Chapter 106: Shizun, Where Are You?

"Died from a qi deviation?" The gatekeeper repeated his words

back slowly, then hmphed. "You a cultivator?"

"Mn."

"A cultivator and you're down here at your age? How very

unfortunate." The gatekeeper smirked unkindly. Many ordinary people didn't

have the good karma to be born with the foundational aptitude for cultivation,

so mocking cultivators amounted to a case of sour grapes.

"Y'know, your soul looks kinda iffy to me. Like it's tainted."

Master Huaizui had placed an enchantment on Mo Ran meant to cover

up his living scent and allow him to interact with souls. Thus, while there

was certainly something peculiar about this young man, the gatekeeper

couldn't immediately put his finger on it. He sat back down and crossed one

leg over the other, then rummaged around in a drawer. He extracted a pitchblack ruler.

"Sin-measuring ruler," he said smugly, though it wasn't clear what he

was so smug about—the ruler wasn't even his. But with some people, the

less important their position, the more it pleased them to put on airs. The

gatekeeper slapped the ruler down on the table and raised his eyes to stare at

Mo Ran. "Stick your hand out. This lordly one's gonna measure your merit in

life."

Mo Ran stared, speechless. His merit in life? If they measured that,

wouldn't he get chucked directly over to Lord Yanluo to be ground into dust?

But with so many eyes watching and nowhere to run, he had little choice. He

exhaled, then shifted the soul-calling lantern into one hand and extended the

other.

The gatekeeper made to place the ruler against the inside of Mo Ran's

wrist. But the very instant it made contact with his skin, the ruler screeched

shrilly. Globules of blood dripped from its pitch-black body, and the

weeping and wailing of thousands filled the air.

"I will not rest in death…"

"May you never be allowed to reincarnate! Mo Weiyu!"

"Dad! Mom! You son of a bitch! Why?! Why?!"

"Don't kill me…please don't kill me—!"

Mo Ran jerked his hand back, his face devoid of color.

The assembled ghosts were all staring at him, and the gatekeeper's

stare was the most inscrutable of all. He eyed Mo Ran with a gaze like a

fierce beast, then bent his head to look down at the ruler. The red glow had

faded, and the dripping blood was also gone, as though it had been a

hallucination. The surface of the table now perfectly clean. But on the ruler, a

line of characters slowly appeared: Sins beyond redemption, send to level…

Which level of hell?

Mo Ran had pulled his hand back before the sin-measuring ruler could

finish its work, so the rest was left off.

The gatekeeper yanked Mo Ran's arm back, and his eyes locked onto

him like a restless predator who'd finally caught a whiff of rare prey. His

nostrils flared, and a strange light flickered in his eyes. Half his intestines

had slid out again, but this time, he didn't bother shoving them back in.

"Hold still while I retake the measurement." His face was impatient

and greedy, as if he was already picturing himself claiming commendations

from Yanluo. His ghostly claws dug into Mo Ran's wrist as he hauled him

over, and his expression was practically unhinged as he slapped the sinmeasuring ruler against Mo Ran's wrist once again. Catching a ghost meant

for the eighteen hells would be a great feather in his cap. He'd be promoted

by at least three tiers then and there, and could say goodbye to the tedium of

sitting at this gate recording the comings and goings of this morass of souls.

"A proper measuring this time!"

The sin-measuring ruler lit up again. Just as before, blood streamed

from its black surface and screams filled the air. It was as if every person

Mo Ran had ever killed and all the sins that he had ever committed were

crammed into this small black rectangle. The sheer magnitude of resentment

overwhelmed the little thing almost to bursting.

"I hate…"

"Mo Weiyu, I'll never let you off, even when I'm dead…"

Mo Ran was becoming more and more distraught. He lowered his

lashes and pressed his lips tightly together, something unreadable in his eyes.

"You have no conscience! You've turned this world into hell!"

"I'll haunt you when I'm dead!"

"Aaaaaah—!"

Weeping, wailing, cursing, hating. Then suddenly, amidst those

clamoring voices, a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Mo Ran. It was this master's

fault…"

Mo Ran's eyes flew open, full of grief and sorrow. Once again,

he heard those words from his past life, the ones Chu Wanning spoke on the

verge of death. They were so gentle, so sorrowful, but they cut into his skull

like a knife, as if they would cleave his soul apart.

