Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My name is Shen Nian, and I am a restorative artist at the Linjiang Funeral Home.

I have a secret that no one knows. Whenever my skin comes into direct contact with a corpse, I see the last seven seconds of the deceased’s life.

It isn’t a hallucination.

I’ve tested it many times.

Those who die in car accidents see the headlights rushing toward them; those who drown hear the sound of water rushing down their own throats. For those who jump from buildings, the last seven seconds are usually quiet-terrifyingly quiet, filled only with the wind and their own sudden, belated regret.

That is why I always wear two layers of gloves at work. Only when I’m working on the most delicate details do I grit my teeth and peel off one layer, trying my best to touch as little as possible and see as little as possible.

But that night, I couldn’t avoid it.

The night shift logs at the Linjiang Funeral Home are precise. At 2:40 AM, there were exactly five bodies in the Morgue, numbered one through five. The registration, handovers, and storage were all accounted for. At 2:57 AM, I went to check the transport orders for the following day and noticed that the indicator light for Cabinet No. 6-the one at the very end of the row that was supposed to be empty-was on.

Thinking it was a refrigeration malfunction, I pulled the cabinet door open. A gust of cold air, damper than usual, hit me full in the face.

A young woman was lying inside.

Her hair was damp, a deep purple ligature mark circled her neck, and a piece of Yellow Paper folded into a triangle was pressed against her chest. The funeral home would never leave a note like that, especially not pressed over a corpse’s heart.

I reached out with my gloved hand, pulled the paper away, and unfolded it.

There were only two words written on it:

Shen Nian.

My back went numb instantly.

I stared at the paper, my first thought being that it was some kind of prank. But a second later, I noticed a graze on the inside of her wrist, looking as if it had been rubbed raw from being dragged. The edges of the wound were fresh; the blood hadn’t completely dried. This meant she had been alive shortly before being placed in the cabinet.

Someone had quietly delivered a freshly dead woman to the funeral home Morgue and left my name on her chest.

I leaned down to look at her face. She looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six, with delicate features. She wore a single black stud in her left ear, and the nail on her right pinky finger was half-broken. Aside from the ligature mark and the abrasion on her temple, there were no obvious external injuries.

I should have called the police immediately, sealed the cabinet, and summoned the security guard on duty.

But when I saw the deep bloodstain in the palm of her hand, I reached out and touched her as if possessed.

Just once.

In the next heartbeat, the world spun around me.

Black. It was so dark.

She was crawling.

Cold white fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The floor was made of wet tiles. She was clutching that piece of Yellow Paper, her fingernails scraping against the floor with a piercing screech. Someone ahead of her was dragging a metal gurney; the wheels caught on a threshold with a loud *thud*. Using the last of her strength, she pressed the Yellow Paper to her chest. Her throat was full of blood, but she forced her voice out through sheer will.

“Shen Nian…”

“Find your sister…”

“The sixth one… isn’t a corpse…”

The vision snapped shut.

I nearly collapsed, my hand bracing against the cabinet door as cold sweat poured down my spine.

The woman remained lying there quietly, as if nothing had happened.

But I knew that those last seven seconds were no hallucination.

She had come looking for me on purpose.