Chapter 55.1 Zhongyuan
On the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, the Ghost Gate opened, allowing the spirits of the dead to pour into the human world.
A chilling wind swept through the streets, which were nearly empty. Most Chinese people held deep superstitions and would never choose to go out on the night of Zhongyuan Festival. However, there were also young people who didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits and would roam the streets late into the night.
If their yinyang eyes were open, they would have bolted home at once, locked their doors, and spent the rest of their lives haunted by nightmares.
This was because the seemingly empty street was actually crowded with dead souls, lined up in a long line, slowly parading through the streets. Their appearances were terrifying, and one glance was enough to feel as if one had stepped into the depths of hell. Ghosts who had died tragic deaths bore the marks of their suffering — hanged ghosts dangled long, protruding tongues; drowned ghosts had waterlogged, grayish-blue faces; those who had perished in fire were charred from head to toe; headless ghosts clutched their severed heads in their arms; those who had been cut in half at the waist walked only on their lower bodies, separated from their upper torsos dragging their intestines behind them……
These were the ordinary denizens of the underworld. Those who had died of old age and natural causes rarely had any regrets and had mostly entered the cycle of reincarnation. But the spirits who dwelled in the City of Innocent Deaths and the Village of Wandering Ghosts were different. They were the ones with lingering grudges, unable to move on. For them, Zhongyuan Festival was the one night they were allowed to return to the human world. Some went home to see their families. Others, with no place to return to, merely wandered the human world.
In the West, during Halloween, people would dressed as ghosts, witches, werewolves, and vampires, roaming the streets in celebration. On that night, real spirits often slipped among them, unnoticed. Children and even some adults went door to door, cheerfully chanting, “Trick or treat,” with outstretched hands, demanding sweets. But if a real ghost happened to be knocking, and the household failed to offer any candy, the so-called “trick” might very well turn into a gruesome tragedy. Halloween night was a feast for ghost and spirits. They would only disperse when dawn arrived.
The East, however, was different. Ghosts and spirits were forbidden from acting recklessly in the human world. Local city gods and ghost officers, like the Black and White Impermanence, came out during this time to keep order. Any ghost that tried to harm humans was sent straight to the depths of hell. In Qingzhou, where King Yan himself and the Impermanence Immortals resided, there was even less room for mischief. No ghost dared to act out of line. Instead, they formed neat, obedient rows, their eyes filled with longing as they took in the sight of the world they had once belonged to.
And when the hour came, they silently returned to the underworld, dispersing without a trace. The streets emptied once more, and the living remained blissfully unaware of their presence. From the moment the ghosts arrived to the moment they departed, not a single mortal was disturbed.
The Eastern Zhongyuan Festival and the Western Halloween were both holidays belonging to the ghosts and spirits. And as someone who thrived on competition between East and West, King Yan couldn’t resist comparing the two. The moment he did, his damnable competitiveness flared up again.
Why was it that Western ghosts were always depicted as handsome men and beautiful women? Vampires and witches were portrayed with striking, otherworldly charm, each more exquisite than the last. Meanwhile, the ghosts under his rule were grotesque and ugly. Even the few who had decent features still looked ghastly in blood-stained burial robes, their lifeless pallor making them an eyesore on the streets.
Unwilling to lose face, King Yan issued a decree. Any ghost with an outstanding appearance was to dress as a figure from Eastern mythology, whether it be butterfly demons, tree demons, or flower fairies. In short, they had to look good. As for the truly hopeless cases…… well, they couldn’t be blamed for the tragic way they had died. Besides, it wasn’t as if the West didn’t have its fair share of monstrous beings. Without ugliness, beauty would have been meaningless.
Thus, on the deep, quiet night of Zhongyuan Festival, a parade of stunning male and female spirits, dressed as celestial beings and mystical creatures, took the lead. The rest of the ghosts followed in an orderly procession behind them.
Above them, a full moon hung in the sky, its glow intermittently obscured by drifting clouds. The night was cold and eerily silent.
Footsteps landed soundlessly on the ground. The newcomer was wrapped in a black robe, holding a curved blade in his hand, almost blending into the night.
Thanatos was ordered by Hades to come to China to invite Poseidon back to Greece.
The Queen of the Sea, Venus, had gone missing. Poseidon, desperate to find him, had abandoned all responsibilities and entrusted the affairs of the sea realm to Hades in his absence. Hades had once owed Poseidon a favor and, thinking it would only be for a day or two, he had agreed without hesitation.
But days turned into weeks, and Poseidon never returned. Only when he asked Aquarius, who helped Poseidon apply for a visa, did he know that Poseidon had actually run to the Far East.
