Chapter 170
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Chapter 170: Title
Su Guan had heard fragments of underworld lore from others, though none rivaled Zhan Yuan’s intricate accounts.
“You’ve never seen it yourself? Yet they say your status there ranks just below the three great authorities,” Su Guan inquired, curiosity lacing her voice.
Beyond the supreme Ghostly Emperor, the underworld’s hierarchy comprised Yan Luo, the Judges, and Meng Po—the only officially recognized deities. The remaining ghost messengers were mere contractual employees.
Rumors claimed that many ghost officers and soldiers revived during the underworld’s Awakening lacked even such contracts, bound instead to ceaseless duty—360 days of labor with perpetual readiness.
Zhan Yuan’s fortune had favored him. Blessed by the Ghost in Red before his descent, he’d arrived as the strongest among the newly deceased. This distinction earned him selection by Yan Luo and the Judges to spearhead underworld reforms.
When the Ghostly Emperor restored the realm to its primordial state, those who’d witnessed the mortal realm’s evolution—Yan Luo and the Judges—deemed the design obsolete. Yet entrusting them with modernization proved impractical, their knowledge of the human realm being limited. Thus, from the sea of souls emerged Zhan Yuan: the shrewd tea-house proprietor of the afterlife.
Zhan Yuan offered a self-deprecating chuckle. “Flattery, I assure you. They overstate my importance.”
“The underworld unfolds in layered realms,” he continued, fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. “My access extends only from the gates of the dead through the Bridge of Helplessness to Fengdu Ghost City. Deeper strata remain forbidden, even to me.” A pensive pause. “If ancient spirits exist here, they dwell not in the surface layer, but far below.”
Their conversation stilled as shadows rippled across the corridor.
A figure emerged clad in robes darker than midnight, their value evident in the painstaking embroidery—a coiled nine-clawed divine dragon, its obsidian scales shimmering with latent power.
“Su Guan.”
The voice froze her mid-gesture. Rising swiftly, she faced the speaker—a man crowned with a nine-dragon diadem, his features frozen in regal youth yet bearing the weight of dynasties.
“First Emperor,” she greeted, blending modern respect with archaic decorum. Contemporary society might have discarded imperial trappings, but for the unifier of realms, exceptions were made.
Qin Shi Huang’s gaze brushed Zhan Yuan like winter wind before dismissing him. “My departure approaches.”
“May I inquire…” Su Guan hesitated, balancing protocol with concern, “…does this relate to the recent rift-spawned creatures?” The monarch had scarcely returned from his last hunt.
Zhan Yuan observed silently. Tales of the awakened emperor circulated through ghostly courts, but none captured the reality—this soul-entity radiated authority rivaling Yan Luo himself. Legends whispered of a physical form still slumbering in the dragon vein-energized Tomb of the First Emperor, a concept as audacious as the man’s historical legacy.
—Truly, the Timeless Emperor who shaped five millennia of history.
Though now a ghost cultivator, Zhan Yuan detected no spectral taint about the figure. The soul’s solidity mimicked living flesh too perfectly, suggesting extraordinary truth: death had never truly claimed this ruler.
Unbeknownst to the tea master, his surreptitious study hadn’t escaped notice—merely imperial tolerance.
Qin Shi Huang understood adaptability. Two millennia had reshaped the world, rendering eternal imperial aloofness obsolete. His rise from hostage to unifier had taught the value of strategic flexibility, a lesson applied now to navigating modern bureaucracies like the Special Bureau.
Yet some lines remained. The memory of intruders defiling his mausoleum still coiled cold in his spirit—a violation no subject would’ve dared in his living reign.
To say he felt no anger would be a lie. Had Xiao Tianji not been present during that incident, the ultimate outcome might have unfolded differently.
After departing the imperial mausoleum, through contemplation he found his way to the Special Bureau. Understanding this modern era revealed their remarkably tolerant attitude toward him.
Given their demonstrated goodwill, he saw no harm in reciprocating their courtesy. His departure from the Special Bureau would meet no resistance nor prompt interrogation about his destination.
During his stay, the receptionist Su Guan had assisted him with numerous matters – a courtesy prompting his farewell gesture.
The unexpected pleasure came when Su Guan inquired about his destination. "A casual stroll," he replied.
With those words from the First Emperor, Su Guan refrained from further questions, adhering to orders that required no interference unless national security was threatened.
"Very well, Your Majesty. Should you encounter difficulties, please call." She watched the elevator descend before resuming her post.
Zhan Yuan exhaled quietly. "This Emperor’s temperament seems surprisingly mild. He even bids farewell when leaving?"
"Historical records portray a tyrant renowned for his fiery temper."
"His Majesty grants our nation face. Regarding temperament… truthfully, in these six months, I’ve never witnessed his anger." Su Guan lowered her voice conspiratorially. "They say he remained composed upon learning of Qin’s Second Emperor, utterly indifferent to historical portrayals."
"Does the First Emperor often venture out?"
"Rarely. Only during this calamity did he join the field team at Deputy Director Xi’s personal request – you recall our staffing shortages."
"He agreed so readily?"
Su Guan nodded. "Immediately upon request. He declared the Huaxia Nine Provinces shall not endure Another World’s monstrous rampage."
As unifier of these lands, any ruler bearing responsibility would reject foreign invasions. While Zhongxia’s leaders resisted, Emperor Qin’s intolerance burned fiercer.
Changing subjects, Su Guan inquired: "The Eighteen Floors of Hell – what are they truly like?"
Zhan Yuan pondered before answering. "The Emperor restored only essential punishment layers during the underworld’s reconstruction. Those remaining target heinous criminals exclusively."
"Average lives yield balanced karmic accounts. Unless committing atrocities, none face hell’s trials."
Earthly crimes – whether punished or escaped – face underworld judgment. Heaven’s gaze manifests through the Book of Life and Death’s meticulous records, demanding posthumous reckoning.
Underworld torments surpass mortal suffering. Spiritual excruciation outshines physical pain, with fixed sentences permitting no reduction – thousands of years meant precisely that.
For irredeemable souls repeating atrocities across lifetimes, dissolution awaits. More crucially, prolonged torment erodes spiritual essence, weakening reincarnated forms into sickly vessels – sometimes unfit for human rebirth.
"The Six Realms of Rebirth operate through cosmic laws," Zhan Yuan concluded, inhaling his tea’s aroma. "Meng Po Soup and ledgers exist, but reincarnation depends on individual karma."
Su Guan shuddered. "This explains improved public order."
Zhongxia’s safety had reached nocturnal trust levels since the underworld’s emergence, though cunning criminals still exploited dream-visitation limitations during Spiritual Energy’s Awakening.
"Fear not," Zhan Yuan reassured. "Righteous energy and Zhongxia’s thriving national fortune protect Bureau staff. Even minor ghost cultivators like myself benefit."
Below them, Ying Zheng exited the elevator. Between blinks, he vanished beyond the Bureau’s entrance – destination known only to himself, where previously none existed.
