The moment Fang Yu transmigrates into the county magistrate known as “the terror of ghosts,” the stench of mold and rotting corpses hits him in the nose.
The constables have fled, the secretary has hanged himself, and even the rats avoid this gloomy yamen.
When he murmurs to the air, promising to “help Old Li deliver half a pancake,” Head Constable Qin nearly drops his saber.
Crows wheel above the dead trees outside the county town. The previous magistrate’s rotting corpse, still wrapped in its official robes, sways precariously.
Fang Yu pats his deceased colleague. “Don’t rush, brother. We’re going to turn this haunted dump into a place of good fortune, no matter what it takes...”
The moment his fingertip touches the corpse, hundreds upon hundreds of shrill wails erupt in his mind!
