He got his Book of Life and Death from the Ghost-Ear Witch God. The only ones who know it ended up in his hands are Aiden Starr, Ben Coates, and the demon monks of Thunder Chant Temple.
The Ghost-Ear Witch God was likely a Heavenly Court Celestial or Earth Official, a god in charge of souls.
His Book of Life and Death probably wasn’t forged by himself, but granted as a divine treasure. There can’t be many such artifacts in the Heavenly Court, and each scroll has a designated master—that’s why the old Underworld Courier said Quinn would be traced soon enough.
Tracking down the Book of Life and Death is far easier than tracking down Quinn Shepherd himself.
“The name that just appeared in the Book of Life and Death was Lord Deluge.”
Quinn lifted his Yellow Talisman, revealing half his face, and asked, “Who is Lord Deluge?”
“Lord Deluge, a god of the Yellow Springs. When he breathes in and out, floods drown the heavens and reap the souls of all living things. He’s one of the four chief marshals the Heavenly Court stationed in Youdu.”
The old Underworld Courier said, “He’s not the only one looking for you. The other three marshals are Marshal Noctis, who manages souls; Marshal Thunderbane, who rules over calamities; and Lady Lurien, who oversees the prisons. You really shouldn’t have used the Book of Life and Death—tracing it back to you is child’s play for them.”
Quinn fell silent. After a moment, he said awkwardly, “If I handed the Book of Life and Death off to Grand Venerable or Aiden Starr, they’d still figure it out easily…”
The old Underworld Courier said, “You’re only eighteen. You could only frame someone your own age. Those two are way too old. Besides, if the marshals reap a soul and find it isn’t you, the ruse falls apart. Not so easy to pin this on someone else… Bah! Why am I helping you come up with crooked schemes?”
Quinn put the Yellow Talisman back over his face, feeling awkward. “Those who walk the Dao have many allies; those who lose it, few. Saint-King Tianqi, you must know I’m honest and straightforward, that’s why you help me come up with schemes. Since I can’t pin this on someone else, can those four marshals actually leave the Netherworld and enter High-Emperor Heaven or the Everpeace Empire?”
The little boat drifted slowly toward High-Emperor Heaven. On board, the old Underworld Courier hung his lantern at the prow, sat down, and said with resignation, “They’re far too powerful to enter other worlds easily, but if they really want to catch you, they’ll find a way. When you reach the Life-and-Death Realm and open your Life-and-Death Treasury, it connects to the Netherworld—they could invade through your treasury.”
Quinn shivered. Invade through the Life-and-Death Treasury?
Wouldn’t anyone who’s mastered the Life-and-Death Treasury be in terrible danger?
“But the Netherworld has its rules. Invading through the Life-and-Death Treasury and killing you would break those rules. They won’t do it lightly.”
The old Underworld Courier, now just venting, went on, “Still, even if their true bodies can’t descend, they can send disciples into High-Emperor Heaven or Everpeace, or recruit others as their agents to kill you. Or, if the demons conquer High-Emperor Heaven and blood-sacrifice the world, that would link the demon world to Everpeace. Once the barriers are gone, they could enter Everpeace directly.”
Quinn relaxed and laughed, “Killing me won’t be that easy. Conquering High-Emperor Heaven is no simple task—it’s held out for twenty thousand years, and now it has Everpeace backing it up with endless reinforcements. Holding out another twenty thousand years should be a breeze.”
The old Underworld Courier snorted, “You’re underestimating the demons. Who knows how long High-Emperor Heaven can last… We’re here. Take off the Yellow Talisman and you can go back.”
Quinn looked around and saw he was still on the battlefield in High-Emperor Heaven, right where he’d been taken. He jumped off the boat.
“Give me back the Yellow Talisman!” the old Underworld Courier barked.
With the Yellow Talisman still stuck to his face, Quinn bolted like a thief caught in the act.
“Damn it!”
The old Underworld Courier watched him vanish in a flash, fuming—then stopped and laughed. “It’s just a Yellow Talisman. As long as he doesn’t stir up trouble, he can have it.” The little boat faded away into the darkness.
Quinn ran for more than ten miles before looking back. The old Underworld Courier and his boat hadn’t followed, so he finally breathed easy, took off the Yellow Talisman, examined it, and stashed it away carefully.
“This Yellow Talisman is a real treasure. Stick it on your face and even gods and demons can’t tell who you are. At least this trip to the Netherworld netted me something good.”
He looked up and paused. Overhead, tower-ships were streaming toward Departure City, only a few hundred miles away. Their furnace cores blasted out blazing light, letting them fly through the air.
“I’ve been gone from High-Emperor Heaven for ages—at least three hours. How come these tower-ships have only flown a few hundred miles? At their speed, they should’ve covered thousands. Looks like only a quarter of an hour has passed…”
Quinn sprinted forward, quickly catching up with the ground troops, and soon reached the tower-ship fleet’s flagship. The Imperial Preceptor and Black Tiger God stared at him in shock, as did the others—they were still discussing Quinn being taken into the Netherworld by the Underworld Courier, unsure what would happen, when suddenly Quinn ran up from behind.
Quinn grinned, “I’m back! How long was I gone this time?”
“Less than half an hour.”
Sabrina stared, speechless. “You got snatched by an Underworld Courier, then just came back from the Netherworld?”
“The Underworld Courier is a Netherworld prefect. He took me to other worlds, found a Divine Bridge expert named Zane Han, and told him his soul would be collected in three days. Then he brought me before Tu Bo to settle the karma—Tu Bo said he’d wait until I died to settle accounts, and sent me back. We also ran into some Netherworld gods and demons who tried to grab me.”
