At midnight, no one is allowed to sit in the third row of the classroom.
Never brush your hair in front of a mirror during a thunderstorm.
Never, ever pick up anything red in the ruins.
My name is Jiang Ning, and I’m an ordinary college student. Then I discovered that the taboos in the folk-custom notebook my grandfather left behind
were all real.
Even stranger, my right eye can see things other people can’t.
Every calamity is entangled with a silver thread as fine as a strand of hair. Follow the thread and strike, and one blow is enough to kill.
A tough guy from the Northeast brandishes a short knife and curses me for talking nonsense. A young man from Henan takes a leisurely drag on his cigarette and says, “Well, well, this kid’s something else.” Then the people from the Guarding Division come knocking, calling me a “once-in-a-century loophole in the rules.”
They say the gray fog is spreading and calamities are about to awaken.
They say the mortal world needs Night Watchers.
But they don’t know
The last thing my grandfather said before he disappeared was:
“Jiang Ning, don’t trust the Guarding Division.”
When a glimpse of the truth finally emerges from behind the fog, I realize
I can see far more than the threads of the rules.
Urban Superhuman Martial Arts × Rules-Based Horror × Folk Mystery
