Volume One: The Soul-Drawing Gourd and the Soul-Burning Lamp Chapter One: Even Drinking Cold Water Can Be Fatal?

Have you ever heard tales of the Netherworld?

Some stories, when told, are met with disbelief. Yet their incredibility does not mean they aren’t true.

When the false is taken for truth, the truth becomes false; when nothing becomes something, something may yet be nothing...

Chapter 1: Can Drinking Cold Water Really Get You Killed?

Northern Desolation Town was aptly named—a place as bleak as its title suggested. Even the provincial capital was considered a backwater, let alone this little outpost at the edge of nowhere.

Under the bright moon and scattered stars, the streets were eerily silent and empty; not even the chirping of insects or the call of a bird could be heard. A chill wind swept through, making one’s hair stand on end with terror.

Suddenly, a sharp crack rang out from inside a candle and incense shop.

The scene shifted.

Shards of a broken glass lay scattered on the floor, water spreading across the tiles. A young man in his early twenties, with long hair and dressed in a black tracksuit, clutched his own throat tightly with his left hand, while his right dug desperately into his mouth. Clear drool dribbled from the corner of his lips.

A low, muffled groan escaped him.

His face, waxen and deathly pale, was twisted in agony, bloodshot eyes bulging as if about to burst from their sockets. After several futile attempts, the youth reached for the cell phone atop the counter—his last hope for salvation.

In the corner, two paper effigies with painted rouge cheeks watched on with ambiguous smiles, making no move to help. Had they stood up, the youth would probably have died of fright on the spot.

He gasped and struggled—pain, panic, and suffocation overtaking him. But before he could dial emergency services, his vision went black with a heavy thud; his body went rigid, and he collapsed dead across the counter.

In those bulging, wide-open eyes was a look of stunned disbelief and unwilling resignation. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth onto the surface below.

A sinister, chilling laughter echoed from the corner where the paper effigies stood.

Creeeak—

A blast of cold wind swept through the shop, the temperature plummeting as the hinges of the wooden door emitted a drawn-out, piercing squeal. At once, the two paper figures stiffened, standing motionless and silent.

Then, with a sudden whoosh, a thick, ghostly white mist billowed up on the floor before the counter, quickly filling the little shop...

As the fog dissipated, two spectral figures stood revealed—one clad in white, the other in black.

A closer look: the white ghost, tall and gaunt, wore a perpetual smile; his face was waxen, tongue lolling from his mouth, and his official’s cap bore the four characters: “Fortune Upon First Sight.” The black ghost, short and stout, his face dark as charcoal and equally tongue-lolling, had the words “Peace Under Heaven” emblazoned on his cap.

Were these not the legendary Black and White Impermanence, the infamous envoys of the Underworld?

To be greeted by these two at the outset—it was an intimidating spectacle indeed!

Each held a mourning staff—one black, one white—while soul-locking chains and spirit-capturing daggers hung at their waists. In their hands, they brandished gleaming badges of the nether authorities.

A heavy, ghostly aura filled the air, oppressive and inescapable.

With a breath, the two envoys fixed their gaze upon the young man’s lifeless form atop the counter, eyes cold and unblinking.

White Impermanence arched his brow and parted his lips; a chilling, shrill laugh cut through the silence.

“Eighth Lord, how did this fellow manage to die just from drinking cold water?”

Black Impermanence opened his mouth; his voice thundered like an explosion.

“Seventh Lord, seize the soul—time to return!”

With few words, White Impermanence let out another eerie laugh, flicking the frosty soul-binding chain from his waist. With a clatter, the chain coiled around the youth’s neck and yanked him forward. That ghastly, drawn-out voice echoed again.

“Gu Mo—come forth—”

At those words, the delicate youth named Gu Mo shuddered; in an instant, a transparent spirit slipped from his body and floated lightly before the two envoys.

Head bowed, his gaze glazed and unfocused, Gu Mo hovered above the ground, as if not fully awake. The chain tightened, drawing his soul inexorably toward the black-and-white duo.

Then, with a rush, all three vanished into the mist, leaving behind only the still-warm corpse on the counter—as if nothing at all had happened.

After a long while, Gu Mo’s consciousness gradually cleared. As soon as he opened his eyes, he found himself on a long, narrow path, shrouded in darkness. On either side rose withered forests, the branches sharp and bare of any leaf, stretching endlessly into the gloom—an unsettling sight.

