Two thousand five hundred years old, just out of the coffin, no house, no car, no savings, not even an ID card.
Wearing the "Ghost Hunting Brigade" sweatshirt given by the apprentice (it's too big), barefoot, with spicy sticks in his pocket, he will accept ghosts and eat whenever he sees food.
The ancestor's ancestor? Unimportant.
Can you seal the demon seal? Not important either.
The important thing is – what are you going to eat tonight?