The voices slowly faded to nothing, and the sin-measuring ruler fell

silent. A line of characters appeared again: Sins beyond redemption, send to

level…

Mo Ran didn't pull away this time—but the writing still didn't finish.

The gatekeeper blinked, then tapped the black ruler a couple of times.

"Is it broken?" The ruler quivered a little from the taps. Then, unexpectedly,

the words disappeared. A thin layer of celestial haze rose from the ruler's

surface, and it glowed with a brilliant radiance.

This time, there was no weeping or wailing. Instead came music like

melodious birdsong drifting between clouds, as if the most elegant chords of

the ninth heaven had descended into the underworld. The crowd of souls was

entranced, and even the gatekeeper found himself mesmerized.

Only when the celestial music ceased did the gatekeeper finally come

to his senses. When he checked the sin-measuring ruler again, it bore these

words: Everything normal, allow to pass.

"Impossible!" the gatekeeper cried. What had happened to "sins

beyond redemption" a moment ago? Why was it "everything normal" now? In

disbelief, he gave it several more tries, but it was the same every time: first

sounds of screaming, then beautiful music, and finally, without exception,

Everything normal, allow to pass.

The gatekeeper was bitterly disappointed, but he had no grounds to

block a normal soul from entering the underworld. He shoved his intestines

spitefully back into his abdomen and clicked his tongue in displeasure. "Tch.

That's some qi deviation you had, all right."

Mo Ran was just as surprised; he hadn't the least idea what was

happening either. After a bit of thought, he concluded that Master Huaizui's

enchantment must have confused the ruler. He sighed in relief.

"Take your damn entry pass and get lost, you're wasting my time. Beat

it!"

Mo Ran was more than happy to oblige and had turned to leave with

the soul-calling lantern in his arms when the gatekeeper's eyes suddenly lit

again and he yelled, "Hang on!"

Mo Ran kept his expression neutral, but his heart began to race.

Feigning exasperation, he asked, "What is it now?"

The gatekeeper jerked his chin toward the lantern, "What's that you've

got there?"

"Oh, this…" Mo Ran's hand stroked the lantern as the gears in his

head whirled rapidly. He turned around with a smile. "It's my burial item."15

"Burial item?"

"Yeah, it's a magical relic."

"Heh. Well, isn't that interesting." The gatekeeper pointed to the table,

his eyes flashing. "Put it down there and let's measure one more time. Your

magical relic was probably interfering with the ruler."

Mo Ran roundly cursed this asshole in his head but held his tongue. He

could do nothing but set the lantern down and stick his wrist out once again

with some apprehension.

The gatekeeper seemed quite confident this time. He eagerly swung the

ruler into place once more. But the result was the same. The words appeared,

clear as day: Everything normal, allow to pass.

Mo Ran was just as confused as the gatekeeper. But with that, the man

finally gave up for good and waved him lazily in. Mo Ran didn't dare linger

a moment longer. He picked up the soul-calling lantern and, hugging it to

chest, strode down the lengthy passageway. As he stepped out, the quality of

the light suddenly changed.

The ghost realm unfolded before his eyes.

The first level of hell stretched into the distance with no end in sight.

The sky was the scarlet of a sunset on fire, and all manner of strange flora

sprouted from the ground. Rows of uneven roof tiles sprawled across the

immediate skyline, and palatial structures lined the horizon. On a monolith at

the entrance were engraved the words: Thy flesh returns to dust, thy soul to

Nanke Town. The red-painted gateway that towered next to it bore the words

NANKE TOWN carved and gilded upon it, each character the height of a grown

man.

It seemed this was the name of the first level of hell. All of the

deceased—assuming there was nothing extraordinary about them—would

cool their heels here for eight to ten years until summoned to the second level

by the Judge of the Underworld, at which point they would stand trial and

receive judgment.

Mo Ran peered about as he walked, cradling the soul-calling lantern in

his arms. As far as he could tell, the layout wasn't much different from a

regular town in the living world. There were roads, residences, and even

shops. He counted eighteen streets in total, nine running from north to south

and nine from east to west. The souls of men, women, and children went

about their business, some laughing, others weeping. It was truly a gathering

of ghosts.

Mo Ran heard a newly deceased woman sobbing from the east side:

"What do I do, what do I do? Everyone says remarried women are cut in half

and divided between their two husbands. Is it true? Can anyone tell me if it's

true?"

