"Xiao Chen, aren't you leaving yet?"
Colleague Lao Zhao pushed the empty stretcher cart past the morgue door and leaned half in. He is an old employee in his fifties with gray hair and a gentle and distant smile that is unique to funeral home workers.
"It will be fine soon." Chen Mo raised his head, a pair of calm eyes revealed above the mask, "The family requests that they can pay their respects to the body tomorrow morning, and the wounds must be taken care of."
"You are always so serious." Old Zhao shook his head, "This girl is only twenty-three years old. I heard that she fell from the balcony of the rental house... Sigh. Her parents are out of town and will have to arrive tomorrow morning. They want to see their daughter last decently."
Chen Mo didn't answer and just nodded. His eyes returned to the face of the young woman on the operating table - pale, but after his repair, the ferocity of the fall could no longer be seen, and instead she seemed to be asleep. Only he knew that while suturing the wound, he saw something he shouldn't have seen: there were faint blue-gray lines on the woman's neck, like tiny roots spreading out from under the skin, gathering into a twisted pattern at the heart.
The Yin Ming Eye automatically opened again.
Chen Mo sighed secretly and forced himself to look away. This ability has existed for as long as he can remember, and he can see the "traces" left on the dead - sometimes unfinished.
