On her wedding night, she had thought...
Underworld domain, Ghost Gate.
The sky, which had been a faint greenish twilight moments ago, was now pitch black, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. A crimson blood moon rose in the void, but it merely hung there, casting no light on this cold, desolate place.
Over the millennia, through generation after generation of struggle and innovation, the buildings of the mortal world had evolved from primitive mud-brick and timber to various bricks, tiles, and mortars. Cities grew larger, markets more prosperous, structures taller and more ornate.
In contrast, the Underworld of the same era remained starkly simple, almost alien in its primitiveness.
Quiet, empty, and oppressively gloomy.
For miles around, only a rickety gate tower flickered with a dying light, swinging in the howling winds that swept in from every direction. Ancient iron fittings, centuries old, scraped against each other, emitting a nerve-grating screech.
This solitary structure was built from massive black stones of varying shapes and sizes. Above its central arch hung a mottled black plaque inscribed with three crimson characters—Ghost Gate.
"Oy!" A woman's cry pierced the eerily peaceful scene outside the gate, startling the scattered specks of soul-stuff hiding in the dust. Some scattered like stars; others coalesced into sparks, human shadows...
They drifted slowly toward the tower, eyeless yet radiating curiosity about the commotion nearby.
The two ghost guards at the gate stared at the woman sprawled on the ground, sighing repeatedly.
The taller one explained for the third time, "Miss, don't waste your energy. Without a heart, you can't pass through this gate."
Di Yao pushed herself up, dusted off her wedding gown, and nodded eagerly: "Ghost Guard, I know. I'm just trying, okay? There's no one else waiting to pass, so I'm not blocking anyone."
What if the gate's spiritual barrier malfunctioned and let her through?
She smiled, ready to try again.
Though it's hard to hit a smiling face, the girl's futile, laughable attempts were wearing on the guards' patience.
"Aren't you afraid of getting zapped? Get out of here! If you get burned to a crisp, no one's going to collect your corpse."
"Corpse?" Di Yao stopped, her eyes dropping. "I'm already dead. I don't have a corpse anymore. Besides, it seems no one actually wants to collect it."
The guards realized their slip and fell silent, merely crossing their iron forks in front of them to block her.
Di Yao pouted.
Now she understood the saying: when it rains, it pours. A wealthy young lady who lost her family overnight—her beloved parents taken from her; on her wedding night, she thought she'd found a good man, only to be killed by her new husband; arriving in the Underworld hoping for reincarnation, a fresh start, but a swindling priest tricked her out of her heart with a bag of fake talismans, leaving her stuck at the very first gate of the path to rebirth.
If she couldn't pass, she'd linger here until her soul scattered, becoming one of those insignificant, drifting fragments in the air—a speck of dust.
Di Yao's bright almond eyes darted, and she turned to wait by the roadside. She planned to try again once the guards relaxed. She crouched down, reached out to poke a soul fragment in front of her, but it seemed unwilling to engage and drifted away.
She pursed her lips, withdrew her hand, and in the dim light, looked toward a tall figure not far away.
A man stood there, playing with a clump of greenish soul fragments. His fingers moved through them, long and pale in the faint glow. The fragments scattered and then reformed, as if conscious, following his fingers' path.
She had spoken to him earlier; she knew he couldn't pass either. But compared to her, he was far more composed. When the guards pointed out that he was missing one of his Three Souls—his Heavenly Soul—and couldn't pass, he hadn't even tried. He simply turned and walked away.
Normally, if she found someone in the same predicament, Di Yao would try to chat, but this man was too cold and aloof. When she tried to talk to him, he answered in monosyllables.
"The guard said you lost your Heavenly Soul? Do you know? Want me to help you find it?"
"..."
"Anyway... I can't pass either."
"No need."
"Okay."
...
Clearly, he didn't want to engage. She stopped bothering.
Suddenly, the soul fragments scattered with a whoosh, and the man's surroundings dimmed. She heard him cough.
His broad shoulders trembled lightly. At that moment, a gust of Yin wind swept through, lifting a corner of his heavy cloak, making him look even thinner.
He gathered the cloak's collar, covering his mouth, trying to suppress the cough but failing.
"So, he's sickly," she thought.
Wait—do spirits in the Underworld still carry the ailments they had in life?
After a long moment, the coughing subsided. He turned to shield himself from the wind, and Di Yao stole a glance, studying him carefully.
She had seen his face when they spoke earlier. He was handsome, with sword-like brows and phoenix eyes, a sharp, angular face, and an air of heroism in his features. But his complexion was pale, his lips almost colorless.
She was certain she had never seen a man more handsome in her entire life.
Even Lu Zhili, who betrayed her, couldn't compare—before he dropped his act, Di Yao had thought him the best-looking man she'd known.
Now... what was Lu Zhili?
From a distance, his features were obscured in shadow, blurry and indistinct. Instead, his tall, proportioned figure drew most of her attention, possessing a charm of its own.
The heavy cloak wrapped him tightly; just looking, she felt stifled.
He sensed her gaze, lazily lifting his eyelids to glance at her. Di Yao blinked rapidly, embarrassed, and looked down at the ground near his feet.
A moment later, he stepped toward her, his pace unhurried and silent.
Though she couldn't gauge his temper, she knew her staring had been rude, and she felt a little uneasy.
But he didn't spare her another glance, nor did he stop beside her. He simply walked around her as if nothing had happened.