"Good day sir," I greeted the bored-looking cemetery keeper, an elderly man with wispy grey hair and a perpetually hunched posture who was lazily sweeping leaves near the graveyard entrance.

  "Eh? What's that?" he squinted at me through rheumy eyes, leaning on his broom. His faded blue robes were patched in several places and had definitely seen better decades.

  "I was wondering," I said carefully, "if you've had any particularly... disagreeable individuals pass away recently? You know, the type of person everyone in town really, really hated?"

  The old man's bushy eyebrows shot up not expecting my inquiry. "Ya kno', normally people come here to pay respect to their loved ones," he said. "Not ask about the town assholes."

  "Ah, but you see," I smiled disarmingly, "I'm starting a new... agricultural venture. And I'm particularly interested in using natural fertilizers."

  "Natural fer—wait." The old man's eyes narrowed. "You want to dig up dead people for fertilizer?"

  "Not all dead people!" I hastily clarified. "Just someone really awful. You know, wife-beaters, corrupt merchants, that sort of thing. The kind of people whose relatives probably wouldn't mind if their final resting place contributed to something productive. Like cabbages."

  The old keeper stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Boy, I've been tending this graveyard for forty years, and that's the most creative grave-robbing excuse I've ever heard! Usually they just mumble something about lost jewelry or family heirlooms."

  He wiped tears from his eyes, still chuckling. "Let me guess—you're one of them failed cultivators from up the mountain citadel? The ones who come down here thinking they can harvest 'yin essence' or whatever nonsense?"

  "Actually, I'm more interested in studying the remains," I replied earnestly. "You see, when a body decomposes, it releases all sorts of interesting chemicals. And if the deceased happened to be a cultivator, well, I'd like to see what happens when those remains interact with plant matter. It's an experiment!"

  I didn't add that I had absolutely no idea what would happen. Maybe nothing. Maybe exploding cabbages. Maybe cabbages that could recite poetry. Science was about finding out, preferably without blowing yourself up in the process.

  The old keeper was now doubled over with laughter. "Spirit... spirit-enhanced... COMPOST!" he wheezed. "By the Heavenly Dao, that's a new one!"

  "The dead tell the best tales," I grinned. "And I'm sure you know many dead. Here, this should brighten your evening."

  I pulled out a massive bottle of wine from my bag procured from the compound's 'confiscated items' storage before my departure.

  The old keeper's eyes widened at the sight of the wine bottle. "Is that... Crystal Moon Palace wine? The kind they serve to Immortals?"

  "Indeed," I smiled. "Confiscated a century ago from some junior disciples who tried sneaking it into morning meditation. I figured it would be better appreciated by someone with real stories to tell."

  The keeper grabbed the bottle with surprising speed for his age, examining the seal. "Well now... perhaps we could discuss some of our more... problematic former residents. Did you ever hear about Old Man Zhou, the loan shark? Nasty piece of work, that one. Charged 220% interest and took people's children as collateral. When he died, his own family refused to claim the body."

  "Hmmm," I nodded. "Sounds lovely, but was he a powerful cultivator? I'm looking for someone who could do magical bullshit with an eye-blink."

  I needed someone whose body might still contain traces of whatever this Qi stuff was, assuming it didn't just evaporate when they died. Honestly, I had no idea. That was the point of the experiment.

  "That sort of people don't usually die here," the cemetery keeper replied, vanishing the wine in his robe through a sleight of hand that deserved its own magic show. "They generally get eaten by a spirit beast, get crushed by a leviathan, explode into burned meat chunks or rainbow sparkles up in their fancy mountain compounds or ascend to immortality or whatever. Though..." he scratched his chin thoughtfully, "we did get us a Jade Lady just two days ago…"

  "A Jade?" I leaned closer, having no idea what that meant but assuming from his tone that it was significant.

  "Zheniya the Chrysanthemum Barracuda. Now there was a piece of nasty work. Magistrate's daughter, quite the talented cultivator too. Was quite the terror of town before someone finally had enough and slipped Sunset Widow spiderlings into her breakfast tea."

  "Oh?" I perked up with interest.

  "Oh yes," the keeper uncorked the wine bottle with a rusty knife, settling onto a nearby bench. "Zheniya was what we call a 'young mistress' type—talented, beautiful, and utterly ruthless. Had this signature move where she'd call down purple lightning to fry anyone who displeased her. Called it the 'Chrysanthemum's Judgment' or some such."

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  He took another drink. "Word was she'd been slowly poisoning her father with mercury, making it look like cultivation sickness. She was set to inherit his position as magistrate within the week. Would've been a disaster for the town—she already had plans drawn up to 'renovate' the poor quarter by burning it down and building some sort of spiritual formation array."

  "The whole town knew what she was doing to her father, but nobody dared speak up. She had this nasty habit of making examples of people. There was this one street vendor who accidentally splashed some soup on her robes. She got so mad he exploded from a single tap of her pinkie. Took the street cleaners a week to scrub lightning streaks and blood stains outta the cobblestones," he chuckled darkly, taking another swig. "Though I'll tell you something funny—when they brought her body in, her perfectly manicured jade-like skin had turned this hilarious shade of angry purple. Matched her lightning technique perfectly! The mortician couldn't stop giggling while trying to make her presentable. Stuffed a bit of extra cotton in her cheeks till her face was all puffed up like an angry toad. Angry in life and even angrier in death, that one."

