On a cold night in Shangjun, even the wind carries the smell of corpses.
On top of the barren tomb, clods of earth rolled down.
First, there was a hand that was so pale that it was almost transparent. The fingertips were stained with wet mud, and they were pressed gently on the ground. The joints are distinct and the body is too still to be alive.
Then, a figure slowly sat up from the grave...
