Not all ghost wardens were mild-tempered. Some would strike or curse at living souls without warning, looking vicious enough to chill the air.
The living souls dared not fight back. Heads lowered, shoulders hunched, they timidly boarded the ferry that would cross the Wangchuan River.
Song Wanníng's arrival drew more than a few curious glances from the ghost wardens.
Still, the wardens served under the King Yama, so not all of them feared her. Most simply focused on their work and boarded the ferry.
Song Wanníng paid them no mind and stepped aboard as well.
The moment she sat down, the River of Forgetfulness surged violently.
The unlucky soul almost burst into tears on the spot, clinging to the railing and screaming in panic.
It had been a long time since Song Wanníng had interacted with mortals, and such noisy, flustered reactions felt foreign to her now. She didn't interfere, merely gazing quietly out across the river.
As always, twisted evil spirits swam freely in the black waters, their shapes writhing in the gloom.
The ghost wardens were long accustomed to the sight, but the living souls shrieked in terror, their cries echoing so loudly that the entire River of Forgetfulness seemed filled with wails.
The wardens wordlessly covered their ears. Song Wanníng also shut off her sense of hearing, and at last the world around her fell into a blessed calm.
The unlucky soul's face grew even paler, yet his yearning to be reborn kept him going. Somehow, he managed to endure the crossing.
Behind them, on another ferry, a living soul was suddenly dragged down by an evil spirit, losing the chance at reincarnation entirely. Given enough time, that soul would become just like the evil spirits roaming the river.
The unlucky soul's legs turned to water at the sight, and he could barely move forward.
One of the ghost wardens rolled his eyes so hard they nearly touched the sky, urging him along impatiently.
"Move it! Once I drop you off, I'm heading home for food and wine."
His brow furrowed in annoyance. If this kept up, the tavern would be closed before he got there.
"Alright, alright."
The unlucky soul quickened his pace. Half a quarter-hour later, they reached the registry at Rebirth Valley.
The living souls had already formed a long line. The unlucky soul took up the last spot, stretching his neck to see the front.
Song Wanníng stood at a moderate distance, watching with curiosity.
Everything in the Netherworld felt fresh and unfamiliar to her.
She noticed that once the souls had their records verified, a strange mark appeared on their bodies.
Those marked were led to a nearby rest lodge to stay the night.
If a soul was scheduled for immediate reincarnation, they would be taken to the Bridge of Rebirth at dawn. After drinking Meng Po's Soup, they could cross into their next life.
But those without a slot had to remain in Rebirth Valley until their turn came.
The unlucky soul had only waited a short while when sudden commotion broke out outside.
"Hiss… it's an evil spirit!"
The ghost cultivators turned, startled.
Song Wanníng also looked over and saw a man being dragged in by two wardens, iron forks at his back. His body was shrouded in heavy black qi, more terrifying than any evil spirit she'd seen in the Wangchuan River.
What kind of monstrous crimes had he committed?
Her brows drew together. She had never known much about the mortal world. Born into a cultivation clan, she had never lived among common folk.
Still, she knew that mortal realms were ruled by royal courts and plagued by endless wars.
The Netherworld's souls came from countless minor worlds, not only the one beneath her own realm.
"This evil spirit's killing intent is suffocating. How many lives has he taken?"
"His sins are too deep. There's no way he'll be reincarnated—he's bound for the Eighteen Levels of Hell!"
Even the most jaded ghost wardens rarely saw such cases.
Humans might have their darker sides, but to fall this far was rare.
The evil spirit sensed their stares and slowly raised his cold, venomous gaze, sweeping it across the crowd.
Then his eyes froze on Song Wanníng, a glint flashing in their depths.
"Beauty! Bring her here—immediately! She will attend to me!"
His voice cracked like a whip, filled with imperial command.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The living souls were stunned by the revelation that he had been an emperor in life. The wardens, however, were taken aback by his brazen tone.
What colossal nerve—to speak so rudely to a ghost cultivator. Was he eager to suffer more?
"You dare stand idle? Even in death, I am the sovereign among spirits!"
The evil spirit's bearing remained lofty, his voice laced with anger.
"Hmph! I made my arrangements long before death. My men will cast a golden paper craft of me, enshrine it in a temple, and have me worshipped every day."
"Before long, I will rise as a ghost cultivator and rule the Netherworld!"
His eyes brimmed with arrogant scorn.
He was an emperor. In life, he had decided who lived and died with a mere thought. Who would dare defy him?
Yet at that moment, one of the wardens behind him slammed a staff across his back.
"Aaah!"
He howled in pain, nearly leaping up from the blow.
"In the Netherworld, you dare keep your mortal airs? A golden paper craft ? Pah!"
The warden snorted in derision. "Some wandering Taoist must have conned you, you fool. Even if they built ten golden statues of you, you'd still kneel before me here!"
"Hahaha!"
The surrounding wardens broke into laughter, finding his confidence laughable.
"What? Impossible!"
The evil spirit's face drained of color.
"They told me I could cultivate! I— I meant to become a ghost immortal—"
"I—"
Another few blows silenced him completely.
Drained of strength, he lined up limply behind the unlucky soul.
The unlucky soul finally finished his registration and lingered nearby when the evil spirit suddenly roared.
"What? The Eighteen Levels of Hell? I refuse!
I want reincarnation! Reincarnation!
Ahhh!"
Denied, the evil spirit flew into a frenzy.
And in true unlucky fashion, the hapless soul was struck by the rampaging spirit and knocked straight into the River of Forgetfulness.
The entire place fell silent.
Even Song Wanníng was caught off guard. Neither she nor the wardens had time to pull him back. They could only watch as he fell in.
"Help!"
The unlucky soul thrashed in terror, eyes red with fury. He had been unfortunate all his life, timid all his life, and now— even in death— misfortune hounded him still.
If he sank in the River of Forgetfulness, he would lose any chance at rebirth and remain trapped until his mind was devoured.
The thought made grief overwhelm him, and he wept aloud, pouring out a lifetime of bitter injustice. The evil spirit was quickly restrained again, but all eyes turned to the unlucky soul.
What now?