On the first day I inherited my grandfather's funeral parlor, I broke three deadly rules:
After 12 o'clock at midnight, guests wearing red shoes could not be accepted - but the paper-faced woman held a paper baby and forced me to give me half a yellowed photo. The photo was of my grandfather 20 years ago. The woman with red shoes standing next to her looked exactly like her.
When collecting the body, the left hand of the deceased should not be touched - but the left hand of the drowned ghost was holding a copper bell. As soon as I touched it, I dreamed that I was choking in the water and someone shouted in my ear, "Give me back my child."
The copper bell rang three times and the door had to be closed immediately - but after the night bell rang, the paper figure floated in, holding Grandpa's reading glasses in his hands, with the words "Don't trust people in black" written on the lenses.
It wasn't until the man in black raised his knife to me that I realized that my grandfather's disappearance and the death of my parents were all hidden in the Red Shoes Massacre 20 years ago.
And I'm not collecting corpses at all - I'm handing the keys to the Yin-Yang Gate to the souls of those years ago.
"Linye, it's your turn to pay off your debt."
When the voice of the woman with red shoes floated over among the paper figures, I realized that the collars of all the shrouds in the shop were empty—no heads.
