In the seventh year of my spiritual recovery, I worked as a temporary worker in the city archives.
Others awaken with swords, guns, swords and halberds. What my grandfather left me was half of the unfinished county annals and a bald wolf hair.
Ningchuan rang the bell eight nights in a row, ringing it more times each night. Anyone who hears it will find a pair of shoes that does not belong to them at their door the next day.
On the eighth night, I came across this incident in my grandfather's old manuscript from forty years ago.
Every strange thing my grandfather recorded had a sentence at the end - "cutting down the tree will stop the matter" and "moving the bones will stop the matter".
There is only this one, and the back is empty.
And tonight, the clock will strike the ninth.
I dipped in ink.
But the first line of the ancestral precepts reads: If there is no evidence, there will be no writing.
What is written in the county annals are the facts of this city. But I had to prove it was true first.
