Submitted for Vampires Everywhere Challenge #4: Historical Fiction by WattVampires (non-qualifying entry, above word limit)
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Sweat drops formed across Hui Bingwen's brow. He stood on the platform beneath the high noon sun, at the railhead of the Central Pacific line at Promontory Summit in Utah Territory. He beamed with pride as he observed the narrowing gap where his team would mount the last spike, connecting the tracks to the Union Pacific railway. On May 10th, they would make history, completing the First Transcontinental Railroad. Pretty impressive for an erstwhile street urchin from Tianjin!
Later that evening, Bingwen's workgroup played Cantonese poker in their bunk at the encampment. Nobody remembers exactly what happened — blame the moonshine. At some point, Gao Yonghan, who'd been openly jealous about the priase Bingwen had recieved, stabbed the junior foreman in the chest. He tossed Bingwen's body onto the tracks in a fit of rage.
Superintendent Massingham was upset about the loss of such a dedicated laborer. Nevertheless, there were plenty of eager, able-bodied Chinamen ready to take his place. Boss O'Sullivan ordered the crew to drag Bingwen's corpse out into the desert.
The Great Basin air was filled with centuries worth of floating yáng qi energies: the spirits of outlaw drifters and fallen Navajo braves; the essences of feral mustangs and great horned owls that lived among the wild juniper. All of these virile masculine forces roused Bingwen's body awake.
Nearly half a day had passed since Bingwen was killed. By the time he could lift himself off the ground, rigor mortis had already set in; he was unable to bend his limbs and his flesh was pale and dust-caked. He had become a jiangshi—a living soul in a dead man's body—just like in the ghost stories his Auntie Mei-Lin used to tell. He raised his arms forward and began hopping across the plains, kicking up clouds of sand behind him.
Just like the jiangshi of lore, Bingwen found a damp cave to hide in until after dusk. With single-minded purpose, he leaped towards the railhead camp under the cover of night.
The Superintendent had offered bonus pay to all the Chinese laborers who weren't scheduled to join the spike-laying ceremony. On most evenings, Yonghan would stick to the Chinese-run vice dens. But that night he was flush with cash and eager to show it off, so he visited Hopkins' Fisher King Saloon tent. He even hired Beulah, who was Bingwen's favorite lady—the only one who liked him enough to comfort him for free once.
Come sun-up, the first shifters found Yonghan's withered corpse lying face down near the ramshackle hardware depot. The local Deputy figured an investigation would be a waste of time—"write it up as booze poisoning and be done with it". But Doc McAllister hadn't encountered anything like it; and he'd seen all kinds of crazy shit while treating wounded Confederates back in Tucson.
Of course, the Chinamen knew the real score. They had an idea how a body drained of its qi might look. But they knew better than to speak up about it.
