The Dead Borrow Me Thirty Breaths

"If you can't stitch it back on, cut off her hand."

Wen Zhao stitched corpses for the dead. She didn't reattach limbs for the living.

With a knife pressed to her neck, the dead crossbowman at her feet suddenly spoke:

"Lend me thirty breaths. Save someone for me."

From then on, she could borrow one skill from the dead. In return, she had to endure the pain they felt as they died, then carry out one request for them.

She borrowed the crossbowman's skill to strike back, risking her life to save the dead man's son.

But then another corpse, a woman, clutched her hand:

"Don't trust him. The person you saved helped kill me."

In the chaos of the besieged city, Wen Zhao pushed a corpse cart packed with living people as she fled toward the city gates. She had to figure out whose words she could trust, and remember when her borrowed skills would disappear.

Just when she had finally escaped, a masked man shoved a living stablehand in front of her and asked with a smile:

"Miss, don't know how to ride?"

"I kill someone for you, and you'll learn in no time."