In the still of the night, deep in the mist-draped mountains of western Hunan Province (Xiangxi), China, an eerie procession winds its way through forested paths. At the front walks a man striking a copper gong, his eyes steady and unwavering. Behind him, another man shakes a bell, its soft chime echoing through the valley like a whisper from the past. Between them march figures dressed in black robes and wide bamboo hats, arms stiff and faces pale. At first glance, they appear to be monks or travelers. But a closer look reveals the unsettling truth—they are corpses, led step by step through the dark mountains by corpse walkers known as gan shi jiang (赶尸匠).
Locals claim that a century ago, such scenes weren’t uncommon. In the darkness, travelers might stumble upon a strange procession—silent, ghostly, and unforgettable. The corpses stood upright, tied to bamboo poles with hemp rope, arms stretched forward as if compelled by some ancient magic. On their foreheads were yellow talismans, etched with ink and mystery. The bell, known as the soul-commanding bell (摄魂铃), was said to both control the corpses and alert the living to stay clear. It was an image both terrifying and captivating.
This isn’t just folklore—it’s a cultural phenomenon deeply rooted in the landscape, history, and spiritual life of Xiangxi.
A Practical Origin Behind the Paranormal
Despite its mystical appearance, the tradition of corpse walking wasn’t born from sorcery or superstition alone. It began as a practical solution to a painful problem.
Xiangxi is a remote region surrounded by mountains and thick forests. In ancient times, its people often left home in search of work or trade, traveling far across China. Wars, diseases, and accidents often meant that these people died in distant lands, unable to return home. Yet in Chinese culture, the belief in “returning to one’s roots” (落叶归根) is powerful. A person’s spirit, it was said, could not find peace unless their body was buried in their native soil.
But without trains, cars, or paved roads, how could the dead be brought home?
At first, strong men were hired to carry corpses on their backs across treacherous mountain trails. These men, known as “body porters“, could only carry one body at a time—a slow, grueling process. Later, the use of bamboo, a common material in Xiangxi, allowed innovation. Corpses were bound upright to long bamboo poles, held under the arms and tied tightly to avoid slipping. The flexible bamboo gave the illusion that the corpses were “hopping” as the pole swayed—thus the myth was born: walking corpses.
Why Only at Night?
Corpse walking was always done after sunset. The reasons were both spiritual and practical.
At night, the cooler temperatures helped prevent the corpses from decaying. Darkness also protected the psyche of local villagers—not everyone was ready to see a train of the dead shuffling past their door. Besides, only at night were the corpse inns (死尸客店)—resting places specially designed for such processions—open for business. These were simple shelters on the edge of villages where the corpse-walkers could rest without entering populated areas.
The people of Xiangxi cooperated with the practice. If they heard the copper gong or the soul bell, they would stay indoors or quietly turn away, respectful of the dead and wary of bad luck.
Becoming a Corpse Walker
Not just anyone could become a corpse walker. The job demanded strength, courage, and an unshakable spirit.
Trainees were tested in the harshest of ways. In one initiation rite, an apprentice had to walk into the deep woods at night and retrieve a sycamore leaf from atop a grave. This tested both bravery and mental fortitude.
The physical demands were no less daunting. A corpse walker might carry four to five bodies at once, easily amounting to 400–500 pounds, while trekking through steep, slippery terrain. They ate in the wild, slept in the cold, and rarely spoke of their work.
Strangely enough, another “requirement” was an intimidating appearance. The more fearsome the walker looked, the fewer questions villagers would ask, preserving secrecy and order.
Before leading a real procession, apprentices had to master a repertoire of “corpse skills”—from making bodies stand upright (standing technique), to navigating turns (turning skill), and keeping balance on steep paths. It was a physical art informed by both superstition and biomechanics.
Beyond the Supernatural
Today, Xiangxi’s corpse walking is largely a memory—an unsettling, fascinating cultural artifact that straddles the line between the sacred and the strange. Whether you see it as a superstitious relic or a historical necessity, the practice is a vivid example of how human societies craft rituals to confront mortality, honor family, and survive in the face of nature’s obstacles.
At WeirdFate, our journey through Asia explores such myths, landscapes, and beliefs—not to mock, but to understand the deeper truths they represent. In Xiangxi, the mist hides more than mountains—it hides stories. Stories of longing, loss, and the eerie beauty of traditions too strange to ignore.
Follow the mystery. Embrace the strange. Join the journey.
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📌 Next stop: Into the caves of Xiangxi, where another legend awaits…