Chapter 1

Zhang Kedao couldn't hold it in any longer; his heart was pounding with panic.

Looking around, the cold wind was like a foggy sandstorm, the scenery dark and gloomy, and the mournful sobs seemed to seep from everywhere, forming a chilling symphony that created a terrifyingly realistic underworld scene.

As a modern hereditary Taoist, he had always been quite brave, often accompanying his grandfather on exorcisms in the past.

Entering graveyards, funeral homes, and memorial halls was a regular part of his life. He had seen countless scenes of birth, aging, illness, and death, and the noisy, earthy music at memorial halls. He thought he had seen it all and understood death thoroughly.

But when it was his turn to die, he woke up from a daze and realized he was in the underworld, and he was truly terrified.

It was his first time dying, and all the experience he had accumulated in the mortal world was useless.

He didn't know what to do.

He had no phone to seek help from the all-powerful keyboard warriors.

The shadows around him were vague, and they were the newly deceased souls on their way to report. The line stretched endlessly, and there were so many dead people.

By the faint shadows and outlines, he could barely distinguish men, women, children, and various animals. Their shadows were of varying depths, and their movements were stiff and mechanical, like puppets, slowly floating forward, constantly reminding him of the harsh reality of his death.

The gray mist and bone-chilling cold created an extremely unfriendly atmosphere.

Through the gaps in the heavy dark clouds above, a pale, dim light shone down.

Zhang Kedao was involuntarily carried forward in the line.

Beside the dark path of the underworld, there was a silent river that occasionally churned with dark red waves, and the opposite bank was nowhere to be seen.

From time to time, incomplete ghosts would float on the surface, writhing in pain, reaching out to grab at the air, and emitting mournful howls. They were then dragged back into the water by countless twisted ghostly claws, bubbling and disappearing, making the place seem even more inhuman.

Zhang Kedao, in his panic, suddenly noticed that he was different from the other ghosts.

His shadow was clearer, and his limbs, torso, and head were not a blurry mass. He could look around, which was a stark contrast to the other numb, stiff, and almost transparent ghosts. He still had thoughts, while the others were lifeless.

This realization gave him a glimmer of hope for survival, and he tried to make a sound.

Without a mouth, he was in a "soul" state and couldn't speak, but the ability to think gave him a chance.

Zhang Kedao silently recited a mantra for comfort: "Clear mind like water, clear water is the mind. No wind stirs, no ripples form. Sitting alone in the bamboo grove, I play the zither and whistle... Clarity governs the root, the straight path guides the body, utmost goodness and virtue, the great way is formed by heaven!"

He didn't know if reciting mantras in the underworld would have any effect, but he clung to this last hope, not to the Buddha, but to the Daoist patriarch.

After reciting it three times, the familiar mantra calmed him down from his instinctive panic.

Reciting mantras actually worked!

After observing carefully, Zhang Kedao didn't see any ghost officials maintaining order. As he floated along, he saw a faint bridge appearing in the mist ahead, and the line of ghosts seemed to be turning toward it. He was suddenly alarmed.

That must be the famous Naihe Bridge.

He couldn't cross the bridge!

On the Naihe Bridge, there would be the old woman Meng Po, and drinking her soup would make it uncertain whether he could be reborn as a human.

Although he was a modern Taoist, he had never fully believed in the traditional concepts of virtue, retribution, and causality. He had doubts and lacked confidence in accumulating enough virtue to earn another chance at life.

What if he was reborn as an animal with no control over his fate? That would be too tragic.

After some thought, he carefully moved away from the line. The gray mist surrounding the line had a pulling force, but he easily broke free by reciting the mantra. He didn't move too far away, staying a few steps from the mist, in case he was caught by a ghost official and had to quickly return to the line.

He quietly moved backward, repeatedly reciting the basic Taoist classic, the "Qingxin Jue" (Clear Mind Sutra), which he could recite backward.

He felt his shadow become more solid, and he wasn't as cold.

Whether it was a psychological effect or truly effective, it gave him a tiny bit of confidence to find a way back to the living world.

After about fifteen minutes, Zhang Kedao came to a dilapidated black pavilion. He saw two dark figures sitting on the ground inside the pavilion, which had no railings. He quickly floated back into the misty line.

The dark figures inside the pavilion didn't react to his unusual situation, and he didn't dare approach them.

After some thought, he crossed the line and continued moving backward.

Using the line and the mist for cover, he avoided the two dark figures and left the pavilion about fifty meters behind. He sighed in relief, not knowing who those two solitary figures were. They didn't seem to be ghost officials.

The two figures were loose and blurry, with limb and torso outlines, slightly less clear than him, possibly also ghosts.

Suddenly, he heard a strange "taptap" sound coming from the distance.

The rhythm was fast and urgent, drowning out the mournful howls from the river.

"Whoosh," a proud yellow-feathered rooster, taller than a person, rushed toward the Naihe Bridge, carrying a strong wind.

Zhang Kedao quickly floated into the misty line to avoid being hit by the powerful rooster.

In his current soul state, he doubted he could withstand the impact of the rooster's large feet.

Watching the rooster's shadow disappear, he remembered a ghost story his grandfather had once told him. He suddenly understood that it was a high-level Taoist using the Golden Rooster Guidance Technique to lead a soul back to life.

He never thought he would witness such a legend come true in the underworld.

He couldn't help but feel envious and jealous.

Zhang Kedao sighed, realizing he didn't have such good fortune.

His grandfather, a Taoist, had passed away three years ago, and no one could help him. Even if his grandfather were still alive, he wouldn't perform such a miraculous resurrection technique.

Crossing the misty line again, he stayed close to the river to avoid being trampled by the speeding rooster on its return trip. He continued to move backward cautiously.

"Rude! How dare you disrupt the underworld!"

A deep, strange voice came from a distance, startling Zhang Kedao, who quickly floated into the mist.

He then saw a yellow light streak across the gray sky, coming from far away and reaching in the blink of an eye.

"Bang," the proud yellow-feathered rooster hit the ground headfirst, falling hard in front of the dilapidated pavilion. Its tail, which had been higher than its comb, was neatly cut off by a white light, and the feathers scattered, turning into black and white specks that disappeared in the dust and mist.

The two dark figures inside the pavilion took the opportunity to rise and pounce on the rooster, which had rolled twice and then stood up again.

The rooster, with its tail cut off, had two small dark figures hidden in the gaps of its wings, staggering under the weight. Zhang Kedao watched in amazement, then felt inspired. This was a rare opportunity.

He had to try to cling to the rooster and escape the underworld.

Otherwise, wandering aimlessly like a headless fly, his chances were too slim.

The underworld was dangerous, and he didn't know the way back.

He wasn't ready to die and felt he could save himself.

...