Tianjin: A Record of the Uncanny

The doctor said I had less than three months to live. My cancer was terminal. But that bastard Qin Siyang insisted I wasn't sick. It was fate: my birth chart was extremely yin, I was born to attract evil, and I was the family's sacrificial pawn, born to ward off disaster. It wasn't until I received a hell banknote at a Milan convenience store, until I saw a transparent figure beckoning to me beneath a streetlight, until I smashed a brick over the head of the old ghost who'd haunted me for ten years and revealed its true form, that I believed the son of a bitch. In the nights of Jinmen, I clear ghosts' names, fight corpses for the right of way, and dig up my own family's graves. Everyone says I'm about to die, but I'm still living my life. Unexpected fortunes always turn up beside corpses, and every beauty I meet is from beyond the living world. The nights in Jinmen are darker than ghosts.