Chapter Two: Must Die

Black Wuchang, standing beside me, saw that I was frightened out of my wits and grinned at me with a sinister chuckle. That grin did nothing to ease my nerves—on the contrary, it only made things worse.

With a hoarse voice, Black Wuchang said to me, “Why are you still dawdling? My brother means for you to play your cards quickly. He’s got other matters to attend to after this round.”

No sooner had he finished than White Wuchang added, “Must die.”

Still rattled, I glanced at my remaining cards: three sevens, three tens, a three, a five, a king, and a small joker. Then I looked at the cards on the table—two twos and an ace had already been played. Judging from the current situation, the two of them still had the big joker and a two in their hands. My chances of winning this round were slim to none.

It felt like a trap, but there was nothing I could do about it. After all, their power was plain to see. What puzzled me, though, was the agreement Black Wuchang mentioned earlier—I had absolutely no memory of it.

But what did it matter? There was no sense worrying. If fortune favors me, so be it; if disaster awaits, I cannot escape. I said, “Three sevens with a three.”

Black Wuchang’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Alright, three Jacks with a nine.”

White Wuchang shook his head, refusing to play, and I, with nothing to answer, mimicked his gesture.

Seeing my pass, Black Wuchang grinned even more wickedly. “Then I’ll play—Big Joker, straight.” And with that, he finished all his cards in one swoop.

Moments later, both Black and White Wuchang fixed their eyes on me, their expressions as eerie as could be. Sensing that nothing good would come next, I braced myself and asked, “My lords, what is the meaning of this?”

White Wuchang croaked in his raspy voice, “Must die, must die.”

Black Wuchang explained, “The old rule: the loser must choose one card from the ones he still holds to receive his punishment. Which one will you choose?”

I looked down at my six remaining cards. Each bore the name of a torment from the Eighteen Hells—climbing the Mountain of Blades, descending into the Sea of Fire, being fried in oil, flayed alive, tongue pulled out… Not a single one was anything but excruciating.

Desperately, I shook my head. “No, no! I won’t choose!”

“Must die,” White Wuchang intoned, and in his hand, a mourning staff appeared out of thin air.

Black Wuchang, his face turning a ghastly green, rose to his feet, baring his fangs, and brandished a soul-hooking chain, itching to try it on me.

How could I, in this lifetime, have experienced such a scene? My legs gave out, and I slumped into the armchair, staring at the two Lords of Death, heart pounding with dread. Why wouldn’t this nightmare end?

Black Wuchang seemed to read my thoughts. He slipped the soul-hook around my neck and said, “You still think you’re dreaming, don’t you? Let me tell you the truth: you are not dreaming.”

“Impossible, impossible, I’m still so young!” I struggled with all my strength, trying to break free from Black Wuchang’s chain.

But the more I struggled, the tighter it became. At the same time, White Wuchang raised his mourning staff and brought it down upon me.

Could it be that I was really going to die like this? Wasn’t hell reserved for the wicked? Why must I, too, go to hell and suffer?

It wasn’t until years later that I understood: it is not only the wicked who descend to hell. But that is a story for another time.

The two Lords of Death hauled me up from the ground as easily as picking up a chicken. I gave up resisting, knowing it was futile.

Thus, they escorted me to the gates of a city. Above the gate, a plaque bore the words “Eighteen Hells” in blood-red characters.

At that moment, I felt my heart sink into ice, an inexplicable sorrow welling up inside me. I didn’t even know how I had died, and now, after death, I was to be cast into the Eighteen Hells to suffer. Such grievance defied all description. Which deity had I offended to deserve this?

Slowly, the gates of the Eighteen Hells creaked open. From within emerged two figures clad in golden armor, gold boots, and wielding golden spears. Each stood three meters tall.

No, these were no ordinary underworld guards. I heard Black Wuchang address them as “Golden-armored Ghost Generals.”

Black Wuchang pointed at me, lying on the ground. The two imposing generals nodded in acknowledgment and strode over.

Have you ever seen how, in nature documentaries, when a rabbit meets a tiger, the rabbit loses even its instinct to flee and simply curls up, trembling in terror? That was me—I was the rabbit, left only to await my fate.

Quickly, the two ghost generals reached me. One hoisted me onto his shoulder and carried me toward the entrance of the Eighteen Hells. In no time, we passed through the gate.

Lying on the ghost general’s back, I saw the great doors of the Eighteen Hells slowly closing.

I knew what that meant: I was finished. My future would be nothing but endless torment—untold cruelties awaited within.

“Wait!”

Just as the doors were about to close, a commanding voice, full of authority, echoed down from above—a voice that arrived before its owner.

A figure appeared before the nearly closed gates. From my vantage on the ghost general’s back, I stole a glance.

The newcomer looked to be just past thirty, with delicate features and an air of refinement. He was dressed in a white python-embroidered robe, and held a striking black fan.

With a casual wave of his hand, the closing doors of hell slowly opened once more.

At the sight of him, the golden-armored ghost generals tossed me to the ground and, along with Black and White Wuchang, bowed deeply. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

But the man, addressed as “Your Majesty,” paid no heed to their obeisance. He asked coldly, “What crime has this man committed? Why has he been sent to the Eighteen Hells?”

“Must—” White Wuchang began, but Black Wuchang quickly silenced him and hurried to explain, “Your Majesty, this man’s name is Chu Yun. He should have died five years ago, but for some reason, he’s lingered in the world of the living all this time. We’re still investigating exactly why he was able to live these extra years.”

The man’s face darkened, his tone displeased. “You haven’t even figured out the facts, yet you send him straight to the Eighteen Hells? Do you wish to lose your posts?”

At those words, Black and White Wuchang’s legs gave way, and they dropped to their knees, pleading, “Your Majesty, have mercy! We were only following the laws of the Underworld. Please, Your Majesty, show mercy!”

The man’s expression did not change. His white robe seemed to emit a faint glow.

Had I not experienced all this myself, I would never have believed that after death, people truly entered another world.

The man glanced at the prostrate Black and White Wuchang and said only, “Begone!”

At that single word, the two vanished in a flurry, scrambling away as if granted amnesty, terrified the man might change his mind.

The golden-armored ghost generals, sensing the shift in mood, wisely retreated into hell as well—clearly, they had more sense than the other two.

In a flash, the man covered the seven or eight meters between us, appearing before me in an instant—his speed so astounding that my mind simply could not process it.

“Come with me,” he said, his tone still cold.

I dared not disobey. I scrambled to my feet, and before I could react, the scene before my eyes changed dramatically.

A stately ancient building appeared before me, surrounded by towering old trees and verdant shade. The roof was covered in golden glazed tiles, and two massive red doors stood solemnly shut. Above the doors hung a plaque, its gold-trimmed edges framing two bold, traditional characters: “Du Residence.”