Lin Qiubai was laid off.
I dragged my luggage back to my hometown and found my grandfather dead in front of the paper shop under the sycamore tree. There was no injury on his body. He was lying face down with a bamboo bone knife in his hand. There is only one sentence in the will: The shop belongs to you, the knife belongs to you, and the rules cannot be broken.
What rules? ——Orders received after 11 o'clock at night cannot be refused.
He thought grandpa was joking with him. Until eleven o'clock that night, the door of the paper shop opened by itself. A woman in red stood at the door and said, "I want a paper wedding dress for my daughter. Something happened on the day she got married, and she hasn't worn it for thirty years."
Lin Qiubai couldn't even pierce paper figures. But when he held the bamboo bone knife in his hand, his hand moved on its own.
Three days later, the paper wedding dress was tied up. The next morning, the wedding dress was missing. The scissors on the counter had been touched, pointing to the newly opened bar next door - the owner had just forced out the last few old neighbors on this street last week.
Then, the second bad order came. The third one. The fourth.
Wutong Lane Bajian Street, coffin shop, lantern shop, incense shop, copperware shop... Behind every house there is the obsession of a dead soul. Every time he receives a sin, Lin Qiubai gets closer to the secret underground of this street.
Someone is demolishing the old city. It's not just for the land - there is a Yin vein underground, and whoever can move it can use the Yin to transport things.
And Bajianjie has guarded this Yin vein for a hundred years.
The paper door will not retreat, and the eight craftsmen will not disperse.
