Lin Shen is a funeral director. His job is to tidy up the appearance of the deceased, bid farewell to the living, and build the final bridge between life and death. Unlike other colleagues, he carries a dark blue cloth-covered notebook with him. What he records in it is not the work process, but the last words left by the deceased in the world, those unsaid farewells, unfinished instructions, or sudden insights.
He calls it the guestbook of life. Over the past thirteen years, there have been 473 messages lying quietly between the pages. Some people say that Lin Shen is indifferent and never has any trouble in the face of death. Only he knows the turmoil in his heart every night when he rereads these sentences.
Until that rainy night, the body of a young woman was sent to the funeral home. Her identity was unknown and she had no family members. The police initially determined that she committed suicide. While sorting out her remains, Lin Shen found a piece of paper in her clenched hand with a line of words written on it, and this sentence was exactly the same as record No. 79 In his notebook.
