They All Have Countdowns Above Their Heads, Except Me

I can see everyone's death countdown. The fish stall owner at the market has thirteen years left, the woman holding her child on the bus has forty-seven years left, and the countdown has long since reached zero for every body brought in by the funeral parlor - the word cause of death hangs above their heads, and only I can see it. For eight years, I pretended not to see it, and peacefully worked as a makeup artist for corpses, putting makeup on the dead. After saying, "Go on, let's change the script in the next life," I treated it like today had passed. Until the soul collection night, the soul collection department came to collect the soul of my neighbor Lao Zhang. There are clearly seven days left on Lao Zhang's head, but the list says: Tonight. The list lies. I suppressed the soul-suppressing pen, angered Hong Silk, the director of the Soul Collection Department, had the list stolen by someone who stood in my face, was dragged by the pawnshop proprietress to appraise the soul crystal, and was stuffed with a leaflet in the locker: Everything you saw is true. Later I learned: Behind the death list is a business that uses lifespan as currency - pawnshops lend money, soul collectors collect accounts, the rich use time coins to extend their lives, and the poor can only sell their lives to survive. I also know one more thing: everyone in the city has a countdown above their heads. Except me. They say I am the one who is not on the list, the key, the next timemaker. They say that if you want to beat your fate, you can only take your own fate. And I just want to say one thing: Lists are a lie – I've seen it with my own eyes. So this time, it's me who will change the list.