Chapter 1: The Cinnabar Seal Appears

The night was thick as ink, the mortuary’s air conditioning humming a low, death-rattle groan that sounded like the last gasp of a dying leviathan. Chen Jiujin pulled his faded protective suit tight around his frame. The moment his fingertips brushed the doorknob, a bone-chilling cold raced up his spine and settled at the base of his neck.

At the far end of the hallway, Zhou Dehai’s frayed palm frond fan whooshed back and forth with a rhythmic slap. In the dead silence of the space, the noise was jarringly loud. The old night watchman leaned against the doorframe of the mourning hall, the ember in his pipe flickering on and off like the only open eye of a ghost in the dark. He split his mouth into a grin, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth, and held something up to show Chen Jiujin.

The object glowed with a strange, bloody red hue under the dim lighting, looking like a clump of congealed blood. Chen Jiujin squinted. Professional alertness made him step back half a step, but his feet felt nailed to the ground, unable to budge an inch. An unexplainable gravity pulled at him—a summons from the boundary between the living and the dead.

Zhou Dehai pressed the half-broken Cinnabar Seal into Chen Jiujin’s palm, a gesture as casual as passing a lit cigarette. The metal edges were ice-cold, smeared with old, dried blood that had turned black. A faint stench of rust seeped from the cracks. Chen Jiujin tried to push it away, but his fingers suddenly spasmed, and a burning pain shot from his palm straight to his chest.

He hissed in pain, looking down to see a dark red bruise forming under the skin of his palm. It looked like something living was crawling frantically through his veins. Zhou Dehai blew a smoke ring, his voice raspy and laced with a shrewd, street-smart chuckle. “This Seal picks its masters. Once you touch it, you’re in for the long haul. Think you can run? You can’t. The rules are set in stone. Accounts owed to the Yin Market are paid with your life.”

Chen Jiujin gritted his teeth and tried to fling the seal away, but the object seemed to have roots in his skin. When he forcibly pried it loose, it tore away a patch of scabbed skin. The pain drilled into his brain, and his vision went black for a second.

The mourning hall was terrifyingly quiet, the air thick with the bizarre mixture of formalin and sandalwood. Su Wan stood next to the refrigeration units, using tweezers to organize a set of Trace Evidence Examination data. Her cold, striking face looked even sharper under the bluish-white lights. Her gaze swept over Chen Jiujin like a scalpel gliding over a wound.

She noticed the red patch on his palm and curled her lip in unapologetic mockery, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Chen Jiujin, what kind of ghost story are you acting out? It’s just contact dermatitis, or maybe a burn. Stop mistaking science for superstition. Data doesn’t lie.”

Her voice was as cold as ice, every word dripping with the arrogance of rationality. Chen Jiujin couldn't argue back. He lowered his hand in silence, the burning pain in his palm still throbbing, as if warning him: some things, once they touch you, never let go.

Chen Jiujin dragged his heavy steps toward the fresh body that had just been delivered. The deceased was a middle-aged man, his face peaceful, but there was a suspicious purple bruise on the side of his neck. His finger accidentally brushed against a Pocket Watch sticking out of the dead man’s chest pocket. The cold metal sent a shiver through him.

In that instant, the dead man’s delirious whispers flooded Chen Jiujin’s mind like a tide, broken and jagged, laced with sharp resentment: “Don’t... kill me... the key... in the lock...”

Chen Jiujin’s head split with pain; he nearly collapsed to his knees. He understood now that he had to find the deceased’s unfinished Obsession before dawn. If he didn’t, the suppressed resentment, dormant for a century, would devour his sanity and drive him mad. The Pocket Watch was no longer a cold object; it was a container filled with dark memories, slowly opening its gates to him.

Zhou Dehai kept fanning himself to the side, muttering curses about bad luck. “I told you to stay out of trouble to keep your head safe. Dead or alive, everyone has their hardships. This time, you’ve stuck your head right into the noose. Mr. Bai’s side has strict rules. Contracting takes a toll on your skills, and the backlash cuts into your lifespan. Can your body even handle it?”

He looked at Chen Jiujin with an expression of frustrated disappointment, though a hint of hidden envy flickered in his eyes. Chen Jiujin ignored his nagging, staring hard at the bruise on the dead man’s neck. It was a professional instinct he’d picked up working as a forensic assistant. The bruise was irregular in shape, with fine metallic scratch marks along the edges.

A strange sensation flashed through his mind, like the subtle catch and smooth flow of a lock-pick turning in a cylinder. This wasn’t an accident. It was a custom-made key. A meticulously designed murder.

Chen Jiujin quietly asked Su Wan about the traces left at the scene, hoping she could verify his hunch from a scientific angle. Without looking up, Su Wan coldly threw a stack of printed data reports at him. “Fall height: 2.4 meters. Impact on the back of the head. Matches the profile of an accidental fall. The chain of evidence is complete and closed. You want to find murder?”

