In the eighth year of the Republic of China, the moonlight in the monkey village always smelled of rust. When Nizi secretly fed the lame monkey in the cage, the old monk's prophecy fell like a spell. When the monkey's paw tore open the lantern in the ancestral hall, she saw the copper knife that her grandfather used to worship ancestors. On the mountain road where she took refuge with her aunt, the shadows grew down in the stream, and the scars on the wrists of the old monk in the forest were exactly the same as those of the amputated monkeys she had fed. It turns out that the whole village feast has always been filled with the ghosts of the monkey hunter's ancestors.
