The Yin Ferryer

This is a desolate village. Once it’s past eight in the evening, no one goes outside. There are no chirping insects or singing birds here. At night, even the toads dare not make a sound. So, from within a coffin, I see all that happened in life; with a sweep of my dust whisk, I ferry the dead across. As I look at the thousands of spirit tablets in the ancestral hall, and the unseen eyes behind them…