The knife was held at my neck while the pig laughed.
The Siyin Supervisor recruited me to be a Yin servant, and I would be replaced every five years, and I would be given a hundred taels of silver at the end of the term. I couldn't say anything, but the knife went into my flesh - they could smell that I hid my soul under the threshold.
Until I met Widow Liu. She also hides her soul. Her man was written to death by the person who borrowed the knife. She shared half of his soul and stayed alive.
We exchange blood, souls, and lives. She grinds the tofu, and I push the grinder, separated by a stone mill for forty years.
Her tears flowed into the soy milk, which was salty. I said it was too mild, and she said I was too salty.
The 30,000-word short story is completed, and the 16 chapters are all about ordinary people channeling spirits - not becoming an immortal, but grinding away the days in the mud.
