Inside the Hall of the King of Hell, Yama was holding Li Si’s memorial in both hands, his brows twisted into knots. After quite a while, he finally threw in the towel, set the memorial aside with resignation, squeezed out a few words of praise for Li Si, and told him to go register the merit of this deed at the Bureau of Rewards and Virtues.
To Yama’s painstaking compliments, Li Si listened with complete indifference. He only bowed hastily in thanks for the reward and then withdrew.
Truth be told, his mood wasn’t great. Gu Yunwu would rather make a point of bidding farewell to Chuntao than come to see him. On top of that, he’d been stabbed before returning. The more he thought about it, the more irritated he felt.
As he left the grand hall, Li Si happened to run into Judge Cui Yu, the civil magistrate, coming his way. Cui Yu was tall and upright, his bearing dignified, every move radiating decisiveness and authority. Thanks to him and Judge Zhong Kui of the martial office, the Hall of Yama still held its fearsome reputation. Otherwise, the Underworld’s banner would have long been ruined by that fat old man sitting inside.
Cui Yu looked up and, seeing Li Si, stopped. “Didn’t go too smoothly?”
“Not exactly. Just got stabbed at the very end and had to crawl back here.” Li Si replied with feigned lightheartedness.
Cui Yu nodded. “Be more careful in the future.”
“Um… Lord Cui…”
“If you’re trying to ask about someone’s lifespan, I cannot speak of such things,” Cui Yu said sternly.
Li Si had no tail, yet right then he felt as though someone had stepped on it.
“When the trial of Gu Changwei begins, I’ll have someone notify you. Just mind your own tasks.” Cui Yu flicked his sleeve, left those words behind, and walked off.
Li Si felt a little better at that. But the more he thought, the stranger it seemed.
Huh? My business? What business could I have? Build grape trellises?
On the road to the Bureau of Rewards, Li Si spotted a man squatting by the roadside, sighing and groaning with his hands stuffed in his sleeves.
“Brother Jia Yi. What’s wrong with you?”
Jia Yi was a lanky young man with a monkey-like face—high cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and a pair of absurdly large ears. People say “as clever as a monkey,” but Jia Yi just looked monkey-like and rather foolish.
“Brother Yi Si, I’m doomed. All the merit I worked so hard to accumulate—it’s about to go down the drain.”
“You gambled away your merit?”
“Where would I even get the merit to gamble? I went to escort souls the other day, and one slipped away. Each escort is worth ten points of merit, but losing one costs me a hundred!” Jia Yi wailed, covering his monkeyish face.
Jia Yi was one of Black and White Impermanence’s underlings, usually tasked with escorting souls from the mortal world. Simply put—Yi Si chased the escaped ones, Jia Yi welcomed the new arrivals.
It wasn’t the worst gig. Though he lived rough, there were “tolls” he could pocket from passing souls. A fat little job. But let a soul or two escape, and suddenly it was a losing trade.
Life as a low-ranking ghost in the Underworld wasn’t easy—doing the dirtiest work for the least merit. Meeting someone with the same troubles, Li Si couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship.
“Tell me exactly.”
“It was a woman. Plain-looking, I can’t remember her face at all—only that she had a mole on the back of her neck. There were a lot of people that day, I wasn’t paying much attention, and before I knew it, she was gone. I don’t know her name, don’t know where she lived. I could report it and check her identity, but then I’d lose that hundred merit!” Jia Yi beat his chest and stomped his feet.
Most souls were bound to the objects they carried in life. Usually, if you knew where they lived, you could track them down easily enough.
Li Si thought for a moment and asked, “What about her offerings? Burnt paper money? Maybe something to trace.”
“Offerings? That woman was dirt poor. Nobody burned anything for her. She only had a little paper bag of pastries—looked like she’d just bought them when she died. Held it in her hand, carried it down with her. Here, just this piece of junk.”
Jia Yi fished a small paper bag from his pocket—the common brown kind, its opening folded over a few times, sealed with a scrap of red paper.
Li Si took it, glanced once, and smiled.
On the red paper seal was the name of the shop: Yu Yun.
