Autumn, seventeenth year of the Republic of China.
I clutched the crumpled letter of introduction and rubbed my knuckles over the words "This is to send Shen Yan to Qingni Village to assist in investigating strange things." The carriage happened to run over a deep rut. The car curtain was lifted up by the wind, and a damp, cold moisture came in with the smell of rotting straw. I subconsciously wrapped myself in the washed white police uniform - this was the only thing I took with me when I resigned from the Nanjing Police Department. There was also a rusty police badge in my left breast pocket. I got it when I solved a serial theft case ten years ago, but now it is just a thought.