“Chen Jiujin, are you insulting the intelligence of the criminal investigation department?” Her tone was laced with clear rejection, as if Chen Jiujin’s intuition was a direct challenge to her professional dignity. Chen Jiujin took the reports, his fingertips skimming over the cold numbers. He spotted the blind spot: there was no dust under the dead man’s fingernails, but a specific oily residue remained.

It was a trace of him struggling desperately before death, and proof of his strong Obsession to survive. He needed to pry open the barrier of the deceased’s final memories, and that key was hidden in the access rights of the Cinnabar Seal.

Zhou Dehai suddenly fell silent, his expression turning grave. He tucked the fan away. Fear flashed in his cloudy eyes. He lowered his voice. “Kid, don’t push it. I heard it just now. That voice in your head? That’s the threshold of the Yin Market groaning.”

“Mr. Bai wants a 'Living Man Replaces Dead' contract. Sign it, and you hand over your craft. The feel of a locksmith’s hand, the edge of the Butcher's Blade, all of it gets stripped out and sent in. Your Hundred Crafts Body isn’t fully formed yet. Doing this is like disabling your own powers.”

The Cinnabar Seal in Chen Jiujin’s palm pulsed again, emitting a faint red glow, like a heartbeat under the skin. He felt that power seeping into his muscle fibers, trying to rewrite his instincts.

Chen Jiujin took a deep breath, forcing down the burning pain in his palm. He lifted his head. The initial panic was gone from his eyes, replaced by a calm, resigned clarity. He said to Zhou Dehai, “Uncle Dehai, I’m a mortician. I have an unreasonable respect for the dead. That’s my fate. When they ask me to fulfill their last wishes, I have to give them an answer.”

“If this Cinnabar Seal has chosen a master, I have to accept it. As for the backlash, I’ll see if the Yin Market’s rules can suppress this heart of mine that wants to uncover the truth.”

Zhou Dehai sighed, grumbling, “You’re a stone that can’t be warmed up. Fine. Tonight, I guard the east, you guard the west. If anything happens, don’t blame me for not warning you.”

The night grew deeper. The lights in the mourning hall flickered, bright and dim. Chen Jiujin stood before the altar, hands pressed together, the Cinnabar Seal clutched in his palm. He closed his eyes, letting the deceased’s Obsession churn in his mind. The fragmented pieces of information slowly assembled. He saw a figure in a dim warehouse, frantically searching for something.

It was the locksmith’s feel, groping in the dark for the structure of the lock’s core. Chen Jiujin snapped his eyes open, a look of determination in his gaze. He knew this night wasn’t just about the dead man’s peace. It was about whether he could carve his own path between the worlds of life and death. The Cinnabar Seal began to heat up, as if previewing the storm about to arrive.

He extended a finger and gently touched the bruise on the dead man’s neck. In that instant, the world collapsed and reformed. The essences of countless crafts collided inside him. The precision of the locksmith, the利落 efficiency of the Butcher's Blade, even the sharp on-site memory of the old detective were forcibly fused in this moment.

He felt his bones creaking, cracking, and then reforming. The pain was mixed with a sense of control he had never experienced before. Zhou Dehai watched him in horror on the side; he didn’t even notice his pipe falling to the ground.

Su Wan stared tight at her data board, brow furrowed, because she noticed that the temperature of Chen Jiujin’s palm was rising sharply, while the bruise on the corpse was slowly fading, turning a creepy, bright red.

Time ticked by. The sky outside the window remained pitch black. Chen Jiujin was drenched in sweat, his face pale, but the light in his eyes grew brighter and brighter. He finally touched the handle of that door—the gate leading to the deepest part of the deceased’s mind. He whispered, “I will clear your name.”

The voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible, yet it echoed in the dead-silent mourning hall, carrying an unshakeable resolve. The Cinnabar Seal, as if sensing his determination, glowed even more brightly.

Chen Jiujin felt that restlessness of power inside him. He knew that from this moment on, he was no longer an ordinary night-shift mortician. He was a ferryman between the living and the dead, a player holding a Cinnabar Seal and gambling against fate.

The deceased’s delirious whispers were still ringing in his ears. The voice was no longer sharp; it had become low and heavy, waiting for an answer, a promise. He clenched his fists tightly. The skin of his palm had already fused with the seal, the boundary blurred.

Just as all the clues were about to weave into a net, Chen Jiujin felt his palm go empty. He opened his hand in shock. The bloody Cinnabar Seal had vanished. In its place was a deep red mark, as if branded into his skin.

The mark slowly seeped beneath his skin, intertwining with his flesh and blood until it completely disappeared. Only his smooth, brand-new palm remained, along with a lingering, ghostly chill rising from the depths of the earth.