Chapter Six: Old Xie, the White Reaper

In truth, as technology has advanced, more and more religions have integrated themselves into society, yet they have not forgotten their fundamental role—subduing demons and exorcising spirits—quietly dedicating themselves to this not-so-peaceful and harmonious world. In this world overflowing with material things, anything that exists in your mind has a high chance of truly existing; supernatural beings are no different. You simply can’t see them. Some spirits, in fact, forgo their chance at reincarnation just to gaze once more upon the human world, wandering among the living, searching for a fated one or some ill-starred soul.

The netherworld and the human world are alike—there are good and evil ghosts, the greedy and the pure. Even Lord Impermanence ranks as the chief among the corrupt officials, and King Yama turns a blind eye to this, for the cost of living in the underworld is high and the wages meager; the ghostly constables help themselves to petty corruption now and then.

Every year, between the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month and October first, the gates of the underworld swing open, and the ghost constables seize the opportunity to fatten their pockets, extorting from wandering souls in the human realm. Those who refuse to pay protection are bound by soul-binding ropes and tossed into cauldrons of boiling oil. If you ever witness them at their work, you must pretend not to see, for they call this “the march of the ghostly soldiers.” Anyone who sees it is judged guilty of “revealing the secrets of heaven” and will have their soul taken away.

If you spend a little and burn a few billion worth of spirit money for them, urging them to leave quickly, perhaps these ghostly constables might even grant you some small favor in return.

It seemed Old Ma’s intention in holding Uncle Mao back was to summon a ghostly constable for help. Which one, exactly, was unclear.

Few people lived in this block of single-story houses on the city’s edge, so wasteland stretched everywhere. The two of them entered a patch of woodland, chanting incantations under their breath. Old Ma took a talisman from his pocket, set it alight, and intoned, “By the authority of the law, come swiftly!” As the paper burned away, a white shadow rose from the ground in the dim forest, a green glow illuminating the trees. Upon his head perched a long paper hat, in his hand a mourning staff; the four bold characters “Prosper on Sight” proclaimed his identity—he was Bai Wuchang, the White Impermanence, known as Xie Bi’an.

The two old men tucked away their stern expressions, plastering smiles across their faces as they approached Xie Bi’an.

Before they could speak, Xie Bi’an said, “You two, I’ve gone to some trouble to come here. Today isn’t the opening of the ghost gates.” His meaning was clear, and the two old men, not being ordinary folk, nodded in understanding. Without hesitation, they pulled out a bundle of spirit banknotes marked fifty million each—several tens of billions in all—from their convenience bag and burned them without so much as batting an eye. In the mortal world, this pile of paper money would be worth perhaps one hundred yuan.

Drawing a protection circle was pointless—who would dare steal from Lord Impermanence, save perhaps King Yama himself?

Bai Wuchang plucked the money from the ashes, weighed it, and said, “Mao and Ma, out with it—say what you need, for the gates will soon close.”

Old Ma wasted no time. “Lord Impermanence, disaster looms—our Southern Mao and Northern Ma traditions stand on the brink of extinction.”

Xie Bi’an did not understand. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked.

Uncle Mao interjected, “Lord Impermanence, a Golden Corpse King has appeared in the mortal world once more!”

“The Golden Corpse King? Weren’t those zombies eradicated long ago? In the underworld, the punishment for zombies is torture in the Eighteenth Level of Hell. But Jiang Chen, the Drought Demon, escaped from the lowest hell ages ago and has become formidable; the Golden Corpse King is his descendant. If you intend to subdue him, you should seek out Jiang Chen first.” At the mention of the Golden Corpse King, Bai Wuchang clearly wished to change the subject.

Old Ma, not wanting to anger him, pressed no further but said, “Since you’ve already accepted our offering, surely you’ll help us out?”

This struck directly at Bai Wuchang’s weak spot. His long red tongue flickered as he replied, “For the sake of your Taoist forebears, I will give you some advice. That is...”

