Taoism: I Cultivate Yang, He Cultivates Yin

My name is Zhang Xiaotian. I’m seventeen, a problem student, and born with a Fire fate.

Then one day, an empty desk appeared in our classroom.

There was no name on the attendance sheet and no seat listed on the seating chart, yet everyone remembered someone sitting there.

Even stranger, sheets of paper began making decisions for the living.

If a report card said you cheated, the whole school would suspect you.

If a parental consent form said you agreed to be transferred, your own family would hand you over.

If a hospital record said your case had been dealt with, a living person would be recorded as “already finished.”

I thought all I had to do was burn the papers.

But Lin Yan told me, “Don’t go burning things recklessly. The paper isn’t the monster. The door is behind it.”

I cultivate yang, using fire to burn evil paper.

He cultivates yin, watching over the old doors.

The door doesn’t kill people. It simply completes all the formalities for you.

From the classroom to the hospital, from parental consent forms to the archives room in the old laboratory building, we finally discovered that this city had long been watched by a set of invisible rules.

It doesn’t kill people.

It simply erases you, bit by bit, from everywhere.

Until no one can prove that

you were ever here.