My name is Chen Mo. I’m a delivery rider in Chengdu, earning 5,000 yuan a month.
Until that rainy night, when I received my 501st order:
The recipient’s name was my own. The person who placed the order was a woman who had jumped to her death three days earlier.
There was only one line in the notes: “Ten minutes. If you’re late, the delivery rider will be trapped here forever.”
The blackened peachwood bone shard my grandmother left me, worn against my chest, turned red-hot for the first time.
That night, I pushed open the door of an old teahouse by the river that had been demolished three years ago.
That night, I finally learned:
Every day, the dead in this city place orders.
My grandmother’s death three years ago, the office worker who jumped on Chunxi Road, the female student killed in a car crash on the Third Ring Road... Behind them all was the shadow of the same delivery company: Night Courier Logistics.
The legacy of the Pot Listener awakened, and orders began passing between the worlds of the living and the dead. Even a delivery rider could alter an order.
For every delivery to the dead, I have the right to add one character to the notes.
One character can get Captain Wang Hao fined three thousand yuan on the spot.
One character can leave someone like Zhao Hongzhi completely bankrupt.