That was the last straw. Hades had no interest in working overtime indefinitely. A god doing two jobs was completely unacceptable. Without delay, he summoned his most trusted confidant, Thanatos, and ordered him to bring Poseidon back.
Thanatos had fought alongside Poseidon for three hundred years to protect the seas. He was fluent in Chinese and well-versed in modern society. He was the perfect candidate for the task.
“Poseidon must be so captivated by the East that he’s forgotten he still has an entire sea realm to govern. Thanatos, you’ve known him for centuries. Go find him and bring him back.” Hades rubbed his temples, already exhausted by the mountain of work piling up on his desk. “If he doesn’t come back, then don’t come back either.”
Thanatos hesitated. Although he had shared three hundred years alongside the King of the Sea, their communication had never surpassed a handful of words. They were not exactly close.
But he really didn’t want to talk. In the end, he simply nodded, accepting the task without a word.
And that was why Thanatos was standing here now.
The visa that Aquarius had issued for Poseidon listed the destination as Qingzhou, China. As Thanatos stepped onto this vast land, he found himself at a loss for where to begin his search for the King of the Sea.
It seemed that China was celebrating some sort of festival today. The streets were teeming with ghosts and spirits, and while Thanatos’ job was to reap souls of the dead, such a large group gathered together still made his scalp tingle.
As someone with severe social anxiety, the God of Death avoided any place where people gathered in large numbers.
A crowd of ghosts was no exception.
Stepping away from the dense mass of spirits parading through the streets, Thanatos stood quietly by the side of the road, wondering which corner of the city Poseidon might be in.
“Why are you lagging behind, little ghost? Hurry up and catch up.” The voice was gentle, refined, and unexpectedly pleasant.
Thanatos snapped to attention, his fingers instinctively tightening around the handle of his scythe.
The fact that the voice had reached him from such a close distance without him noticing was enough to alert him. Whoever had spoken was powerful. He would need to be vigilant.
Standing before Thanatos was an exquisitely handsome Eastern man, clad in flowing black robes with crane-feathered cloak. His posture was regal, and atop his head rested an ornate crown similar to those worn by ancient Chinese emperors, with tassels that chimed softly as they brushed against each other.
The man held a folding fan in one hand, studying Thanatos with keen interest.
Thanatos remained on high alert.
“No answer, and not following orders either. Don’t tell me you were planning to use this full moon night to escape the underworld and wreak havoc in the human world? And now that I’ve caught you, you’re too scared to speak?” The man’s warm, gentle gaze sharpened into something far more dangerous. “Dressed as the Grim Reaper? That scythe is impressively accurate, quite the well-made prop.”
Thanatos gripped his weapon tighter, his knuckles turning white.
“But I gave strict orders for all of you to dress as Eastern gods,” the man continued, stepping forward. His once-gentle expression was slowly fading, replaced by something far more oppressive, his dark eyes as deep and unfathomable as the night. “Are you wearing this outfit because you admire the West? Or are you actually a Western spy, biting the hand that feeds you?”
A truly gentle man would never have been worthy of the title King Yan. How else could he rule over the River of Forgetfulness and keep the countless vengeful spirits of the Eighteen Levels of Hell in check?
Yanluo was too close now, well past Thanatos’ comfort zone. The God of Death shifted slightly, preparing to escape, but before he could act, King Yan had already cornered him against a wall. Even his teleportation magic had no room to activate.
“Since you refuse to answer, then go to hell and think about it before answering.”
Yanluo lost his patience. He lazily straightened up, and prepared to take this suspicious little ghost back to the underworld.
But Thanatos had been waiting for this moment. Seizing the brief opening, he swung his massive scythe in a powerful arc, launching a full-force attack at King Yan.
King Yan’s eyes flickered with surprise. He swiftly stepped back, raising his Judge’s Brush to draw a single stroke in the air. A golden barrier materialized, intercepting the deadly arc of the scythe.
The God of Death’s scythe, imbued with the power of death, clashed head-on with the golden runes conjured by the Judge’s Brush. Two formidable divine forces collided in midair, locked in a fierce stalemate.
Moonlight cascaded softly over them, casting a pale glow. The force of the impact had jolted Thanatos’ hood slightly back, revealing an exquisite chin, thin red lips, skin so pale it carried an almost sickly translucence.
Even with just a glimpse, his beauty was enough to make one want to see more.
King Yan narrowed his eyes. “You’re really the Grim Reaper?”
It had been his mistake. When he saw the overwhelming aura of death surrounding this figure, he had simply assumed it was some wandering ghost indulging in a bit of cosplay.
He hadn’t expected it to be the real thing.
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