Record of Soul-Stitching on the Old Street

Deep in an old street paved with blue-gray stone slabs, the Lin family has guarded a shroud shop for generations.

Before Grandma died, she left behind an old pair of sinister shears and repeatedly warned me not to meddle in the street’s supernatural affairs.

Thirty years ago, on a stormy night, a bloodbath unfolded in the tailor shop. Wang Cai, the younger brother, used seven soul-nailing needles to imprison his elder sister’s spirit so he could practice the forbidden art of soul-stitching. He fashioned a coffin for a pair of yin spirits and fed on resentment for years.

A local thug fell under the spell of his evil magic, strange happenings plagued the neighbors, and my mother was chosen as a living substitute.

I, Lin Mo, wielded the family’s ancestral sinister shears and a black copper coin to ward off evil. I broke paper talismans and severed the threads controlling souls, peeling away the disguise of the seemingly benevolent funeral-home owner, step by step.

The blood feud was settled, and the wronged spirits were finally set free.

The funeral home’s front doors swung open without a breeze. A low warning came from the darkness:

“You little brat of the Lin family, you’ve crossed the line.”

The vast game hidden behind the forbidden art of soul-stitching had only just begun.