At night in the Chengnan Funeral Home, it was so quiet that you could hear the sound of your own heartbeat hitting the concrete floor. Mixed with the strange smell of formalin and the residual smoke from incense, it made your throat tight. Wu Yan was squatting next to the morgue, holding a small makeup brush in his hand, and was slowly applying blush to the unknown male corpse on the stage - it wasn't a delicate job, it was just to make the face look less gloomy and to make it look more dignified.
He is twenty-three years old and is the youngest body plastic surgeon in this funeral parlor. In terms of skills, he is more skillful than the old Zhang Tou who has been working in the parlor for more than ten years.
