The lonely scene that awaited him after death added a real touch of sorrow to his thoughts.

That night, Old Liu barely touched his dinner. Usually, he would have a drink or two, but tonight he had no appetite,not even a drop. Auntie Liu didn’t bother with him. After clearing the table, she told him to go walk off his meal in the courtyard.

The weather had been nice during the day, but it was still the tail end of winter. As soon as the night wind picked up, Old Liu was shivering down to his bones and sneezed several times in a row.

Just as he was about to go back inside, he heard a strange rustling sound drawing closer from a distance. It passed by his front gate and headed straight toward Old Luo’s house.

Old Liu opened his eyes wide. It was dusk, and the village streetlights hadn’t come on yet. The light was dim and hard to see through, but he could vaguely make out a group,maybe ten, maybe twenty people, all different sizes and heights, moving together in a silent mass.

They didn’t talk to each other at all, and their expressions were hurried and serious.

Old Liu found it odd and, without really thinking, stepped out and followed behind them for a few paces.

He squinted.

In the distance, white lanterns had been hung at Old Luo’s place. Soft yellow light filtered through the white paper, casting a gentle glow in the cold moonlight.

Oddly enough, even in this chilling atmosphere, on a night like this, Old Liu didn’t feel afraid.

On the contrary, a faint warmth welled up in his chest.

The warmth seemed to spread through his limbs, pushing away the cold and stiffness, like reuniting with an old friend and sharing a pot of warm wine.

Old Liu was old.

Though in his younger days he had lived through years of socialist atheism and scientific education, he still held a few superstitions deep down.

Suddenly he remembered,it was Old Luo’s touqi.

The seventh night after death.

Traditionally, it was the night the soul came home for a final visit.

But Old Liu wasn’t scared at all. Quite the opposite,he found himself unconsciously following the dark silhouettes, step by step, toward Old Luo’s house.

From the outside, the scene at Luo’s place didn’t look much different from the day.

Old Liu stopped at the gate. His sense of reason had returned, and he didn’t dare go any farther.

He hid himself in the shadows, leaned in, and quickly peeked inside.

The courtyard was shallow, with the main hall facing the entrance directly. You could see the altar from the gate, and it wasn’t hard for Old Liu to make out what was going on.

To his surprise, the once-bare altar table was now piled high with offerings: meats, fruits, candles, and incense. Everything gleamed under the candlelight, and even from a distance, the aroma seemed to drift out enticingly.

The strange figures emerged from the darkness and gradually became clearer.

Their black shadows faded, revealing color, and that eerie, otherworldly aura disappeared.

They were just guests,relatives and friends coming to pay respects.

There were men and women, tall and short, some extremely fat, others deathly thin.

Their faces were bright with cheer, as if this weren’t a funeral at all. They talked and laughed loudly, without restraint.

No one saw Luo Xiang come out to greet them, but no one seemed to mind. They just picked their own seats and fell into lively conversations with friends.

Old Liu grumbled to himself,what kind of people show up to a funeral at this hour? Really, no manners at all.

At the center of the altar was Old Luo’s portrait, placed with solemn care.

Unlike most grim, lifeless funeral photos, Old Luo’s was vibrant, full of spirit. He wore a faint smile, and warmth shone in his eyes. He didn’t look scary at all,if anything, it made people feel close to him.

Old Liu sighed. Old Luo really had been a good man.

Just then, a soft singing drifted out from inside the house.

Old Liu stiffened. He pressed his ear closer.

Yes, it was singing.

Luo Xiang had come out of the inner room without anyone noticing. He still held that white-handled umbrella in his hand.

He walked slowly, the umbrella tip clicking softly on the stone floor,each step deliberate and heavy.

He stopped at the altar, standing in front of the portrait. The guests stood too, as if following some long-established ritual, and quietly lined up behind him.

“Where there is life, there must be death;
An early end is not fate denied. “

They kept singing.

Their voices grew louder and louder, like windrising, floating out of the house, soaring up into the sky, where it turned into the bright moon above.

Old Liu stood frozen. He couldn’t move at all. His eyes felt hot, and something seemed to slip down his cheek.

He didn’t know how long the singing lasted. Eventually, it faded into silence.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the chatting resumed. The guests laughed, tasted the fruit, and talked as if it were just any ordinary gathering.

Old Liu’s senses returned. He suddenly realized his legs had gone numb,his toes felt frozen stiff.

He leaned against the doorframe to steady himself, trying to move again.

At that moment, the warmth returned,familiar, comforting.

He wasn’t sure if something had settled on his back. Maybe yes, maybe no,it had no weight.

He kept his head stiff, didn’t dare turn around.

But in the air behind him, a faint sigh floated past.

“Old friend, thank you for ten years of warm wine and good company. Forgive the disturbance. Farewell.”

Suddenly, Old Liu could move again.

He didn’t dare think. He lowered his head and plunged into the thick night.

His face had turned pale, his teeth chattering. He moved purely on instinct, stumbling back home.

Just as he reached his door, a dark blur whipped past him.

Startled, his hand on the doorknob slipped, and he nearly fell in the mud.

The streetlights had come on, but he still hadn’t seen the figure clearly.

It vanished just outside the light’s reach, leaving only a few breathless mutters behind.

“Ahhh, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!!!”

The hurried footsteps followed, a series of soft slap-slap sounds, like heavy animal paws padding quickly over the stone path.

Old Liu took several deep breaths before he could muster the strength to push open the door.

His wife was already in bed, waiting for him.

That night, Old Liu slept better than he had in years.

When he opened his eyes, the sun was already up.

Out in the courtyard, Auntie Liu was complaining to someone, saying Old Liu was getting too old and lazy, sleeping in every day, tossing and turning all night muttering to himself. Who knows what kind of weird dreams he’d been having?

Old Liu got up, pulled on his thick cotton coat, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space.

He felt like something had happened last night.

Or maybe it had been a dream.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what it was.

Maybe that’s just old age.

While boiling water to wash his face, Old Liu decided to forgive himself.

If he couldn’t remember, he couldn’t remember.

Still, it must’ve been a good dream.

Breakfast was a pot of millet porridge and freshly made egg pancakes.

After eating, Old Liu strolled through the village lanes with his hands behind his back.

Before he knew it, he’d walked to Old Luo’s house.

He looked up and peered through the gate.

The hall was quiet and bare, just like yesterday. The altar was empty except for Old Luo’s photo and a small incense burner.

Old Liu stared for a while, then noticed something different.

He stepped in a couple paces and finally saw it.

The offering table, the rattan chair, the stone floor, even the eaves and roof tiles,everywhere was scattered with flower petals.

White ones, yellow ones, little wildflowers he couldn’t name.

Some had already wilted, some were in full bloom. Most of them were whole, as if someone had picked them carefully, carried them through the woods in morning dew, and laid them here with quiet reverence.

A breeze swept through the hall. The petals lifted and scattered, gone in an instant, leaving nothing behind.

Old Liu rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn’t seeing things.

He walked home in a daze, full of questions.

Just then, a young man in a dark brown hoodie hurried past him.

They brushed shoulders.

Old Liu suddenly froze. That man’s footsteps sounded awfully familiar.

Where had he heard them before?

Slap, slap… slap, slap…

Still no answer.

Oh well.

Old age brings forgetfulness.

The world is vast, anything can happen.

There’s nothing too strange about it.