Night Shift at the Funeral Home: I Can Judge the Merits of the Deceased

The cold air was like countless fine needles, piercing every pore of Lin Yuan. In the morgue, the pale light illuminated the stainless steel morgue brightly, reflecting the coldness. It was so quiet here that only the low hum of the freezer compressor and Lin Yuan's own slightly heavy breathing were left. The phone screen lights up, showing the time as two-thirty in the morning.