At the third watch of the midnight hour, blood-red lanterns sway at street corners. This yellowed ancient volume records eerie tales passed down by word of mouth from Changbai Mountain to the thirteen provinces of Lingnan: the soul-summoning bells at the waists of corpse drivers in western Hunan ring by themselves on rainy nights; the eyes of witchcraft puppets from the South Seas seep human blood; and a white figure in embroidered shoes forever haunts an abandoned opera stage. Those who open the book will bear witness: a headless visitor wandering the hospital morgue knocks on metal cabinets with its ribs; scratching fingernails can be heard beneath the carved bed in an old Republic-era mansion; and on a livestream, a red-clad female ghost smiles at the audience through the camera. As the boundary between life and death is soaked through with ink, every story will cast a new shadow behind you. This book has been sealed with a curse for thirty years. Anyone who reads it from cover to cover will find one eerie tale transformed into a bloody mark in the palm of their hand.
