Damn, this is the first time in ages that a work's reeled me in on premise alone. This right here is the A-grade stuff, cryptid-ass yuri with fucked up little guys too disastrously lesbian to be bothered by stupid things like the worms in their brains or soul-splitting pains, yearning for the touch of a lover and the sweet release of death in no particular order. I'm absolutely fascinated by the graveyard economy here, warring themes of burial and cremation, ascent and descent, searing oblivion and decomposing materiality, all stitched and sutured by paroxysms of need and greed and dirty deeds done dirt cheap, furnishing the afterlife with the afterwife, graverobbers and carpetbaggers bumbling about the funeral parlor, which is a body and place and a home where the heart is (optional). Now here's a world where death's no excuse for skipping on a debt or getting a discount, where every part of you matters, and can be perceived, detached, surveyed, priced and stolen, giving you eternal life on the marrow-market, making you revivable, sellable, killable, fillable, taxes on your taxidermy, weddings on your pyre, till parts do you death. Adore the art skittering and kicking up and out of roundish moe like a body popping out of a grave when its time to rattle some bones, all shadows and silhouettes bursting into focus like a revenant's first time spotting the sun, ribs and teeth breaching the placid surface of a blob. Love our dienamic duo too- Huo's not the earliest riser or best pricer, and Xiong's late to her own tragedy, a match made in the obituaries and worth its weight in mold. Here's wishing our little rotters the best, hoping the philia wins out over the necro, and booking first class tickets to this wild hearse ride (or given that this a jiangshi tale, hiring a Taoist priest to resurrect me every month so I can hop stiffly over to the reader).
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