At midnight in the funeral home, the bloody memory of 1943 burned into the corpse's pupils as the money in Chen Qingya's palm burned.
This time, he grasped half of the hexagram coin that had sunk into his palm, and swallowed the last handful of paper ashes on the night of the new moon - either burning all the cursed memories in this world, or becoming a living sacrificial vessel for ferrying the undead through time and space.
