After working overtime for a month, social worker Song Yao finally saw a strange creature wearing a black robe and holding a sickle in a dream with less than three hours of sleep.
After thinking briefly with his brain that was not completely filled with work, he figured out the identity of the creature in front of him - the God of Death.
But how could he, a progressive young man who was born and raised as a flower grower, be extradited by the God of Death in the West?
Before he could ask aloud, the God of Death raised his hand and pointed directly at him.
The fingers were thin and pale, like dead branches that were secretly decaying in a dark corner in the depth of winter, pointing at Song Yao firmly and unquestionably.
"It's time to go to work."
Song Yao broke his guard.
0.01 Seconds after death from overwork, Song Yao was put into a wide black robe before he could figure out why he didn't see the black and white impermanence but the Western God of Death.
The cold but weightless sickle was also stuffed into his hand by invisible force.
"Hello, you dropped your sickle." Song Yao put the sickle that Death had put into his hand and held it out in the direction of the other party.
However, his hand was as if it had grown together with the sickle, as if it was a natural part of his body.
The God of Death pretended not to understand Song Yao's refusal, and brought Song Yao to the scene of the murder the next second.
A translucent shadow floated in front of the victim's body lying on the ground.
This is the state of the human soul.
After seeing Song Yao and another god of death, the soul was like a celestial body pulled by a black hole, floating uncontrollably in the direction where they were.
Song Yao was pushed by the Death God beside him and reluctantly walked towards the soul body that was still in a state of shock.
"I'm well, pissed off to serve you."
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Copywriting archive 2025.1.2
Purpose: Don't do good deeds because they are small, and don't do evil because they are small.
