The day my grandfather died, the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, a fog came out of the window that should not exist.
The old man said: Your grandfather is a watcher of the year and has been watching it for sixty years. Now that he's gone, you have to step up.
I said: I am a graduate student in folklore, what can I do?
The old man pointed to the firecracker that Grandpa had kept for three years and had densely written charms on it and said: Light it and listen to the sound.
The cannon fires and the fog clears. I saw things I shouldn't have seen and heard sounds I shouldn't have heard.
They say it's called "cognitive pollution."
They say that each of the twenty-four solar terms is a disaster.
They say that firecracker makers, Nuo opera performers, ghost walkers, tattoo artists... These old crafts hidden in the market are the last line of defense in this world.
On New Year's Eve, the Nian beast is coming.
I have no way out.
Because I finally understand that my grandfather has been watching for sixty years, and he is not watching the New Year——
it's me
