Cultivating Immortality Begins with Guarding a Corpse

At dawn, you’re jolted awake by a knock at the door.

Your mother’s voice comes from outside. “Time to get up.”

But your mother was buried seven days ago.

You peer through the crack in the door. Your mother is standing there with breakfast, smiling kindly. But her smile is exactly the same one that was stitched onto her face before the funeral.

Then she states the second rule: “No matter who opens the door for you, don’t let anyone else inside.”

Before you can react, your own voice comes from behind you, beneath the bed: “Don’t go out. The one outside… isn’t me.”