Before my grandfather died, he held my hand and said, "Second son, our job has eyes. You can't see it, but it can see you."
I thought he was burned out.
Until I picked up his coffin bearer and went out for the first time - the coffin was unusually light, blood oozed from the bottom, and the heart of the thing inside was beating in sync with me through the wooden board.
The wooden sign left by my grandfather told me: This village is a hundred miles in radius, and every coffin hides an unpaid debt.
Some people owe an apology for seventy years.
Someone owes a life to three generations.
And in the deepest part of the mass grave, there is a woman waiting.
She said she was here to pay off a debt.
But what she owed was not the Zhou family or the Chen family, it was the village that owed her.
I am Wang Er.
I'm not a pallbearer.
I fulfill the wishes of the dead.
The debt period has come.
I'm here to take the promise.
