Spirit Reaper - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Meng Po — “Long time no see… Little Song…”

Not long after passing through the massive gates of the Underworld, Yu Wuyi spotted a long, serpentine queue once again, similar to the one she had seen before.

However, this time, there wasn’t just one line. They branched out like the limbs of a dead tree, countless offshoots leading in every direction.

“One… two… three… eighteen…” Yu Wuyi muttered under her breath.

Eighteen lines in total. In every line, the ghosts kept their heads bowed in silence. The surroundings remained deathly still.

Yu Wuyi noticed that these ghosts in line still maintained a normal human shape. Unlike the ferryman or the guards she had encountered earlier, she could see their facial features clearly—and thus, she could see their expressions.

It was a feeling that language could not describe. The moment her eyes met those of one of the ghosts, a chill climbed from the soles of her feet straight to her brain.

She could sense the profound, hidden terror in the ghost’s eyes. But the most bizarre part was that despite the terror in its eyes, the ghost maintained a strange, fixed smile on its face.

She didn’t say a word. She quickly averted her gaze and tightened her grip on Yu Song’s sleeve.

Soon, Yu Wuyi followed Yu Song to the end of these queues. It was only then that she suddenly understood the source of that terrified look.

“Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle—”

Appearing before them was a giant cauldron, two people tall and three people wide, filled with oil. The firewood crackling violently beneath it sent waves of heat outward, as if determined to incinerate everything in the vicinity.

“A frying pan…?” Yu Wuyi managed to choke out. The sound of boiling oil bubbling and spitting filled her ears. She stared at this sight, something she had never imagined she would witness.

“Splash—”

Suddenly, the sound of a heavy object hitting liquid rang out. The already boiling oil became even more violent as it processed the new addition.

“Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle—”

“Aaaagh— No! I was wrong! I was wrong!!” A heart-wrenching scream erupted, blending with the sound of frying. But as the seconds ticked by, the scream grew hoarse, faded, and was eventually completely drowned out by the roar of the oil.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!”

A sudden, fierce barking caught Yu Wuyi’s attention. She turned toward the source of the noise, and the sight nearly made her lose her dinner.

Were those… dogs? Rather than dogs, they looked more like giant, skinned rats. Without the protection of fur, their raw flesh was exposed to the air. Their ears, sliced halfway but not completely off, flopped loosely at the sides, held on by a thread of tissue that looked ready to snap at any moment.

Yu Wuyi watched as the two dogs leaped gracefully onto the rim of the massive cauldron. They reached in and dragged out a figure that had been fried beyond recognition.

After pulling the “thing” out, the two dogs each grabbed an arm and tossed the person into a pool of water beside the cauldron.

“Splash—”

The giant “human tempura” sank to the bottom. When it finally floated back to the surface, it had regained its human form, looking exactly as it did before jumping into the oil.

However, the eerie smile on its face had been entirely replaced by sheer horror. Scrambling out of the pool, the ghost bolted forward, head down, repeating: “I was wrong… I’m so sorry…”

But what use was begging for mercy now? The sins committed during life must be repaid in full.

“How bold, still trying to run?” An Underworld official guarding the cauldron saw it trying to escape and lashed out with a chain, binding it tightly. “Now you know how to beg? When you were heartlessly harming one innocent life after another, why didn’t you foresee this day?”

Without waiting for the fried ghost to speak again, the official tossed him back to the very end of the queue. He then turned to his assistant and said, “That guy has 500 more cycles to go. Prepare to hoist the next one up.”

What followed was a cycle of different people enduring the same torture. The massive cauldron was working at over-capacity; the shrill screams never ceased for a moment.

The Eighteen Levels of Hell… This was the only phrase in Yu Wuyi’s mind that fit the scene. When the scenes from supernatural ghost stories actually manifested before her eyes, she felt as if the entire world had turned absurd.

The “Cauldron of Oil Hell” is the third of the eighteen levels. Its most prominent feature is the massive vat of boiling oil set over a fire. Those who committed acts of killing, violence, or animal abuse in life are thrown into the churning oil after death, enduring the torment of high-temperature grease over and over until they have fully repented for their sins.

Thinking of this, Yu Wuyi suddenly felt less pity for the souls being turned into tempura. It was the cycle of karma; they had brought this upon themselves. It was a late-coming retribution.

“Let’s go. It’s oily here… I feel like throwing up.” She averted her eyes and tugged sharply on Yu Song’s sleeve, leading her away from the suffocating place.

…

Only when the continuous screams had completely vanished did Yu Wuyi feel a weight lift from her. She looked around and realized she had pulled Yu Song onto a small path.

