At three o'clock in the morning, Lin Feng was woken up by a paper man for the third time. Next door, Bai Xiaoli was dotting paper horses with a brush, while Uncle Zhong was yawning and burning tinfoil. The scene three seconds later flashed through Lin Ping's mind - an old woman wearing a shroud would walk in at the door and hand over a crumpled letter of appointment. "Temporary ghost story investigator. If you sign, you will live. If you don't, you will become a paper person." The old woman grinned, showing a mouth full of gold teeth. Lin Feng silently took out the blank paper in his arms and turned to Bai Xiaoli and said, "Write a testimony for me." "Write what?" "New rule - in any field of ghost stories, you are not allowed to ask for the names of living people." Bai Xiaoli paused with her brush: "Are you crazy?" This is Lin Feng's daily life: relying on three-second predictions to avoid death traps, using resurrected paper to prick people to defraud, and the most cruel thing is - every time he enters a field of ghost stories, he forcibly writes a new rule, causing those high-ranking old gods to fall from the clouds into the mud. The clock ticks and the cycle restarts. This time, he wants all the rules to make way for him.
