Chen Mo is an undertaker at a city funeral home and has been working there for seven years. He does the tasks that others avoid doing with ease. Until that day, a male corpse was brought out from the river. The cheek was torn and the edges of the wound were not neat enough. He held the suture needle and threaded it. When the needle tip opened the flesh, his fingertips touched something hard - a black chip the size of a grain of rice hidden under the skin on the inside of the cheekbone. After get off work that night, Chen Mo stood in front of the sink and rubbed his hands three times. The smell of formalin and corpse odor was still left between his fingernails. He looked up at the mirror. There were two groups of black and blue under the eyes of the person in the mirror. Then he heard someone speaking behind him, his voice hoarse, as if there was phlegm stuck in his throat: "Don't touch that thing." Chen Mo turned his head, and the lights in the corridor of the funeral home flickered twice. It was empty and there was no one around.