On both sides of the road bloomed bright red flowers she had never seen before. The petals were long and curved, looking like jellyfish swimming toward the water’s surface.

By the Road to the Yellow Springs, the Equinox Flowers bloom…

When the two reached the bank of a turbid river where yellow sand filled the air, Yu Wuyi saw the long queue on a bridge and a tall figure serving soup. She was certain then: the path they had just walked was the legendary Road to the Yellow Springs.

And appearing before her now were the River of Forgetfulness and the Bridge of Helplessness Naihe Bridge.

“Drink this bowl of soup and let go of the past.” As they approached the figure serving soup, a raspy, jarring female voice reached Yu Wuyi’s ears before she could see the woman’s face.

In sharp contrast to the voice was the person’s young and beautiful face. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Yu Wuyi would have found it hard to connect the youthful face with a voice that sounded like dry, snapping twigs.

“Hmm? A new face?” The woman leaning lazily against the bridge railing noticed the two of them. Her phoenix eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. “You two shouldn’t be here.”

“Little sister…” The woman suddenly leaned in close to Yu Wuyi and took a deep breath. “Mmm… that girl Xiao An Qin An was right. You really do… smell delicious…”

“Are you… Meng Po?” Yu Wuyi stepped back uncomfortably, creating distance. “Qin An mentioned me to you?”

“Hehehe…” The woman laughed. “Meng Po is just a job title. Just call me Sister Qing.” She reached out and pinched Yu Wuyi’s chin, tilting her head left and right. “The entire Underworld knows by now—Zonglan, the Eleventh Yanluo, has signed a new little Emissary…”

“The new Emissary has a special constitution that every ghost covets, and she carries an extraordinary fragrance. You probably didn’t realize it, but I smelled your scent before you even got close to my bridge.”

“Uh, Sister Qing, please let go of me first…” Yu Wuyi froze, casting a pleading look at Yu Song standing behind her.

But Yu Song was standing there with her head bowed, her expression looking quite unnatural. Yu Wuyi’s distress signal fell on deaf ears—or rather, it fell straight to the ground.

Sister Qing followed her gaze and noticed Yu Song. A snort of a laugh escaped her nose. She let go of Yu Wuyi and walked straight toward the motionless Yu Song.

“Long time no see… Little Song…” Yu Wuyi watched as Sister Qing, like a water snake, wrapped her arms firmly around Yu Song from behind.

“???” The suddenly subtle atmosphere between the two made Yu Wuyi’s thoughts race. Her intuition told her that the relationship between her grandmother and this woman named Sister Qing was anything but ordinary.

“Yanqing, let go. We can talk after I deliver Wuyi to Qin An,” Yu Song whispered, her eyes downcast. She didn’t struggle against the embrace.

“Let go? So you can sneak away again? Little Song, it’s been so long. Why don’t we catch up first…?” Sister Qing tightened her grip. She turned to look at the “spectator” Yu Wuyi and curled her lips. “As for this little Emissary, she can go see Qin An alone. That’s enough.”

Without waiting for Yu Wuyi to speak, she flicked her sleeve. Instantly, a black mist engulfed Yu Wuyi. The only thing she could hear was the whistling wind, and she felt a violent sensation of weightlessness. She realized she was being forcibly “escorted” out.

In the blink of an eye, her feet hit solid ground. The weightlessness vanished, and the black mist dissipated. Her vision cleared.

Appearing before her now was a massive, incredibly luxurious palace, decorated in black and gold. Hanging before the palace gates were two lanterns emitting an eerie, green fluorescent glow—chilling and sinister.

Above the gates was a huge plaque made of golden-silk phoebe wood. On it, three deep-red characters were carved in a bold, flowing script: Zonglan Palace.

Should I thank Sister Qing? She had sent her directly to the doorstep of Qin An’s palace, saving her the effort of walking.

Whatever, don’t think too much. Yu Wuyi stepped forward, lifted the knocker beneath a golden lion’s head, and tapped gently.

“Knock, knock, knock—”

“Creak—” The heavy doors slowly opened. Two figures wearing high hats, one in black and one in white, stepped out.

As they approached, Yu Wuyi could see their features clearly. The figure in black had a serious expression; his high hat read “Peace to the World,” and a massive iron chain with sharp hooks hung around his neck, glinting coldly.

The figure in white wore a bizarre smile, with a long tongue lolling all the way to the ground. His high hat read “Fortune at First Sight,” though that wasn’t very comforting right now.

The white figure spoke first. He tapped his “mourning staff” against his hand and said to Yu Wuyi: “This is the Eleventh Hall of Yanluo. No unauthorized entry for commoners.”

“If you have grievances, go beat the drum at the Hall of Justice to appeal.”