He straightened the messy cloth strips on his body, took out a book from the void seriously, opened it and read: "Malala, female, 24 years old, died in a car accident."
Malala? Who is Malala? I looked at him puzzled.
"Malala, why don't you come with me? Do you still have any unfulfilled wishes? There is nothing you can do about it. You are dead now. I can only follow your brother Bai Wuchang. The underworld is very fun. Don't be afraid. We have..."
He was chattering non-stop, and I quickly stopped him: "Um, brother Bai Wuchang, my name is not Malala." As the saying goes, "You don't suffer when you talk sweetly." Sure enough, this brother who calls himself Bai Wuchang is particularly fond of this sentence.
"What's your name, little sister? I'll check it out for you."
"My name is He Qing."
His fingertips gently touched the center of my eyebrows, and after a while he said: "He Qing, female, 16 years old, was supposed to die at the age of eighty-seven, but..." He stared at me with squinted eyes and paused for a long time, then said: "I chose to commit suicide when I was sixteen, and I will never be allowed to reincarnate again."