Chapter Eight: Yang Bing Steps into the Realm (Part Two)

Night descended swiftly in the midst of our waiting, the sun sinking behind the mountains only to rise elsewhere on earth, and the hands of time pressed eagerly toward eight o’clock. This hour was rich with earthly energy, and the gates of the spirit world stood at their loosest. A thousand people traversed mountains and wilderness to gather in a cluster of abandoned buildings hidden in the wilds. The perimeter of these ruined structures was sealed so tightly that not a soul could escape. Among the thousand, some had already begun chanting incantations; soon, a thousand souls slipped free from their bodies, burrowing underground, each clutching talismans and peachwood swords.

Though I was neither fully dead nor alive—a half-living corpse and monster—I did not possess the Daoist arts of meditation or the nine sacred syllables. My passage into the underworld relied entirely on my pair of purple-black bat wings, and the help of Old Horse and Uncle Mao.

Since I was already a corpse, I did not need to separate from my body to enter the underworld. Old Horse and Uncle Mao simply dragged my physical form, and with a flash of golden light, we crossed into the world below.

Don’t be fooled by the ease of that golden flash; even if an ordinary person dug for a thousand years, they would never reach the netherworld. The underworld exists in a phantom layer of reality, visible only to those with the eyes to see between worlds.

This was the first time I had entered the underworld, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous—even the heart that was useless to me now thudded and skipped.

As soon as my feet touched the ground, I sensed the oppressive chill all around. You, dear reader, may say, “This is the land of shadows—of course it’s cold and gloomy.” But you’d be mistaken. In truth, this is the boundary between the worlds of light and shadow: Mount Fengdu, a natural, open second layer of the Eighteen Hells. Here gather countless half-human, half-corpse creatures—zombies—who chose the wrong burial site in the world of the living. These zombies are living dead without consciousness or thought, relying only on their stiff bodies to hunt for the energy they crave. Should an ordinary person fall into their grasp, their body would be riddled with hundreds of bloody holes.

Even ghosts fall within their capture; they feed not only on human essence, but also consume the marrow of lost souls. Such abominations are the very definition of what the heavens and earth cannot tolerate.

But let us return to the tale—

The gloom of the underworld was worthy of its reputation; even the thing in the sky that resembled a sun cast only a dull glow, like an old incandescent bulb at home, radiating an orange-red light. Every now and then, the wailing of ghosts echoed around us, followed by a gust of wind sweeping swiftly through the crowd—a truly eerie spectacle.

I walked among the crowd in my true form, following Old Horse and Uncle Mao. I sensed the great company moving slowly forward, while the wild spirits along the roadside grew fewer and the chill deepened. I thought to myself, “We must be near Mount Fengdu.” When I looked ahead with the eyes of a corpse, I saw a group of soldiers standing there. Their leader wore a white peaked cap and smiled benignly in our direction, the words “Riches Upon Sight” emblazoned on his hat—a reminder that struck me.

This was none other than White Impermanence, Xie Bi’an, his cap like those worn in revolutionary times, a mourning stick in hand, and a long, blood-red tongue dripping down to his neck—just as described in the stories.

Old Horse and a middle-aged uncle approached with Uncle Mao, exchanging pleasantries with Old Xie, flattering him until he was thoroughly pleased.

At that moment, a ghostly shriek echoed from Mount Fengdu, the sound thick with resentment. “It seems a vengeful spirit is battling zombies,” someone remarked. Old Xie and his group rushed toward the commotion, and the army of living and dead behind them drew their weapons and followed suit. I was no exception; my ruby-red eyes marked my identity as I hurried to the scene. At the foot of Mount Fengdu, I saw several zombies dressed in Qing dynasty official uniforms besieging a powerful vengeful spirit. Clearly, these zombies coveted the spirit’s tremendous resentment, the purest form of energy, worth thousands of human essences.

