Chapter 3: Crossing the Boundary?

The black- and white-clad figures brought the woman back to the underworld.

She stood silently in line among a crowd of souls, her expression vacant as she followed the slow-moving queue.

The two figures moved swiftly to the front.

The man in white stood around 190 cm tall, handsome like a refined scholar, dressed in ancient white robes.

In contrast, the man in black was stocky, bald, and only about 160 cm tall, also wearing ancient black garments.

The man in white said calmly:

“Go find the drunkard. Tell him to take care of it.”

With that, he stepped toward the very front of the line.

Ahead stood a bridge.

The surroundings were not the oppressive darkness one might expect, but rather resembled a winter dusk.

Something drifted down from the sky like snow—

but upon closer inspection, it wasn’t snow at all.

It was ash.

Small, pale fragments of ash fell endlessly from above.

At the front of the queue stood an old woman.

If Xu Huai’an were here, he would have jumped in shock.

Because this was the very same old woman who kept appearing in his dreams.

She looked ancient—

yet, if one observed carefully, it was clear she must have been a great beauty in her youth.

The man in white watched as she continuously produced bowl after bowl of soup out of thin air, handing them to the souls in line.

Just then, a fierce-looking man suddenly flung his bowl to the ground and shouted:

“I’m not drinking this! If you’ve got the guts, just wipe me out completely! I refuse to forget who I am!”

The man in white simply watched with interest, as if enjoying a show, making no move to intervene.

The old woman did not get angry.

She neither complained nor bothered to clean up the spilled soup.

Instead, she calmly produced another bowl and said gently:

“Drink it. There is nothing worth being angry about.”

The fierce man turned and stormed off.

He truly had no intention of drinking the soup or crossing the bridge.

But soon—

he realized he couldn’t move.

Someone behind him lifted him up effortlessly, like picking up a puppy.

He turned around—

and of course, it was the same gentle old woman.

Then came regret.

The old woman began striking his head repeatedly with her cane.

The most pitiful part—

he couldn’t move at all.

He could only endure the beating.

The man in white walked over with a faint smile, watching the once-fierce man now drinking the soup resentfully.

Turning to the old woman, he said:

“Is your soup… expired?”

The old woman froze for a moment, staring at the bowl in her hand, speechless.

Meanwhile—

after parting ways with the man in white, the man in black arrived at a dilapidated temple.

Inside, a burly man lay sprawled among piles of empty wine bottles.

He had horns growing from his head, wore a red shawl, had dark skin, and an imposing build.

Sensing something, the horned man slowly opened his drunken eyes and looked at the man in black.

The man in black said:

“Where are the five ghosts under your command? They seem to have crossed the boundary. Are you going to deal with it or not?”

The horned man in the pile of bottles opened his eyes wider—

a flash of red light flickered across them.

Perhaps it was just an illusion—

but the man in black thought he heard the roar of a beast echoing beside his ears.

Before he could say anything more—

a sudden gust of wind swept through.

The horned man was gone.

Only the man in black remained, standing there alone.

He lifted his head, staring at the sky—

as if he could see stars through the broken roof.

Yeah, right.

This wasn’t the world of the living.

Where would stars even come from?

So in the end—

the man in black lowered his head and left the ruined temple,
following the faint traces on the ground like an ant tracking a trail.