“Don’t beat around the bush,” Old Ma interrupted.

Xie Bi’an got straight to the point, for a force from hell was already tugging at him. He hurriedly said, “Find the Golden Corpse King before he has tasted human blood. Within seven days, persuade him to become a benevolent corpse. This monster is unlike any other; he can evolve, he lives among humans, and his intelligence is several times that of Jiang Chen. It will take him less than a few centuries to reach Jiang Chen’s level. Do not engage him head-on. I must report the Fengdu Mountain situation to King Yama. We’ll meet at Fengdu Mountain.” As soon as he finished, he was pulled underground, leaving Old Ma and Uncle Mao staring at each other.

“It sounds so simple,” Old Ma muttered, “Takes the money and does nothing. Should’ve just fed him bricks—let him cough up gold and silver!” With that, he spat derisively at the ground.

The next morning, I awoke on the rooftop of the school building, feeling it was time to seek out Old Ma and ask about my current condition.

So I dialed Ah Shuang’s number. “Ah Shuang, is Uncle Ma in?” Having been through some things, I’d grown far more polite—after all, he’d saved my life.

This was my first time calling a girl. Her gentle voice made my heart flutter with comfort. “My father’s out. He’ll be back later. Why don’t you come over first?” she said, then gave me her address. Luckily, it wasn’t far, just a short bus ride away.

On the way, I fretted over what gift to bring. People say flowers and gift boxes are old-fashioned, but since there really wasn’t much to buy, I carried two boxes of health supplements and headed over.

Old Ma truly lived up to his reputation as a university professor—even his home was in the most expensive downtown district, opening my eyes as a country boy.

His apartment was on a high floor. Despite the elevator’s speed, every car was packed full, so I had no choice but to take the stairs. With my new constitution, I easily ran up the empty stairwell using my special abilities, reaching Old Ma’s door in no time.

I pressed the doorbell, which, fittingly, neighed like a horse. Ah Shuang opened the door.

She wore a pure white nightgown that perfectly outlined her figure, nearly causing me a nosebleed.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Her words snapped me from my daze, and I scratched my head like an awkward youth and stepped inside.

Bang! “Ouch!” I’d forgotten my height and banged my head on the doorframe, making Ah Shuang giggle behind her hand. Thankfully, the ceiling inside was higher. In the center of the room hung a woman’s portrait, before which three incense sticks smoked in a burner.

The apartment was fully furnished, surprisingly spacious. I settled on the sofa, chatting with Ah Shuang as we waited for Old Ma. Morning passed, yet there was no sign of him; phone calls went unanswered.

My stomach rumbled, and I smiled sheepishly at Ah Shuang. “I’ll come back this afternoon,” I said, standing to leave.

She caught my hand but quickly let go, a faint blush coloring her face—adorable.

This, of course, was a clear sign she wanted me to stay for lunch. Sure enough, she stammered, “Please don’t go. Actually, my father won’t be back until tonight. Stay and keep me company, won’t you?”

I was still a virgin, had never even held a girl’s hand. Faced with her invitation, my tongue seemed to tie itself in knots.

“Uh… well… okay!” My awkward reply sent her into peals of laughter as she dashed into the kitchen.

“This is my first time cooking, so please forgive me,” she called out. She was the type of sweet, innocent, gentle, beautiful, and kind girl who would cook just for me.

“No problem. I’ll eat every bit of what you make.” I thought to myself that, since my sense of taste still hadn’t returned, even if she made something salty and inedible, I could eat it with ease.

Leaning back on the leather sofa, watching the ultra-high-definition TV, I sank deep into the cushions, savoring a comfort I had never known—like a bride in her wedding sedan for the first time. About an hour later, Ah Shuang poked her head out of the kitchen and called, “Xiao Dong, lunch is ready!”

...

(Writing as if my life depended on it, all for the support of my brothers. My thanks to every one of you who stands by me.)