The terrible weather in Jiangcheng is like a resentful woman who has experienced early menopause, changing her face at any time. It was still oppressively hot during the day, but in the second half of the night, dark clouds poured down like ink, followed by a violent wind and rain that shattered glass.
The second basement floor of Jiangcheng Funeral Home is the morgue.
There is no daylight here all year round, and the air is sticky with a smell of formalin, inferior incense and an inexplicable musty smell. The exhaust fan kept wheezing like a consumptive ghost coughing.
Lu Han was wearing a white washed sterile suit and a medical mask, revealing only a pair of eyes as calm as dead water. He is only in his early twenties, but the old age in him is heavier than that of Lao Litou who is looking at the door outside. Nothing else. If you work as an undertaker, especially if you work the night shift, you will see more dead people than living people all year round, so it is normal for you to get a little "yin energy".
"Brother Lu, it's so late at night, so I have to ask you to hurry up." The big iron door of the morgue was pushed open, and with a gust of cold wind, Old Li rubbed his hands and led two soaked police officers to push the corpse truck in.
The wheels of the car made a harsh "crunch" sound on the terrazzo floor.
Lu Han didn't even raise his eyelids. He was holding a small hemostat in his hand and was doing the final facial sutures on a body that was shattered in a car accident next to him. "Put it there. What's going on?" His voice was hoarse, a little dry as if he hadn't spoken for a long time.
