I’m Fan Taixi, a crowdsourced delivery rider who mostly works night shifts.
At one in the morning, I accepted an order with a 45-yuan delivery fee. The address was Lane Three, Yonganli, an area that had been demolished long ago.
After I delivered it, a note said: Don’t look back.
I looked back.
From that night on, a black infant’s fingerprint appeared on my right wrist. No matter how hard I scrubbed, it wouldn’t come off.
Uncle Le, who ran the grocery store downstairs, said, “You’re not delivering food. You’re delivering a fetus.” Some people use Kuman Thong dolls to raise ghosts. I’d become the courier who fed them.
To stay alive, I began learning about Buddhist amulets, curse magic, and the dark arts of Southeast Asia.
A Thai Ajarn accepted me as an unofficial disciple, and He Shang, an heir to the Hakka ritual tradition, became my troublemaking partner.
Talismans of Mazu, Guanyin, and the Great Emperor Huaguang are my last line of defense against black curses.
Meanwhile, the curse master Chaphong Ajarn, lurking in the shadows, is raising a “Ghost King” to maturity. The final sacrifice he needs is my mother.
Strange tales of Southeast Asia, night-shift deliveries. Every order could lead to the Yellow Springs.
