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I am an osteologist. I used to be called an osteotome or an osteotome. This used to be a fragrant business. My dead teacher said that the industry was unprecedentedly prosperous from the late Qing Dynasty to the Liberation War, and the business was overwhelmed. Every time he finishes drinking, he will brag about how much he was respected by his employers. I scoff at this. War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression had estimated that he was in his teens and talked about his glorious career, but after all, I also talked about it. Nowadays, in times of peace and prosperity, the master has already changed from picking bones to calling bones, touching bones and telling fortune. Anyway, he is dealing with bones, but he can barely hang up as a bone teacher. Fortunately, he was not looked for by a fortune teller.

I used to ask him what this sect formed by our master and apprentice was, at least it should have a name, but he always said that he could tell me when he died, so could I, and I had to tell my apprentice when I died. I don't think he knows what kind of rules this is, or his master fooled him in this way. This lame "door rule" was formed by generations of fools.

However, three years ago, the master was drunk and met a drunk driver when crossing the road, and then I arrived …