I Run a Night Stall, and All My Customers Are Ghosts

Lin Shen, a 28-year-old product manager laid off from his job, returns to his hometown and takes over his aunt’s late-night barbecue stall. On the third night, he discovers that after midnight, the people who come to buy grilled eggplant don’t touch the ground when they walk. Underworld bailiffs stop by for takeout fried noodles, the City God slurps noodles at midnight and is afraid of his wife, a cat demon takes over an old woman’s body to scam welfare benefits, and a century-old rice-dumpling monster queues up to sample “tech and additives.” Lin Shen plans to pretend he hasn’t noticed, until a delivery order lands on his phone: “Midnight Canteen, late-night menu: spicy hot pot, just a little spicy, extra sesame paste, no cilantro. Note: Help me find out who killed me.” Address: Room 302, No. 37 Chunjiang Road. It’s the home of the programmer who lived alone, featured in last week’s news about a gas leak.