Lin Yi travels through Tokyo and inherits a crumbling funeral parlor. There is no system, no magic, just a cold scalpel and corpses waiting for him to "repair" them.
In this world, all urban ghost stories are undiagnosed **"physiological diseases"**. Crack girl? That's the hyperplasia of the mandibular bite muscles, just cut them off. Sadako? That's a retinal neuron parasite, put some eye drops. Hachisha-sama? That is an imbalance of pituitary hormone secretion, which needs to be treated.
So, late at night in Tokyo. When the Metropolitan Police screamed in despair in the face of the monsters wandering the streets; when the chaebol knelt down to pray in search of eternal life; Lin Yizheng took off his bloody white coat, lit a cigarette, looked at the newly sutured "New God", and calmly wrote down the medical record: "The operation was successful. If you feel pain, it is the price of evolution."
... "My name is Lin Yi. I am not a savior, I am just a skilled embalmer." "Now, please lie down. We are going to start changing heads."