Quinn recounted it all, still feeling it was strange—so much happened in so little time. In the living world, it would’ve taken three or five days to do all that.
But in the Netherworld, it took only a short while, and in the living world, less than half an hour had passed.
“The Netherworld is like a dream—going there is like falling into a dream.”
[Irrelevant system message: skip translation.]
The Imperial Preceptor’s eyes flickered. “As long as you made it back alive, that’s all that matters. Was Tu Bo terrifying?”
Quinn shook his head. “Tu Bo was easy to talk to. So was the Underworld Courier.”
Everyone looked at him oddly. Only Quinn would ever say Tu Bo and an Underworld Courier were easy to talk to!
Anyone else—even gods and demons—would pale at the mention of Tu Bo, and avoid speaking of Netherworld Couriers altogether.
“Maha—”
The little dragon on Ethan Qin darted over and clung to Quinn, nuzzling him all over. Ethan glared, thinking, “I barely warmed him up and now he’s been stolen away again…”
Quinn petted the little dragon, who promptly hung from his ear, head dangling, whiskers swaying.
Ethan Qin felt a stab of jealousy.
“Ethan, let me borrow your little dragon for a while. I might even take him to the Great Ruins. When I bring him back, you’ll be in for a surprise!”
Quinn grinned. “I got grabbed by Furylo, fled for my life, then went to the Netherworld—honestly, I’m wiped out. I need some rest.”
Ethan watched him leave with the little dragon, thinking, “Will my dragon still be mine in a few days? He’s stolen my soul already…”
Netherworld.
The old Underworld Courier returned to Saint-King Tianqi’s Manor, sat down, and opened a thick ledger—the very one he’d handed to the lava Tu Bo for review.
Quinn had wanted to read that ledger too, but the lava Tu Bo was so huge and he was so small; he had to pretend to behave, so he never saw what was inside.
The old Underworld Courier opened the first page. It was a shifting scene: a dark continent, a woman giving birth, Netherworld’s endless demonic aura and resentful souls swirling, madly streaming into the tiny birthing room.
That tiny birthing room seemed to hide a terrifying demon king, devouring all the Netherworld’s malice and demonic energy.
Outside the continent, countless demon gods were alarmed, lurking in the darkness, anxiously watching the Netherworld’s first-ever child born by natural birth.
“The divine child is born!” murmured a demon god at the edge of the first page.
Above the birthing room, scarlet eyes opened—one, then two, then three.
The old Underworld Courier turned to the second page. The scene changed: a chubby boy leapt from his mother’s arms, revealing his true three-eyed form. Rampaging across the dark continent, he crushed two demon gods in his pudgy fists, his three eyes blazing, shooting rays that burned the land and slaughtered countless Netherworld fiends.
On that continent, big ghosts, little ghosts, and ghost kings scattered in terror, their twisted faces full of fear—a vivid, cinematic image.
The baby put a demon god’s head to his mouth and gnawed off half—bloody and savage.
The old Underworld Courier shook his head and read on. After devouring countless souls and eating two demon gods, the baby grew monstrously large, rampaging everywhere, fierce and wild—smashing through layer after layer of underworld courts, slaughtering the demon gods hunting him, sending them fleeing in panic.
But this baby seemed born with boundless malice—any ghost or demon, whether hunting him or just living in the Netherworld, he killed and devoured without exception.
The old Underworld Courier saw fear and panic on the mother’s face in the second page’s image—she was afraid of her own son, afraid of his demonic nature.
He turned to the next page: the baby was still slaughtering, stomping a giant demon dragon, gutting it, three eyes flashing with murderous light.
Yet at the end of the scene, the baby, finally full, shrank to a tiny infant, arms outstretched, begging his mother to hold him.
Page after page, the stories grew harder to stomach. The baby smashed wave after wave of demon gods hunting him, then slaughtered the gods and demons sent to subdue him—his rampages alarmed the Netherworld’s hidden overlords.
The overlords tried to subdue the child, and the battles shook heaven and earth.
Near the end, the child’s endless crimes and savagery made him the terror of the Netherworld. One day, he reached its edge, his giant, demonic scarlet eyes peering into the living world, face alight with excitement.
On the other side of the scene, the Netherworld’s overlords pleaded with mighty Tu Bo, while the mother prayed to him too.
Three-eyed Tu Bo broke off a piece of jade from his horn and forged it into a Jade Pendant. The mother, tears in her eyes, left her mark on it, called her son over, and hung it around his neck.
The baby’s demonic nature was sealed, his divinity suppressed, his body restored to normal—a tiny infant again, lying in swaddling clothes, waving hands and feet, earnestly sucking his own toes.
The mother picked him up, kissed him, and reluctantly set him in a basket. A woman took the basket, boarded a paper boat, and sailed away.
Behind them, ghost kings, big ghosts, little ghosts, and shadowy demon gods beat drums and gongs in a noisy farewell.
The old Underworld Courier turned to the last page: Quinn, in a cursed land, hair loose, sword in hand, opened the Gate of Bearing Heaven to summon the dead from the Netherworld.
At that moment, the Jade Pendant at his neck floated upward.
“Eighteen years have passed.”
The old Underworld Courier closed the book, tucked it away, and let out a long sigh. “That boy—no trace of his old self left. Let’s hope his demonic nature never awakens again… Thank goodness Tu Bo sealed him and exiled him to the living world, or who knows what chaos he’d have wrought in the Netherworld? If he’d stayed, he wouldn’t have survived eighteen years—Tu Bo would’ve devoured him for his crimes long ago.”