Don't Touch the Corpse Makeup, the King of Hell Is Calling the Roll

I was born able to see ghosts, and was forced to become a haunted-house sleep tester.

My first assignment was a century-old corpse house in western Hunan. Every night, a rotting hand would tuck in my blankets.

According to the rules, I had to say “Thank you” three times. But then the ghost suddenly froze.

“You... can see me?”

The livestream exploded. Millions of viewers watched as I reached into my clothes.

“Don’t move. What I brought isn’t a black donkey hoof...”

“It’s a betrothal gift.”