"Ethan." Hugh Thompson held my hand. I turned to look at him, and he shook his head at me.
"Remember this: Mr. Zhang's time is up. Ethan, don't look anymore. Focus on what you're here to do."
I nodded and looked at Mr. Zhang's daughter, sitting all alone in front of the brazier. Her silhouette radiated a kind of indescribable loneliness. I’d heard Mr. Zhang’s wife had passed away a long time ago, leaving him to raise his daughter on his own.
Looking at this general store, the place was actually pretty big, with three separate storefronts—almost like a small supermarket. It seemed Mr. Zhang’s daughter wouldn’t have to worry about her future livelihood.
I sighed, checked the time—it was already past eleven. All the relatives had left, except for one man who stayed behind. Smiling, he walked over to Mr. Zhang’s daughter.
"Sunny, after tonight, the seven-day mourning is over. Go back to school and focus on your studies. Uncle will take care of everything here. Don't worry."
The man comforted her, gave Sunny a reassuring pat, then sat down nearby, half-closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
To avoid suspicion, we also left the entrance of Zhang’s General Store. Then Miles Mao urged me to follow him into a secluded alley. He quickly took a small bronze basin from his cloth bag—about the size of a large bowl. Glancing around, he scooped up some sand and dirt, formed a circle with it, then took out a yellow talisman and a wooden plaque, which already had the name "Ethan Zhang" written on it.
"Is that a spirit tablet?" I finally realized. Miles Mao grinned and placed the spirit tablet bearing my name in the middle of the sand circle. Then, rubbing his fingers together, he began chanting an incantation. After a long while, he called out.
"Hurry up and become a ghost, Ethan."
I stared at my own spirit tablet, feeling uneasy and unsettled. Hugh Thompson stood by, grinning at me.
I sighed. With a snap, I turned into a mist, then reformed into human shape, standing in front of my own spirit tablet.
"Wandering ghost, Ethan Zhang, come and receive your joss paper—by the urgency of the law..."
I was a little annoyed, but seeing how serious Miles Mao was, I didn’t say anything. He first burned a yellow spirit talisman in the brazier, then began burning a large stack of joss paper he’d brought. As the flames rose, the joss paper in the bronze basin gradually turned to ash.
Suddenly, I saw my hands were full of joss paper.
"Bag it up—don’t let it scatter."
A gust of cold wind swept through, and a lot of the joss paper flew from my hands. Right then, I saw some figures in white and gray gathering to snatch up the swirling joss paper. I hurried to stuff the endless stack of paper appearing in my hands into my pockets.
After a long while, the joss paper was all burned. My pockets were bulging, so full they couldn’t hold any more.
"Is it okay to burn so much joss paper?"
I remembered that when the living burn joss paper for the dead, the amount received in the spirit world depends on the person’s income in the living world. If you force too much, it can even damage the living person’s fortune and cause financial loss.
It's fine, Ethan. The Ghost Burial Squad is paying this time—I'm just here to deliver the money.
I responded, glancing at Miles Mao. It was 11:40—twenty minutes left. After finishing everything, we waited quietly in an alley across from Zhang's General Store.
Bit by bit, I released my Specter Web, locking onto the funeral hall of Zhang's General Store. Any movement, I would sense it.
Now we just had to wait for the Hell's Registrars to escort Mr. Zhang back. Wine and meat were already set on the funeral hall table. At that moment, Sunny's uncle urged her to rest—once midnight passed, the seven-day mourning would end, and the living must avoid the scene.
The funeral hall doors were wide open, lights burning. The street outside was nearly deserted.
Finally, midnight struck. With a crisp clanking sound, chains rattled. I sensed it instantly through the Specter Web, rushed to the entrance of Zhang's General Store, slipped into the wall, and waited in silence.
Gusts of greenish ghost wind rose up. I saw clearly—this time, it looked like a small tornado. This was ghost wind, blowing from the underworld into the world of the living.
In an instant, the lights in the funeral hall went out, plunging the hall into darkness, but a greenish glow remained.
Hurry up and go!
Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out. From the ghost wind, three ghosts could be seen—one was a middle-aged man, terrified, with a mournful face and a slightly plump figure. It was Mr. Zhang, wearing a pair of green ghost shackles.
