My name is Daji, the youngest undertaker at the funeral parlor.
Others are afraid of corpses, but I can hear the last words of the corpse;
While others ward off evil spirits, I rely on my burial skills to suppress them.
Every corpse hides a grievance.
Is my boss ostracizing me? Are my colleagues afraid that I will cause trouble?
I'm sorry, but I am the only one who can sort out this dirty business in the funeral home.
A needle in the coffin can calm the soul; a sound of scissors can make the evil spirits give way.
Today is a good day for burial, good luck!
I have seen too many cries separated by yin and yang, and heard countless unspoken regrets. Daji's life dictionary is full of all kinds of human situations on the edge of life and death. He once sorted out the remains of the unknown deceased and restored dignity to the cold body; he also encountered supernatural fragments that could not be explained by common sense in the morgue late at night - who was whispering unfinished concerns in the corner? Which afterimage is it, stubbornly guarding the unfulfilled wish?
There is no thrilling rendering, only the most realistic understanding of life and death from the perspective of an undertaker. When the solemnity of the profession collides with the unexpected supernatural moment, what has accumulated over ten years is the reverence for life, and the gentleness of helping others and oneself.
