During the Qingming Festival, rains fall heavily, which not only marks the death of the surviving people, but also the death of the dead.
In the cemetery, rows of tombstones seem to be telling stories one by one. Are these dead souls really as indifferent as these tombstones? Do they have unfulfilled wishes, undelivered words, unseen people, unexpressed thoughts?
Who will listen to the words of the dead?
Maybe there really is an underworld in this world, or maybe there are a few people in this underworld who are dedicated to listening to the thoughts of the dead. It was born to record the memories of the deceased.
Everyone living in the world has never seen them, but everyone will eventually see them.
In my world, I call them intellectuals.
However, the task of the Literary Spiritualist is by no means so gentle.