On the first day of the vigil at the funeral home, Master handed me three rules: don't look back when you are ugly, don't open your eyes when you hear crying, and don't touch the bottom of the morgue. That night, I made all the mistakes.
When I was lowering my head to clean, the incense burner fell over and the ashes were scattered on the floor, which actually spelled my name. Only then did I realize that I was born with a pair of ghost-marked eyes that could see through everything. What others saw as taboos was all loopholes in the rules in my eyes.
He followed the rules during the day, and at night he led the police to catch those who violated the rules. While others were still trembling on the third floor, I had figured out the secrets of the ninth floor of the funeral home.