Two Hell's Registrars—one tall, one short—had faces covered in black, pitted scars, with only their red eyes visible. Both held blue-tipped batons, beating Mr. Zhang.
All three ghosts entered the funeral hall.
“Smells delicious,” said the short Hell's Registrar, who went straight to the funeral hall’s table, grabbed a chicken, tore it apart, and tossed half to the tall Registrar. He picked up a bottle of wine, gulped it down, and threw it to the tall Registrar.
“Hey, looks like there’s a little ghost in the wall.”
They sensed me, just as Red Hair said, but couldn’t detect my strong ghost power. I felt relieved. Mr. Zhang was still sobbing.
“Please, Hell's Registrars, let me say one word to my daughter before I go. Just one word, please?”
“How dare you.”
The tall Hell's Registrar barked, then struck Mr. Zhang with his baton. Mr. Zhang cried out, and the short Registrar dragged him to the front of the funeral hall.
“Your family is so poor—just a little wine, a few eggs, and only chicken and pork for meat.”
The two Hell's Registrars devoured the food like starving spirits. Then the short Registrar handed Mr. Zhang a bowl of plain rice.
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Eat up. Once you’re done, you can move on. You’re lucky—you get to reincarnate right away. What’s there to complain about?
Mr. Zhang held his rice bowl, still pleading in a sobbing voice.
Please, Hell's Registrars, let me talk to my daughter. Just a moment, that’s all. I’ll have her burn more joss paper for you.
I saw the two Hell's Registrars hesitate for a long while, muttering to each other in a language I couldn’t understand—it sounded like a strange foreign tongue.
We’ve talked it over, brother. As much as we want that money, if we break the rules and the higher-ups find out, we’ll be in big trouble. Hurry up and eat—if you don’t, the little ghost in the wall might be so hungry he’ll come out and fight you for your food.
The short Hell's Registrar said this, grinning at me. He meant me. I kept calm and did nothing.
But then I realized—I needed to stick my Specter Web to them to track them. So I stepped out, grinning.
Hell's Registrars, I’ve been starving for days—can you spare me a bite?
The tall Hell's Registrar didn’t say anything, just tossed me an egg. I reluctantly ate it. Instantly, I tasted a delicious boiled egg—just like when I was alive. It was nothing like the tasteless food of the dead.
Little ghost, whatever’s left over is yours. Hurry up and finish your meal—let’s go. If you get hungry on the way, we won’t help you. Or do you want to reincarnate starving?
The short Hell's Registrar laughed again. Seeing they were full, I edged closer. When they weren’t looking, I stuck my Specter Web to them, then pretended to wait for them to leave, acting hungry as I eyed their leftovers.
Mr. Zhang finally ate his rice, but pleaded again, hoping to speak to his daughter. The Hell's Registrars hoisted him up, ready to go.
I kept reminding myself—the journey to the Underworld was the priority now.
With a whoosh, the two Hell's Registrars dragged Mr. Zhang into the wall, accompanied by a green glow. I waited a moment—too close and I’d be noticed. My Specter Web was already stuck to them.
Ethan, move quickly—the ghost path heads west. Don’t lose your way.
Outside the shop, Hugh Thompson reminded me. I nodded, instantly turning into mist and slipping into the west wall, following the Hell's Registrars’ trail. The green glow lingered all around.
I didn’t have time to worry. I could visualize the two Hell's Registrars in my mind—they walked, fought, shouted at Mr. Zhang, who kept begging as they dragged him west.
Because of Red Hair’s Malice Flame, they didn’t notice the Specter Web—and low-ranking ghosts probably couldn’t see it anyway.
Hey, wait up, brother.
Suddenly, the two Hell's Registrars stopped. The short one’s eyes filled with suspicion.
What’s wrong?
“Look at this!” I stared in surprise as the short Hell's Registrar reached for the Specter Web I’d stuck to their backs, pulling it off and holding it up. My heart skipped a beat.
It’s a Specter Web—let’s move. This isn’t a safe place. We didn’t sense any Blue Wraiths when we arrived.
The tall Hell's Registrar said this. I watched as they tore off the Specter Web and moved away. I hurried after them—I couldn’t afford to lose track.
Wind and sand kept blowing, blurring my vision. I could only sense the trail left by the Hell's Registrars, chasing after them.
Just then, I lost track of them. Alarmed, I quickly released a swarm of Specter Webs, sending them west.