Homework at the Funeral Home

When I was eight, my mother said I was sick, and my father dumped me with my uncle who kept vigil at the funeral home. Classmates avoided me, teachers said I was abnormal, even neighbors called me unlucky. I didn't care. Every night, Grandpa Li in the morgue taught me homework, the girl in the bathroom stall told me who was crying, and the woman in the red dress in the corner said her heart was stolen and begged me to find it. I have no special skills, just the ability to see what others can't. Ghosts don't harm me; they help me. Grandpa Li saved me once, the red-dressed woman blocked a fatal blow for me, even Old Zhao, the funeral home guard, said I'm tough. For three years, my mother has been missing, my father indifferent, but I have no time to grieve. The heart-stealer hasn't been caught, the tree in the ancient ruins keeps growing, and half the names in the ledger remain unfound. My name is Wang Xu, I'm eight years old. My homework doesn't contain answers, but the last words of the dead. You ask if I'm scared? Yes. But I can't die until my homework is done.