In the summer when I was ten years old, I was unknowingly dragged into the thin coffin under the corn ground.
I had a high fever for seven days and talked nonsense. The fortune teller who came to save me pressed three copper coins between my eyebrows, turned to my mother and said: "The door is open to ghosts, and the windows are letting in the wind. This house has been hit by a 'dead house evil'. He can survive because he still has half of the rice rewarded by the ancestor in his life."
My family was so poor that even the thin coffin that my grandma used to carry her was made by removing the bed boards. My mother knelt in front of her husband, her forehead bleeding.
From then on, I followed him and walked through homes trapped by Feng Shui. I have seen the "white tiger carrying corpses" swallowing people in dry wells, I have seen the "debt urging people to die" facing the bed in the mirror, and I have also seen those things that are more terrifying than ghosts, the human heart.
Master never said who put me in the coffin that night. Until last month, Widow Li from a neighboring village died suddenly, and we went to collect her bones. The master stared at the three notches on the door frame of her house, and the compass in his hand suddenly spun wildly - those were the last strokes of the "Three Yin Soul Locks".
In the coffin, between Widow Li's fingernails, there were wood chips that were exactly the same as those on the door frame of my house.
Master finally spoke, his voice bitter: "They never set up more than one family..."
