>The night in the funeral parlor was so quiet that you could hear the sound of dust falling to the ground.
>The pale paper figures on the shelves, the blush on their faces looked so red that they were bleeding under the energy-saving lamps.
>When I heard the "cha-la" friction, I thought it was a rat.
>I didn't know I was wrong until the paper-made virgin "moved" out from behind the paper ingot with stiff joints.
>It slapped a rusty bronze pocket watch on the counter, and the flat voice rang directly in my head:
>"Signer Lin Mo... Time prisoner identity... Activated..."
