Bo Fu held a wax lamp, and the wax tears flowed down, twisting and twisting around the feet of the candle, forming lumps of various sizes.
The big flame flickered on and off, making one or two popping noises on the wick, and then trembled slightly, trying to reflect a dense outline that did not belong to him on the drawing.
"It's almost dawn." He muttered to himself.
The outline slowly disappeared, falling into the last night of death, breaking the shackles at the cost of burning one's body, and lifting up the brittle and thin bones for the upcoming tomorrow.
Keywords: Chinese horror, mythological elements, pseudo-history, genre
Concept: About love and death