After restoring a female corpse marked with an exorcist mask, the city in Chen Yan’s eyes begins to bleed
The convenience store sells ghost money, a wedding-dress ghost lurks in 5G, influencers summon the Chopstick Spirit, and comments crawl across people’s faces.
The ancestral exorcist mask grows hot. When he puts it on, he can see lantern-shadow ghosts gnawing on power lines and understand the grins of internet haunts.
The bronze goblet in Shen Yanxin’s hands sways with the city’s reflection, while the skyscrapers beneath their feet have long since become a dining table for folkloric monsters.
He is the last mask-maker. He has to make the ghosts understand: the pain of the city works better than talismans.