Beside her, a girl with disheveled clothes and tangled hair wiped the

tears from her face. "I didn't want to do that kind of work, but how else

could I make a living? When I was still alive, I tried to atone for my sins. I

went to a local temple to donate a threshold to be stepped on as people came

and went. But the village chief demanded four hundred gold to swap out the

threshold… If I had that kind of money, I wouldn't have sold my body in the

first place…"

Over on the west side, a man was counting. "Four-hundred-and-one

days, four-hundred-and-two days, four-hundred-and-three days… We agreed

to die together for love, but I've been down here four-hundred-and-four days

already and she still hasn't followed." He sighed. "She's so delicate. Maybe

she got lost on the way down? If she really did, what will I do?"

These freshly dead souls milled about at Nanke Town's gate, crying

and muttering, lingering and protesting. Farther in were the older ghosts.

They had already been back to the living world and resigned themselves to

their circumstances. These ghosts were more equanimous, and each had taken

up some livelihood to occupy their time while they awaited trial.

By the third street, things were as busy and bustling as any market in

the living world. These were all souls not yet severed from their mortal

lives, after all. They had not yet drunk Mengpo's soup of forgetfulness and,

though ghosts, were still nigh indistinguishable from ordinary humans. Those

who had been entertainers in life busked at the sides of the streets; those who

had been seamstresses still wove clothing, only now they used the clouds of

hell; butchers dared not kill any more, but could at least sharpen knives and

scissors. Sounds of peddling and cheering rose and fell, lively and energetic.

Mo Ran stopped in front of a ghost selling calligraphy and paintings.

The ghost was stick-thin and sickly, with jutting cheekbones and a hollowedout stomach. He probably hadn't managed to sell a single painting in his

entire life and literally starved to death.

When he saw that someone had sat down at his booth, the skinny

scholar looked up. His eyes were bleary, but his expression did not lack for

passion as he said, "Gongzi, looking to buy a painting?"

"I want you to draw me a portrait."

The scholar was woeful. "Paintings of people can hardly compare to

the artistry of landscapes. Take a look at this painting of Mount Taishan

draped in misty clouds…"

"I don't care for landscape paintings," Mo Ran said. "I just need you

to draw someone for me."

"Don't care for landscapes, huh?" The scholar shot him one glance,

then another, displeased. "It's said that the kind know to appreciate the

mountains, and the wise know to cherish the waters. Gongzi is still so young;

you really ought to absorb some culture, smell some ink. As it happens, I

would rather not part with my Mount Taishan painting, but since you had the

good taste to stop at my booth, surely you have some good sense to go with it.

How about this—just for you, I'll drop the price to—"

"I want you to draw a person."

The scholar fell silent.

They two stared each other down. The scholar, of course, was no

match for Mo Ran, and folded in no time. This made the man so mad his dead

face seemed to flush. "I don't draw people. If you really want it, it'll be ten

times my normal rate."

"Things cost money even in the ghost realm?" Mo Ran wondered

aloud.

"Paper money burned by friends and family, yes," the scholar replied

coldly. "Money makes the world go round. Though I myself disdain riches, a

gentleman earns his money through honest work. We are neither friends nor

family, nor do we have a sympathy like the legendary Bo Ya and Ziqi,

16

 So

what reason would I have to do you any favors?"

He nattered on and on in this vein. Mo Ran's book knowledge was

limited, and he was completely out of his depth. He could only frown and

say, "I just got here, no one's burned any money for me yet."

"No money, no deal."

Mo Ran thought it over and hit upon an idea. He pointed at the Mount

Taishan painting. "All right, no deal. But I'm bored and have nothing to do,

so could you tell me something about landscape paintings?"

The scholar paused. At once, all his anger turned into delight. "You're

interested in landscapes?"

Mo Ran nodded. "Does it cost anything to learn from you?"

"Nope," the scholar was quite conceited, and the way his face lit up

was faintly ridiculous, yet also pitiful. "Knowledge is free; money would

only foul it. Scholarly matters mustn't be tainted by such material concerns."

Mo Ran nodded again and thought to himself, Ah, so that's how the

little bookworm starved to death. Hard as it was not to laugh, the man was

rather pathetic. Unfortunately, Mo Ran truly was penniless right now, or he

really would've given him some silver.

The scholar took the painting from its frame with great excitement,

struck a pompous pose, unnecessarily cleared his incorporeal throat, and

then, in a tone both anxious and snobbish, said, "Let us begin."

Watching the little bookworm take the bait, Mo Ran smiled broadly.

"Please do enlighten me."