Red Rope Wrapped Around My Bones: I Fished Myself Out in the Canal

I was the last bone collector by the canal. On the first day I joined the industry, I was warned by my master: You cannot fish out bones wrapped with red ropes, you cannot fish out bones with copper bells, and you cannot fish out bones that sink in the whirlpool on rainy days, even if you die. But the woman in the cheongsam insisted on fishing for the finger bones that fell to the bottom of the river on the day of Jingzhe. The red rope was wrapped three times, and there was a copper bell stuck in the bone seam. She said it belonged to her husband. But when I paddled the wooden boat to the middle of the river, the compass needle spun like crazy, and the red rope floating on the water suddenly became straight, as if a hand was pulling it underneath. What's even more bizarre is that after the phalanx was soaked in water for three days, not only did it not rot, but it actually grew some bloodshot flesh. The ebony beads left by the master began to heat up. I looked down and saw half of a face that looked exactly like mine exposed in the mud at the bottom of the river. "What the bone collectors are fishing for is not bones, but lives." The woman's voice suddenly sounded close to her ear, "What you fished out might be your own bones." Later I learned that there was a sunken city under the canal, and all the bones in the city were waiting to be disembarked. And what we, the seventh generation of Chen family bone collectors, are guarding is not a river, but a coffin that can break at any time - what is inside is something that can make all the bones come alive. Now, the black sandalwood beads are cracked, and a hand stretches out from the whirlpool in the center of the river. It's my turn.