Lead

Everyone has a patron saint. Shen Du's god is a dying yellow dog. He has slept in her hollow core for eight years. When he woke up, he only said three words: Go to the west. Xie Buchen has no god. An empty shell. But there was a yellow mist behind him that followed him for three years and never said what he was here for. They bumped into each other. She broke half a piece of cake to him. The next day one person had an extra line on his hand, and the other person had an extra line on his heart. The two threads were tangled together and tied into a tight knot. They went in the opposite direction. But the thread holds. Separated by eight hundred miles of mountains, eight hundred white bones under the locust trees, and this world that uses the flesh and blood of living people to delay death. There was something waiting for them at the other end of the line.