I transmigrated as the only son of a Yellow River corpse diver, and from the start I was shoved into a coffin.
The first thing Lin Du realized when he woke up was that someone had nailed the coffin shut.
The second was that he had activated the Yellow River Spirit-Ferrying System and acquired a qi-reading art that could expose the weaknesses in a person’s fate.
The third thing: a dockside bully kicked down the door of the coffin shop and demanded he repay a debt of two hundred taels that didn’t even exist.
His life force was as faint as a mouse’s, and misfortune clung to him from head to toe. Everyone said the son of Old Ghost Lin wouldn’t live past the Ghost Festival this seventh month.
Lin Du chewed up the IOU and swallowed it.
He smiled at Liu Dabiao. “You’re afraid of water, right?”
Liu Dabiao backed down.
But on the first page of the System’s Spirit-Ferrying Register, these words stood out:
“Yellow River Ghost No. 1,362: Nameless. It is staring at you from the riverbed.”
The sound of water drew closer. It wasn’t a wave. Something sealed away three hundred years ago was laughing.
Lin Du thought he was here to ferry ghosts across.
Only when he stood by the river did he notice what was written in the “Ghosts Awaiting Passage” column of the register:
His own name.