  "How deep did they bury her?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

  This was perfect! A recently deceased cultivator with a specialty in lightning techniques? It was like the universe was gift-wrapping my first experimental subject.

  The keeper gave me a knowing look. "Standard six feet, northwest corner, plot 668 under the willow tree. Not that I'm suggesting anything, mind you," he added with an exaggerated wink. "Just making conversation about our local history. Though if someone were to, say, redistribute some of that spiritual enrichment to more productive purposes... Well, I'm getting old. My eyesight isn't what it used to be, especially at night. And my hearing's going too—wouldn't notice if someone was digging unless they started singing while doing it."

  "Was she buried with anything special?" I asked curiously, wondering if I might acquire additional materials for my experiments.

  "Nay," the keeper shook his head. "The Rainbow Toad Town Council made this long-ass roll of all of her terrible crimes and stripped her of her worldly possessions as recompense. Not a single person came to her defense when she was buried, not a single soul said anything nice. Everyone hated her for she was the worst type of mistress, hostile to all below her, indifferent to the needs of her town. They say she once spent three hours lecturing everyone about the proper way to appreciate spirit tea while simultaneously electrocuting her servant for 'breathing too loudly' during the ceremony."

  The keeper took another long pull from the wine bottle. "They buried her in a plain hemp robe—though they did leave her that gaudy purple jade pendant she always wore. Said it was 'spiritually bonded' to her. Personally, I think they were just scared it might curse whoever tried to remove it." He chuckled. "Served her right—being buried in peasant's clothes after all her preening and posturing about being 'cultivation nobility.'"

  "She sounds perfect," I said thoughtfully. "I mean, perfectly horrible. I'll go over and pay her some respects now then."

  As I approached the willow tree in the northwest corner, I encountered a peasant relieving himself on what was clearly Zheniya's grave, judging by the headstone featuring her name and passing date.

  "Oh, pardon me," the beardly, balding, slightly drunk man said, hastily readjusting his trousers. "Just paying my daily respects to the Young Mistress." He spat on the grave for good measure. "She had my brother executed for 'disrupting spiritual harmony' when his cart wheel squeaked too loudly."

  "No need to apologize," I replied cheerfully. "I'm sure she appreciates the... irrigation. Say, would you happen to own a shovel?"

  The peasant blinked at me, then broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin. "A shovel? Why, sure I've got three in me shed! Why?"

  "Well," I smiled innocently, "I was thinking of starting a garden. And I hear purple jade makes excellent fertilizer."

  The peasant leaned in conspiratorially, breath heavy with rice wine. "You know, funny thing about that jade pendant of hers—word is it's worth enough spirit stones to feed a family for a year. Not that I've been thinking about it or anything," he added hastily. "Just something I heard while definitely not planning any grave robbery."

  "Not that I've been thinking about it or anything," the peasant added hastily. "Just something I heard while definitely not planning any grave robbery."

  I studied the man's face, noting the mathematical improbability of someone so casually admitting to contemplating grave robbery to a complete stranger. The alcohol-induced probability modifier was clearly at work here, reducing his inhibition function to near-zero values.

  "I'm curious," I said, leaning in conspiratorially, my voice dropping to a variable just above ambient noise levels, "about this pendant. Any... unusual properties I should be aware of? You know, hypothetically speaking."

  The peasant glanced around with all the subtlety of a differential equation attempting to solve itself aloud. "Well," he whispered loudly enough to be heard three graves over, "they say it's cursed. Bonded to her spirit, see? Anyone who touches it supposedly gets haunted by her ghost—all purple and screaming about… stuff.”

  I stared at the drunken peasant. The statistical likelihood of supernatural rage seemed dubious, but then again, I was currently inhabiting the body of a failed magical kung fu student in another dimension. My empirical framework required significant recalibration.

  “To be honest,” I said. “I'm more interested in her... other assets. The Qi-enriched cultivated remains. For agricultural research."

  “Agri…” The peasant squinted at me. "You want to... farm with her... bones?"

  "Indeed! Think about it—all that spiritual energy she used to torment people with could be redirected to grow the biggest, juiciest cabbages this town has ever seen. Wouldn't that be a fitting legacy? The woman who exploded people over soup stains, transformed into affordable produce for the common folk?"

  The peasant stared at me for a long moment, then burst into wheezing laughter. "By the Luminar Emperor's perfectly groomed beard, that's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard! She always went on and on about her 'noble spiritual legacy'—bet she never thought it'd be feeding the same peasants she looked down on!"

  He wiped tears from his eyes. "Tell you what—I'll help you dig her up, but on one condition."

  "Oh?"

  "I want the first pick of whatever cabbages you grow from her bones. We could serve them at the town's autumn festival, tell everyone they're 'Chrysanthemum's Last Judgment' cabbages!" He cackled. "Maybe make a nice kimchi. She always did hate 'commoner food'—said it disturbed her refined spiritual palate."

  "Sure," I grinned. "Though we should probably wait until nightfall..."

  "Won't be too long," the peasant looked up at the setting sun. "Let's walk to my farm and get the shovels."