The heavy rain hit the green tiles, making a crackling sound like someone was spreading beans.
Su Yunjin was wearing the white washed vinyl raincoat, holding a rusty hatchet in her hand, walking slowly along the circle of graves on the back hill. He is the gravekeeper of the Su family cemetery. He has lived in this gloomy land for as long as he can remember. He has been used to hearing ghosts cry at night for twenty-five years.
"The rain is evil." He muttered, his voice soft as if he was speaking to himself.
In the rain curtain, the distant mountain shadows blurred into a ball of ink that could not be opened. Su Yunjin stopped and used the tip of the hatchet to pick up the grave soil that had been loosened by the rain—the ownerless corpse that had just been buried in front of her. Why did half of the grave collapse?
He squatted down and dug his fingers into the cold, wet soil. The earth smells fishy and sweet, not like the normal earthy smell, but like blood mixed with perfume, which is so greasy that it hurts the brain.
The grave is cracked.
