Some cases cannot be written into case files, stored in the archives, or even have their crime-scene footprints examined too closely by ordinary police officers.
They are hidden in the moon-worship rituals of the yellow weasels in remote old mountain valleys, concealed beneath the red bridal veils of paper funerary shops, submerged in the whirlpools of ancient Yellow River crossings, and sealed within the clay bodies of thousand-year-old soul jars.
The Seventh Division is located on the third basement level of the Ministry of Public Security. It has no sign, no official staffing allocation, and does not even appear by name in the System. It deals exclusively with strange incidents that are "not fit for public discussion."
Lu Shen, the head of the Seventh Division, is always turning over a yellowed booklet with frayed corners. Fang Yan is a weirdo who stares at three monitors and can use code to calculate the calamities hidden in your Eight Characters. Wen Ning is a madman of field research, with half of China's folk taboos stored in his mind.
And "I," a newcomer who has yet to figure out the rules, am stopped by a yellow weasel demanding my fortune on my very first assignment. On my second, I discover at a ghost-marriage ceremony that the groom has the same face as me...
Five bizarre cases, twenty chapters of mystery.
You think every case is independent? No. From the snowy plains of the Northeast to the ancient Yellow River roads, from paper figures opening their eyes to soul jars whispering, every clue points to the same secret that should never be opened.
Folklore for the bones, mystery for the veins, horror for the skin.
Welcome to the Seventh Division, where there is only one rule: never ask how the previous person in the position left.
