Xiangxi Qingmingyin

The fog in Luomapo is stained with corpse air. When winter comes, the whole mountain is locked up, and the coldness sticks to the monk's robes to the bone. Even the shadows of the thorns hanging on the roadside with corpse-catching bells are soaked, and they look like the thing that followed my master's coffin and walked on tiptoe last night. There are three taboos for driving corpses in western Hunan, and the Qingming Seal in western Hunan has been suppressing evil for hundreds of years, and there are even more exclusive warning signs - avoid fog blocking the mountain road, avoid encountering white flags in the middle of the night, and avoid burning the bones and causing pain. But at this moment, the Qing Ming Seal on my waist was burning fiercely, and the sound of fingernails scraping wood could be heard in the mist, which was more shocking than the ringing of the bell for exorcising corpses. The master had just passed his first seven days, and the black-haired corpse that he had suppressed with this square seal with his own hands was afraid that it would break through the seal.