The unlucky ghost had already been registered, but now he had fallen into the River of Forgetfulness. If the higher-ups found out, none of them would escape punishment.
The penalty would be severe.
The ghost wardens exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to handle the situation.
"What do we do? Even if we pull him up now, with the River's aura clinging to him, he can't reincarnate anymore!"
"Hss… and if he goes to file a complaint, we're all done for!"
The three wardens who had been escorting the unlucky ghost and the malicious spirit looked the most anxious.
They would surely take the worst of the punishment.
"Help me…"
The unlucky ghost's desperate plea rang out, drawing looks of pity from those around. He had been so close to reincarnation, only for this disaster to strike.
Suddenly, one of the wardens seemed to think of something. He edged over to Song Wanníng. "Dàrén, do you happen to need a ghost servant?" He put on an eager, almost fawning smile.
Song Wanníng didn't respond, simply fixing him with a steady gaze until he began to squirm.
Finally, he lowered his voice. "Here's the thing, Dàrén. This unlucky ghost has fallen into the River of Forgetfulness. He can no longer reincarnate. His only path left is to become a ghost servant.
And we're afraid that if the King Yama learns of this, we'll lose our warden posts. So… we were hoping to strike a deal with you."
The warden had assumed Song Wanníng was soft-hearted, but her face remained expressionless, unmoved. Left with no choice, he sweetened the offer to settle the matter quickly.
"What kind of deal?"
Song Wanníng finally showed a flicker of interest, raising a brow at him. If they wanted her to clean up their mess, they'd have to pay an appropriate price.
"Ahem… we know of a place in the Netherworld where there grows the Rebirth Flower. It can summon the Primordial Soul of the dead. It's only for one meeting, but it can fulfill the deepest wishes of many."
He studied her carefully. For some people, the Rebirth Flower's effect was almost useless; for others, it was a treasure beyond measure.
"Only works for mortals?"
Song Wanníng's curiosity grew. She thought of a certain intruder—this could be useful.
But if it only worked on mortals, it would be worthless to her.
"No, it works for cultivators too. As long as they've been dead less than fifty years, you can call back a strand of their Primordial Soul. The time is short, and it can't bring them back to life…"
Some people, upon seeing a dead loved one again, would begin to dream of resurrection.
But that was impossible. When a cultivator died, they were gone.
Song Wanníng's heart stirred. If this was true, she had every reason to go find this flower. With it, certain matters would be far easier to handle.
"All right. Deal. But if you're lying to me…"
Her eyes narrowed, carrying a quiet threat that made the warden shiver.
"Dàrén, rest assured. We wouldn't dare deceive you. We just ask that you keep this to yourself."
He offered a servile smile. This woman's cultivation was not ordinary—definitely not someone to cross.
"Fine."
Song Wanníng inclined her head slightly in agreement.
The warden quickly gave her the location. "But the road there is dangerous, Dàrén. You must be careful."
He then hauled the unlucky ghost up from the River, erasing the mark on him. The name in the registry vanished at the same time.
Next, he instructed the unlucky ghost on how to recognize Song Wanníng as his master. Before long, the unlucky ghost had become her ghost servant.
With the matter settled, the wardens finally relaxed, cheerfully changing shifts and heading off to rest.
Song Wanníng, meanwhile, took the unlucky ghost and headed farther into the distance.
The ghost trudged along with a lifeless expression, perhaps having completely given up on himself after the incident in the River of Forgetfulness.
Song Wanníng didn't care. She wasn't staying in the Netherworld forever; when she left, she could simply dissolve the bond.
Still, while his bad Luck wouldn't rub off on her, if his misfortune caused enough trouble to slow her down, she wouldn't hesitate to cut him loose.
She owed him nothing.
With that in mind, she wandered without concern.
At times like this, she missed the map function of the Three Lives Mirror.
The Netherworld was vast, and she had no sense of direction. In this Valley of Rebirth, she had no idea how long she would wander.
Never mind. Other than the Rebirth Flower, she had no pressing goal here. She might as well treat this as sightseeing.
Over the following days, she roamed the valley, encountering many wardens escorting living souls toward the River of Forgetfulness.
"How many people must die each day?"
Xiao Jin was wide-eyed in shock. At first he had tried to count, but now he had completely lost track.
"After all, this place connects the Spirit Realm to countless minor worlds. Of course many die," Long Ling replied solemnly, scanning the passing souls.
She could sense that some of them carried a faint trace of spiritual energy.
"Sister, some of these souls have spiritual energy and some don't. Why?"
Long Ling found it strange. How could mortals carry spiritual energy?
Song Wanníng was surprised as well. "Perhaps those with spiritual energy have a chance to be born with a spiritual root in their next life?"
She wasn't certain. The Netherworld had been cut off from the outside world for so long that records were scarce—she could only guess.
"I see!"
Long Ling immediately wore an expression of sudden enlightenment.
Song Wanníng: "…"
She gave a helpless smile and continued walking.
As they went on, the number of souls dwindled. The surroundings grew quiet, the atmosphere darker and more oppressive.
Even she began to feel uncomfortable.
She frowned into the distance and spotted a tall tower.
Wind howled around it, lightning flashed above, and layers of restrictive formations encircled it. None of that could hide the aura of killing intent.
Song Wanníng counted. Eighteen floors.
Was this the Eighteen Levels of Hell the wardens had mentioned?
A place to imprison the most vicious of spirits?
It was said the Eighteen Levels held only those who had committed countless heinous crimes. They would endure endless torment until their sins were cleansed, and only then could they reincarnate.
The malicious spirit from earlier should already be inside.
Curious, Song Wanníng approached. But as she drew closer, her Primordial Soul reeled, and her head throbbed painfully.
Just then, two wardens—part of the team that had escorted the malicious spirit—stumbled out of the tower, cursing under their breath. Their faces were ashen, their condition poor.
When they saw Song Wanníng, they immediately bowed. She was, after all, their benefactor.