In the twenty-third year of the Republic of China, it was the Ghost Festival. Deep in Liuxiang, Jiangning, 22-year-old Shen Henghua guards a small literary and entertainment shop.
She has no father or mother, never went to school, and grew up in an abandoned school next to a Taoist temple. Thin, silent, inconspicuous, but not afraid of anything. Those ghosts and ghosts could not get close to her - on her left wrist was a silver bracelet consecrated by a monk, which she had worn for twenty-two years, like an invisible wall.
But she always sheds tears in her dreams, soaking the pillow, but never remembers what she dreamed about. Before he died, the old Taoist priest said: Those tears are from the dead. They are looking for you, waiting for you to weaken.
Late at night during the Ghost Festival, a pale-faced woman appeared in the alley and said one word to her: Go. The next day, the woman's body was picked up from the Qinhuai River. The time of death was three days ago.
At the same time, the silver bracelet that I had worn for twenty-two years began to loosen.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