The arrival of Old Xie and his companions made the zombies sense the living among us; they turned their heads with mechanical stiffness. The vengeful spirit tried to break free, only to be surrounded once again. These zombies had already been torn apart by the spirit, and the spirit itself was clearly near exhaustion.

Just then, Old Xie deployed his mourning stick, subduing these low-level zombies in a single blow. I was stunned—thinking, “This isn’t how movies depict it.” In the films, there’s always a struggle before the zombies are subdued, but Old Xie needed only one move to shatter the imprisoned souls within the corpses, leaving behind only decaying bodies.

Xie Bi’an approached the vengeful spirit, and for once, even Old Xie was visibly excited. Gazing at the weakened spirit, he cried out, “The Seven Infant Ghost King!”

The underworld is much like this: aside from the Palace of the Netherworld, some powerful vengeful spirits and fierce ghosts forsake their one chance at reincarnation to establish their own organizations among the vast ranges of Mount Fengdu. These organizations, much like large corporations in the world above, pay taxes to the Palace of the Netherworld to maintain the safety of their domains. The Seven Infant Ghost King was the leader of several mountains in this region, a famous vengeful spirit king whose relationship with the Black and White Impermanence was renowned. There were rumors that the Seven Infant Ghost King and the Impermanence brothers were inseparable in life, and that the Ghost King gave up his only chance at rebirth to remain close to his brothers, ruling the cursed lands of Mount Fengdu for thousands of years. Whether true or not, only they know.

I wondered at the time: how could such a dignified Ghost King have no followers at all?

Later, I understood. For thousands of years, the zombies had lain dormant, allowing the Seven Infant Ghost King to relax. The Ghost King and his followers, being vengeful spirits, sustained themselves with the energy maintained by zombies, so encountering zombies was like rabbits facing wolves—certain death. Moreover, the Ghost King went out without expecting zombies to awaken that day, and brought few vengeful spirits with him. Just after stepping out of the palace gate, his spirit guards were wiped out.

Fortunately, the Seven Infant Ghost King survived. When brothers meet, courtesy is indispensable—even in the underworld. The Ghost King invited us to his palace, instructing his vengeful spirit maidens to serve wine and food.

The palace of the Seven Infant Ghost King was remarkable—a castle of glazed bricks that gleamed like jade, with all manner of carriages and luxuries. To me, these things were nothing but piles of waste; in the world above, a few coins would buy a “Ferrari” like these, so I shook my head in disdain.

Old Horse and Uncle Mao found me among the thousand living souls and dragged me from the outer banquet table into the palace, insisting I join them. They introduced my glorious deeds to Old Xie and the Seven Infant Ghost King.

The golden table shone brilliantly, and I thought, “A Ghost King is indeed different—even his dining ware is made of gold and silver, just like the emperors of old.”

The Seven Infant Ghost King was easy to speak with, exchanging a few pleasantries and then letting everyone drink freely.

I had never tasted underworld wine or food. Gazing at the transparent chicken meat, I understood: the underworld is much like the world above, except that the living eat flesh, while the dead consume souls. Poor chickens, ducks, and geese—they are devoured in both worlds. Uncle Mao explained, “Chicken, duck, and goose belong to the animal realm here—those who committed evil deeds in their past life are reborn as beasts to atone, serving the living and the dead. After being consumed and excreted by ghosts, these beasts return to the human world to be reborn again and again, enduring this cycle for hundreds or thousands of years before earning a single chance at human life.”

I drank my fill; I never imagined underworld wine to be so delicious—almost like sweet beverages in the living world. Though mortal food had lost all flavor for me, I could still relish the taste of underworld fare. Since I rarely had such an opportunity, I indulged myself, downing several small jars. Wine loosened my tongue, and I began to ask all sorts of questions, which the Seven Infant Ghost King answered without hesitation.

Soon our conversation turned to the first tyrant of ancient China, the infamous Qin Shi Huang.

...

(P.S.: Dear readers, I’ll spare you the chatter here. If you’re enjoying the story, please support your brother in any way you can—you know what I mean.)