“Brother Jia Yi, how about I help you catch this runaway, and you give me fifty merit?” Li Si’s spirits instantly lifted—even the tuft of unruly hair on his head perked up.
“What? Fifty? Why don’t you just rob me?”
“Robbery loses you merit,” Li Si said cheerfully, weighing the pastry bag in his hand. “But this way, we both profit.”
“You… how do you plan to do it?”
“No need to report. I’ll leave you a tracking talisman. I’ll go find her house in the mortal world. Once I’ve located her, you follow and catch her.”
Jia Yi looked troubled, shrinking back. “Sneaking into the mortal world gets you punished. You grew up under Lord Yama himself—you’re practically father and son. You can do whatever you please. Me? I’m nobody.”
“Fine, then just stay here and wait to be punished. I’ll take my leave.” Li Si disliked hearing that connection brought up. He didn’t care how people phrased it, but he couldn’t stand anyone making it sound like Yama was always bending the law for him. He turned to go.
“W-wait! Twenty merits. I’ll give you twenty.”
“Forty.”
“Thirty, no more.”
“Thirty-five. Not a point less.”
“Then… deal.”
“Deal.”
Li Si returned to Annan Town after nearly a month. That day, the spring rains that had fallen for days finally stopped, and the skies cleared brightly. The town itself hadn’t changed much. Yu Yun teahouse was closed, the Gu family’s gates tightly shut. Otherwise, the streets bustled as usual—common folk working nine-to-five, only now with a few fresh gossip topics over tea and meals.
The town wasn’t large. Aside from the Gu estate, a walk from south to north took barely an hour. Asking around about a woman with a distinct physical feature shouldn’t be too hard.
Drifting in spirit form through the streets, Li Si knew that if he wanted to make inquiries, he needed a body. He thought maybe he’d get lucky and find someone near death to inhabit—but that day, everyone he passed looked ruddy-faced and full of life.
Wandering further, he reached the riverbank on the edge of town and spotted a man sprawled on the shallows. Li Si hurried closer and crouched beside him.
The man was a burly fellow, clearly a roughneck of the martial world. His whole body was battered, flesh torn and bleeding, as though he’d barely escaped a vicious fight.
Sensing Li Si’s presence, he cracked open his eyes—just that small effort seemed to cost him all his strength. He whispered weakly: “Imperial Seal… Master… save me…”
Li Si tilted his head at the bloodied, indistinguishable face. This one’s done for, he thought. Patting the man’s back lightly, he said, “Brother, time to be on your way.”
The man’s body died, leaving behind his soul. Before long, a ghost officer would come to collect him.
Seizing the chance, Li Si slipped into the corpse. He stood up, washed off at the riverbank, and with the faint trickle of power that came with possession, healed most of the wounds. Not fully restored, but enough for the ghost within to move with ease. Scars remained, but this body was far sturdier than that little maid Chuntao’s. Other than the itchy beard stubble, Li Si was very satisfied.
He even entertained the thought: Should I go beat up Gu Changwei first before anything else? But he quickly shook his head and cast off the unproductive idea.
Rummaging through the man’s belongings, he fished out ten copper coins. The unexpected windfall lifted his mood. With light steps, he set off.
Back at the Gu estate, Li Si circled the outer alley by the low walls—one round, then another, then a third. Sure enough, on his third loop, a familiar voice called out:
“Hero, are you looking for someone?”
Looking for you, actually—fortune-teller. Li Si turned around, unhurried.
In broad daylight, the gray-haired old man looked even more ragged and destitute. He hunched, hands clasped behind his back, and when he smiled, the wrinkles at his eyes crowded cheerfully together.
“I’d like to ask you about someone,” Li Si cupped his fists politely.
“Ah, hero, sharp eyes indeed. One glance and you see what I do for a living.” The old man chuckled, extending a palm.
Li Si looked at his face, then at his hand. After rummaging through his pockets, he dropped ten copper coins into the waiting palm.
The old man’s face twitched. “Hero, surely you don’t mean to insult me. My fee is one tael of silver.”
