The old house smelled even mustier than he remembered.
The white cloth in the mourning hall billowed in the draft, as if something were breathing behind it.
The incense on the altar must never go out. The dead must never face north. After midnight, no one must look in a mirror. His grandfather had never mentioned any of these rules while he was alive.
The moment Shen Congli's fingertips touched the family genealogy, dizziness swept over him, and his ears filled with damp, icy whispers.
After that, his fingernails began turning gray, and gill-like marks appeared on his wrists.
He knew he should stop digging, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw a pair of eyes at the bottom of the well, staring at him.
His grandfather hadn't died. He had been “taken away.” And Shen Congli was the last surviving member of the Shen family.