Surveying the scene: hills, peaks, ridges, caves, and ravines—yet the hills bore no grass, the peaks touched no sky, the ridges saw no travelers, the caves admitted no clouds, the ravines ran dry.

In the blackness, cold winds howled and eerie mists swirled, making Gu Mo’s hair stand on end with fear.

The chill wind struck him, and Gu Mo shivered violently, nearly wetting himself in terror.

Then he noticed an icy chain around his neck. Panicked, he clawed at it with both hands, but after a few clinks, the piercing cold seemed to seep into his soul itself. No matter how much he struggled, he could not loosen it at all.

After a pitiful struggle, Gu Mo looked up—only to be scared half senseless by the two ghostly figures before him.

“Who... who are you? Where am I?”

White Impermanence turned, dragging his bloody tongue across Gu Mo’s face. Nausea welled up in Gu Mo, but suspicion dawned—he was beginning to guess the figures’ identities.

“Heh heh heh, this is the Netherworld! And you, you fool—died without even knowing how!”

At those words, Gu Mo’s mind went blank.

“I’m dead?... You two—you’re Black and White Impermanence?”

White Impermanence smiled sinisterly, while Black Impermanence stood unmoving, offering not a word.

“Your guess is correct! Heh heh heh! This is indeed the Netherworld!”

As White Impermanence finished, hazy memories surfaced in Gu Mo’s mind. He frowned, biting his thumbnail as he murmured to himself:

“I just got back to the shop today from out of town and drank some cold water... must’ve gotten something stuck between my teeth... then I reached for a toothpick on the counter...”

Suddenly, the truth struck him with blinding clarity, his face contorting with rage as he blurted out a string of invective.

“What the hell? Choke on cold water? Dying from a toothpick? That’s just plain absurd!!!”

White Impermanence immediately cackled. “Heh heh heh, I’m just as curious myself!”

With that, Black Impermanence’s already pitch-black face grew even more terrifying as he growled:

“Hurry up!”

Gu Mo’s body jerked backward, stunned beyond belief.

“Wait—”

But before he could finish, a glow flared in the distance. Suddenly, shouts and cries shook the very earth, plunging the Netherworld into chaos. Something momentous was happening beyond the mountains.

The two envoys, Black and White Impermanence, were visibly startled. Even with their monochrome faces betraying little expression, it was clear the matter was grave.

“Eighth Lord, something terrible has happened!”

Black Impermanence’s eyes bulged in fury, his mourning staff creaking in his grip. With a bellow, he roared:

“Seventh Lord, we’ve got work!”

With a flick of his wrist, White Impermanence slung his icy soul-binding chain over a tree branch.

Then, after exchanging a glance, the two envoys sped away, vanishing into the distance—leaving Gu Mo alone, bewildered and lost.

Gu Mo was utterly dumbfounded.

He raised his left hand and gave himself a hard slap.

Smack!

The crisp sound echoed, but he felt no pain.

“No pain? Am I dreaming? Yes—that must be it!”

With a bitter smile, he leaned against a barren tree, closed his eyes, and murmured, “If it’s just a nightmare, I’ll wake up soon enough...”

Yet, as time passed and sleep eluded him, Gu Mo’s wide eyes scanned his surroundings. Aside from the narrow black road, there was only lifeless, leafless forest as far as the eye could see.

Strangely, not a single plant here bore a leaf. Did the Netherworld have to be this devoid of life?

Taking in the desolation, Gu Mo cursed under his breath. “Damn it! Am I really dead? Is this really the Netherworld? It doesn’t look like it at all!”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of 555 menthol burst cigarettes, lit one with a click, and took a deep drag.

He exhaled; the smoke was quickly swept away by the chill wind.

With each puff, his bitterness and unwillingness surged within him. Clenching his teeth, the delicate, long-haired youth ground out the butt fiercely.

“No way! Even if I’m dead, I’ll be a ghost with a long, prosperous afterlife! I’m not even thirty—no way am I just going to fade away!”

Just then, footsteps sounded from the withered woods behind him.

Startled, Gu Mo sprang to his feet. In panic, he yanked the chain from his neck to wield as a weapon, but the icy cold nearly made him cry out. The chain bound him tightly, and to his shock, the withered tree he leaned against was rock solid.

“I’m finished!”

From afar, a hunched black shadow drifted closer, making Gu Mo’s scalp tingle with fear...