I'm a mortician at a funeral home. Every day, I do the makeup for the dead.
Then one day, as I wiped the wrist of a car crash victim, a sharp pain shot through my fingertip, and I "saw" the entire process of someone pinning him down and forcing poison down his throat.
But everyone said it was just an ordinary traffic accident.
An old detective called me crazy, while the killer smiled at me at the memorial service.
That night, a note appeared at my door: If you insist on sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, remember to lock your windows when you sleep.
Later, I discovered that my "empathic touch" could reveal not only the dead person's final three minutes, but also the secrets they had kept their whole lives.
From poisonings to cases involving life support being withdrawn, from a clinic nurse silenced to a cold case from three years ago reopened, the more bodies I touched, the clearer the visions became.
But I was also starting to lose track: Were these memories the dead people's, or my own?
Then I found an old photo among my mother's belongings. The address written on the back was exactly the scene of an unsolved case from three years ago.
That was when I realized: My ability wasn't a gift. It was an inheritance someone had left me.
And that person was waiting for me to uncover the truth about her death.
Shen Yi, the mortician, touches death with his fingertips and lays open the human heart with empathy.
Every silent corpse holds a secret that the living are afraid to speak aloud.
If I can hear them, I can't pretend I can't.
