After my grandfather passed away, he left behind a yellowed notebook and a last word: "Don't touch the compass, don't ask ghosts and gods."
I kept the teachings in mind until strange deaths occurred one after another in the village - all the deceased were smiling, and their orifices were filled with incense ash.
The village chief knelt down and begged me to take action, and the note automatically turned to a page without wind: "The smiling face of incense ashes, the dragon on earth turned over, and there is no one in a hundred miles."
When I picked up the dusty compass and stepped into the door of the first deceased's house, my grandfather sighed from under the old locust tree in the yard: "After all, it's your turn..."
