Chapter 2: Hell!

Cold, so very cold… Zhou Ze didn't understand why it was so cold here. He was walking on a secluded path, surrounded by blooming flowers that offered no sense of romance or beauty. Instead, their bright colors seemed to mock him, like spectators around a spectacle. Flowers bloom on the other shore, and people depart for the afterlife.

Zhou Ze's last memory was of fire, a terrifying blaze that consumed him completely, the intense heat turning him to ashes. Yet, in the blink of an eye, he found himself here.

On this path, there were many others: old people, children, youths, and middle-aged individuals, both men and women, each dressed differently. Some wore simple clothes, others were dressed in flamboyant reds and purples, their faces overly rouged.

Everyone was tiptoeing, silent, the only sound being the occasional scuff of shoes against the ground. Zhou Ze, too, numbly followed, looking around and occasionally looking back, vaguely realizing where he had arrived.

He was dead, and this was hell.

This realm was for the deceased, the final resting place for souls. He was indeed dead. Unsure of what to do or what choices to make, he didn't want to die – no one does. But in this place, he was completely lost and helpless.

A chilling melody drifted from afar. Zhou Ze turned to see bright reds approaching, while others around him remained indifferent, continuing their numb march forward.

As they came closer, Zhou Ze saw that the reds were paper umbrellas carried by a procession of women. Tall and slender, dressed in purple cheongsams, their legs flashed through the slits of their dresses with each step, a hint of allure in their graceful walk.

Their hair was neatly done, and their movements were synchronized as if they were the most exquisite dance troupe that had been practicing for over a century.

They walked from one end of the path to the other, passing right in front of Zhou Ze. Their refined makeup and pale skin, along with their singing, conjured an atmosphere reminiscent of old Shanghai in the misty rain.

Each woman wore bracelets of various colors and sizes on their wrists, enhancing their elegance. However, this was no commercial street or a grand nightclub but a path by the River Styx, passing through fields of hell flowers, unseeing and unfazed.

When the last woman passed Zhou Ze, she suddenly turned to look at him. From her beautiful eyes, maggots crawled out, and worms wiggled in her nostrils. Beneath her delicate earlobes, countless centipede antennae writhed. What was once beautiful had now become something utterly grotesque.

Was it horrifying? Absolutely. Disgusting? Without a doubt. But Zhou Ze, already a dead man, was beyond the reach of fear. The woman and Zhou Ze's gazes met briefly before she continued on her way, her figure swaying gracefully.

"Where are you going?" Zhou Ze found himself following the women, leaving his original group behind. The other souls on the path, devoid of thought or awareness, didn't even glance his way, while Zhou Ze seemed an anomaly among them.

The women continued their ethereal walk, their humming adding to the oppressive atmosphere, making it even more desolate.

Zhou Ze followed them until they walked into a pond. The pond, like a mirror, rippled as they entered, the first few women fully submerging themselves, followed by the rest.

Standing at the edge, Zhou Ze watched but did not follow. This place was alien to him, a one-way journey from which there was no return.

In the center of the pond, hands appeared, dancing elegantly above the water, captivating Zhou Ze's gaze with their ethereal beauty.

Drawn in, Zhou Ze stepped forward, first his feet, then his knees, and gradually his whole body submerged into the warm, clear waters where he felt no suffocation.

He saw the women with umbrellas, still graceful under the water, and a woman in red standing at the bottom, her hands dancing above the surface. Drawn not by lust but by an inexplicable force, Zhou Ze approached her.

As he got closer, her hands ceased their dance. With hair billowing around her obscured face, she whispered, "Finally… someone like you has come…"

Her touch was intimate as she laid her hands on his shoulders, inviting him to stay with her. Then, her hair turned into unbreakable bonds around his neck.

"You're staying… with me…" Her face, revealed at last, was featureless – a smooth expanse without eyes, nose, mouth, or ears.

Zhou Ze struggled to breathe, his chest on the verge of bursting. The woman's laugh, once sweet, now seemed a dreadful cacophony to him.

Realizing his predicament, Zhou Ze fought against the hair ensnaring him. The faceless woman found his efforts amusing, certain of his inevitable defeat.

Just as she proclaimed him her sacrifice, Zhou Ze's nails began to grow, turning a translucent black – the same color as the elderly man's he had tried to save before his own death.

Touching the woman's hair with his nails, it disintegrated, freeing him from her grasp. "Impossible… why can you leave when I cannot?" she screamed in envy and despair.

As Zhou Ze floated towards the surface, breaking free from the underworld's grasp, the faceless woman's cries of unfairness echoed below. Zhou Ze's consciousness faded as the echoes of the netherworld receded into the distance…