“I don’t have that.” Li Si refused bluntly. He was never good at trickery or deceit—his style was all straightforward sincerity.
The old man weighed the copper coins for a moment, then said, “I do have a way. These coins could become tenfold, then a hundredfold. The only question is—do you have the skill for it?”
He led Li Si into a small gambling den. Calling it a “casino” was generous—it was just a few broken boards propping up a tent, inside a couple battered tables and chairs. Still, it was enough to serve as a little haunt for gambling. A gang of idle men filled it, cursing and shouting in the smoky air.
“Ha! I won again, damn it! See that? You bastards can’t touch me—today’s my day to strike it rich!” The voice came from a pockmarked man with his foot on a stool, shaking dice in his hand. Li Si’s first impression: what a face begging to be punched.
The old man leaned in, whispering: “That guy’s been winning all morning. He’s got about one tale of silver on him.”
Li Si chuckled lowly. The Underworld once had a gambling craze too. Though officially banned, people still indulged—after all, gambling was gambling, even in death. But nobody liked playing with Li Si.
He didn’t know if he was born under a gambler’s lucky star, but he almost always won. On good days, he could clean out entire groups until they were destitute. Eventually, people stopped inviting him, and he reported their games instead. His reports were always accurate, and slowly, gambling died down in the Underworld.
But now, in the mortal world, he could finally gamble freely. It was like a dream come true.
“This brother, mind playing a few rounds with me?” Li Si beamed at the pockmarked man. He was the perfect prey—only losers celebrated small streaks of luck. True gamblers stayed quiet; winning was too familiar to them.
The crowd roared with mischief, egging him on: “Wang Er Mazi, go on! Don’t tell me you’re scared after winning so much.”
“Yeah, your luck’s good today, don’t back down now.”
“Win again, and drinks are on you!”
“Sure, let’s play. How much?” Wang Er Mazi grinned widely.
“I don’t have much—just two casual rounds.” Li Si put down his ten coins. Wang Er Mazi sneered, shoved him two dice and a cup. “Fine. Are you betting high or low?”
“High.”
They shook the dice cups, dice rattling wildly. Wang Er Mazi smirked at Li Si, confident as could be. Li Si ignored him.
They stopped almost at the same time.
Round one: Li Si rolled eleven, Wang Er Mazi seven. Li Si won. Ten coins earned.
Round two: Li Si won again. Now twenty coins.
Round three. Round four. Both Li Si victories. He now had eighty coins.
By round five, Wang Er Mazi’s face was darkening. Dice wasn’t pure luck—controlling the strength and angle could affect probabilities. Li Si had lived over two centuries in the Underworld, with all the time in the world to study such nonsense.
“I’m done, I’m done. These are small stakes—boring,” Wang Er Mazi waved him off.
But Li Si was still nine hundred twenty coins short of a tael. Too slow to win like this.
That’s when the old man piped up: “I’ll wager one tael of silver on this brother’s win.”
The words lit the crowd like sparks on dry tinder. Bets flew in from all sides.
“Wang Er Mazi, you can’t quit now—we’re counting on you!”
“Yeah, running away isn’t manly.”
“I’ve bet on you, Mazi—don’t let me down.”
Wang Er Mazi put his leg down, still wavering.
“If you don’t want to gamble, forget it. You don’t have much money anyway, no need to force yourself.” Li Si thought he sounded perfectly sincere, but somehow his words had the opposite effect—fanning the flames.
Wang Er Mazi’s face went black. “Quit yapping, you lot! Fine, I’ll bet on myself to win. No way he takes five rounds in a row. This time, I’ll only shake one die—you just guess high or low. One through three is low, four to six high.”
Li Si nearly burst out laughing. He pressed his lips shut, forcing down the glee.
He pulled up a chair, sat comfortably with arms folded, eyes closed. “Alright, go ahead.”
If he rolled dice himself, chance and technique only pushed the odds to sixty or seventy percent. But if it was just guessing? That was a hundred percent certainty.
The rattling dice came to a stop. Li Si slowly opened his eyes.
His voice was calm: “Low.”
