Zheng Jiajia, a makeup artist so broke she couldn't pay off her credit card.
On Ghost Festival night, she went out to take a job for 6,000 yuan, only to run into the Black Wuchang.
"My partner, the White Wuchang, ran off. Cover for him for a few days."
"What if I don't?"
The Black Wuchang flung her credit card bill in front of her. The red numbers shone like a warning light. 3,800. She couldn't even make the minimum payment this month.
"...Deal."
And so she became a temporary, unofficial employee of the underworld.
By day, she did makeup for celebrities. By night, she guided ghosts on their way.
The ghosts said she had a deft touch. The Black Wuchang said she was brave. Only she knew the truth: she wasn't brave, she was broke.
But she gradually realized that some souls left in a terrible state. Car accident victims, those who died violent deaths, those torn to pieces. They couldn't even bear to let their families see them one last time.
And the makeup brush in her hand could work a little magic. She could restore a missing half of a face, gather scattered souls back into human form.
She let every soul in tatters see themselves at their best before they moved on.
This was the final touch of dignity she gave them.
Until one day, the Black Wuchang asked her, "The job's done. What's your wish?"
She had no answer.
But the story had only just begun.
