My name is Chen Wuhuang, a low-income young man who delivers food in a big city. The two major labels in life are "poor" and "unlucky". Until that rainy night, I bumped into a ghost—literally, it was stuck in the elevator door and complained about sudden death overtime and having to float to work.
Only then did we realize that the city was crowded with more dead things than living people: 996 exhausted poor ghosts rushing to catch up on "underworld projects" in the midnight subway; unlucky ghosts who were forced to jump off buildings due to housing prices repeatedly bungee jumping from the rooftops of unfinished buildings; ghosts from car accidents who were always stuck at intersections looking for their lost organs; there were also foreign ghosts - Thai Gumantong lingering at the entrance of kindergartens, Japanese slit female masks were anxious about being out of stock, and vampires were malnourished due to the real-name system in blood banks.
As for me, I accidentally inherited my grandfather's "Practical Manual for Returning to the Clan of Ten Thousand Methods" which was thicker than a brick, and became a "non-editing yin and yang coordinator." There are no five insurances and one housing fund, no fixed salary, just a bunch of weird colleagues: a descendant of Maoshan who talks loudly, a carpenter who likes to invent and create with Luban Shu, and a female ghost roommate who always wants to suck my manhood but is always interrupted by the mortgage bill.
In this era when people are more tired than ghosts, I carry a tattered book and a second-hand electric car, and deal with all kinds of monsters and the more terrifying human hearts. Until one day, I discovered that all these seemingly accidental encounters pointed to a shocking secret that lasted for hundreds of years...
