Late one night, the paper effigy I'd made suddenly turned around.
It pulled out three sticks of incense, planted them upside down in the burner, and bowed to me.
Three upside-down incense sticks: first it pays respects to the living, then to the memorial tablet. The effigy had chosen a master, and that master was me, according to my birth details.
My name is Gu Yan. I'm a paper effigy maker.
From that day on, I could see "threads" drifting through the air.
Some people had turned funerals into a mass-production business. Using ink paste mixed with bone ash, they sent paper effigies into homes all over the country. Now they wanted to use the same trick to transfer the karma of the entire city onto me by force.
Want me dead? Sorry, the rules of the paper effigy trade were set by my grandfather.
Others break through deadlocks with a blade. All I need is a bamboo knife and a jar of paste.
A lamp is lifeless. Someone has to acknowledge it for it to count.
If these rules are rotten, I'll make a new effigy and show you how it's done.
