The Delivery Rider’s Yin-Yang Eyes

I’m a delivery rider, and I can see ghosts.

I thought I could live a peaceful life as long as I pretended not to see them.

Then, on a stormy night, I got an order for “braised pork, with extra sauce.”

The delivery address was a rental house that had burned down seven days earlier. A woman with a deathly pale face opened the door, handed me a crumpled wad of cash, and said with a smile, “My son loves this.”

The next day, I saw the news: the mother and son had died in that fire a week ago.

I thought it was just a coincidence.

But after that, my late-night orders started getting strange:

At one in the morning, a note read, “Please check if my wife is all right.” The address was the site of a car crash.

At three in the morning, a note read, “The medicine is in the second drawer.” The recipient was an elderly man who had lived alone and died a week earlier.

There was no escape, nowhere to hide. They always found me.

Until a policewoman set her sights on me. “The victims in three ‘accidental death’ cases all received their last food delivery from you.”

I couldn’t explain. Should I tell her that I don’t just deliver food, I help ghosts deliver their last words?

Worse still, I discovered a bigger secret behind these orders: someone was exploiting the dead’s lingering obsessions to raise vengeful spirits and make a fortune.

And I had become their only connection to the living.

Later, I understood.

They weren’t coming to me because I could see them.

It was because in this city, I was the only one willing to make their final delivery.

My name is Zhang Yuan. I’m a delivery rider.

For late-night orders, please note: “Extra scallions.”