Yu Zhong never knew that behind the fact that the Yu family had been single for hundreds of years, were frail and sick, and returned to Lingshi Village to worship their ancestors every year, there was a "spirit" that could not wake up for six hundred years.
On his twentieth birthday, he climbed alone to the top of the mountain of Lingshi, but he lost his footing and fell to the ginkgo tree at the bottom of the cliff that only he could see.
Not dead.
A man with silver hair like snow and facial features that were too delicate to be human stood on the ginkgo leaves on the ground, looking down at him, as if he was identifying a long-lost relic.
"Not like". The man shook his head, "They don't look alike, and their temperament is even less similar."
Before Yuzhong could even scold him with "Who the hell are you?", A simple wooden bracelet was inserted into his right wrist. The man's nails scratched his palm, and yellow blood dripped into the wooden bracelet, melting into his bones and seeping into his soul.
"It's been six hundred years," the man whispered. "Sang Qi," you are back."
Yuzhong: "... My name is Yuzhong."
From then on, an ordinary college student began to be bound to the "spirit".
He had to take care of himself during class and sleep. Even when he was reviewing all night during exam week, the wooden bracelet on his wrist would suddenly become hot, reminding him not to forget to "feed the soul" to that silver-haired old monster.
Intention: Even if the fate is heavy, we must live as ourselves, not as a container for others.