Tabus sobre a transferência de túmulos: fui obrigado a ser padrinho de um morto

“Writing novels, what future could that possibly have!”

Late at night, a lone lit room hung suspended above the residential block.

From outside the window, a woman stood with her hands on her hips, incessantly berating the man seated at the computer desk.

Le Dong was exhausted—exhausted from his nine-to-five job, from chaotic relationships, from suffocating loans, and, of course, from his wife’s furious tirade beside him...

Perhaps she had run out of words, for his wife suddenly began to sob, her cries subdued and helpless, as if afraid to wake the child who had just fallen asleep.

“Honey, please don’t cry. I’ll find a way to raise the money for Xiao Bao’s illness...”

“Mm...”

Clearly, Le Dong’s words had no effect. He seemed to know this, so he switched off the computer and rose, heading for the door. Before leaving, he glanced at his sleeping son on the bed, a look of resolve flickering in his eyes.

Bang—

Stepping outside, Le Dong leaned against the window of the fire escape, inhaling deeply on a cigarette, his gaze fixed on the contacts list of his phone, lost in thought.

Hiss—

It was only when the cigarette burned down to his middle finger that Le Dong was jolted back to reality by the pain.

Sigh—

With a deep sigh, he finally tapped the name his finger had hovered over—Cai Kun.

Beep... beep... beep...

Just as the ringtone was about to end, the call was answered.

“Dongzi, what time is it? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Old Cai, I need to ask you something...”

“What is