Volume One, Chapter Four: The Question of Constitution
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Chuguang had just returned from the hospital. Seeing the health report showing she was healthy, she fell into silence.
The boss narrowly defeated Old Fatty and claimed victory.
People came and went at the hospital.
She lined up to pay the fee.
Originally, the physical examination cost ten thousand, but because she had a conquest subsidy, it was reduced to two thousand.
Just as she was about to leave the hospital, she suddenly froze, overwhelmed by a strong dizziness. Amidst the intense vertigo, she saw a black line, like a phantom, flickering faintly.
Chuguang’s heart pounded rapidly.
A speeding ambulance rushed past her.
“Make way, nurse! Emergency! Someone’s heart has been ripped out!”
She watched, gasping for breath, feeling a gust of wind. Though brief, she was certain she had seen that black line. The moment she saw it, it was as if a high fever had overtaken her, leaving her mind foggy and her energy utterly drained.
It was clearly not just the wind.
What had passed was a person.
Those nearby stopped in their tracks.
“That must have been a Wind Spirit Master, right? So fast that you can only see an afterimage.”
“Exactly. Wearing a special management bureau uniform, running at incredible speed—probably rushing a victim. I heard there have been several serious incidents lately.”
“That scared me to death. I thought I’d run into a specter.”
Some breathed a sigh of relief. Then, as the crowd dispersed, the hall suddenly felt empty.
Chuguang felt her body burning hot; her necklace was scorching. She clearly saw that black line—it hadn’t gone into the emergency room but was somewhere within the crowd.
But when she looked closely, it vanished again.
She went weak and collapsed, gasping.
What was happening?
A nurse hurried over, trying to take her into a ward, but Chuguang refused.
This sudden episode caught her completely off guard.
She sat on a chair for a long time before recovering.
Outside the emergency room, a group of people dressed in black uniforms watched the flashing emergency lights.
“Damn it, that bastard escaped again!”
The leader growled in frustration. “He killed so many people, yet we just stood by and let him get away—what a humiliating disgrace.”
A gentle-faced young man sighed helplessly. “There’s no way; he wields a dark artifact. He’s not an ordinary citizen, so we’re powerless.”
Before he could finish, a tall man stepped out. “The victim didn’t make it—dead.”
Those present lowered their heads in disappointment.
Chuguang had fully recovered and stood up, heading toward the old district.
The Underworld.
When Chuguang arrived, she brought a bowl of wontons.
The boss’s brow twitched. “What are you up to this time?”
Ghosts in the Underworld did eat, contrary to popular belief. The higher their rank, the more human-like they appeared, and thus their cravings grew.
But they couldn’t leave, so food was a coveted treasure there.
A bowl of wontons costing a dozen yuan could be exchanged for Wangchuan Water.
Wangchuan Water sold for eleven thousand per bottle.
Chuguang supported herself with this side job.
The boss looked at her pale face. “Did another ghost attack you? Why do you look so green?”
Chuguang told him about the black line she saw.
The boss stared at her. “You sneaked out? No wonder you look awful. Was it Xiaobai who opened a back door for you? How outrageous! It actually let a ghost out of the Underworld.”
A male ghost in white robes appeared. “Not me! It must have been Xiaohēi.”
The figure in black robes followed behind. “Not me either.”
They were the Black and White Impermanence of the Underworld—often called the Yin-chai.
Because they came here often, Chuguang knew them well.
The boss looked at her seriously. “Your complexion is so bad—is it because you encountered the black line?”
Chuguang nodded. “I saw the black line, then my heart hurt, and my illness flared up again.”
“How strange—a ghost having an illness,” muttered White Impermanence. “And this little face looks just like a living person. If we hadn’t known you since childhood, I would have thought you were a recently dead ghost.”
Chuguang could only smile awkwardly at that.
The boss lazily said, “This little ghost had a special constitution before death—normal.”
He paused, pondering. “That black line indicates a person with a heavy burden of killing intent. If nothing unexpected happens, a person with that black line will descend to hell after death, never to be reborn.”
“You were affected when you got close because the malice on that person impacted you.”
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Hearing this, Chuguang asked, “So that means as long as I don’t get close to someone with a black line, my heart won’t act up?”
The boss shook his head. “Your condition is most likely related to your body. The malice is just a trigger, and being able to see the line is another trigger. The exact cause, you’ll have to investigate yourself. This is the Underworld—ghosts here don’t get sick. Only you are special.”
“If you were in the living world, it’d be easier—you could go to a hospital.”
“But hospitals can’t diagnose it either,” Chuguang complained.
She was utterly exhausted. She had already completed all the tests at every hospital in Qing City, but no problems were found.
Hospitals just can’t figure it out.
She clapped her hands. “Right, for this level of illness, do I need to visit a big hospital?”
The boss nodded. “Of course. You’d need to go to a major city and use medical devices specifically for Spirit Masters to have any chance of diagnosis. But forget it—you’re not going out to bother human doctors.”
Chuguang said nothing, only sheepishly held out her hand.
The boss asked, “What’s that for?”
Chuguang replied, “Time to pay up, old man. Wangchuan Water.”
The boss was speechless.
Chuguang walked away contentedly, holding the bottle of Wangchuan Water.
The next day, Chuguang entered the classroom.
She saw the grade director patrolling.
Everyone was as quiet as a mouse.
Chuguang dared not speak; she picked up her book and began studying diligently.
The grade director broke from his usual demeanor. “Students, an announcement: the school is starting an Eastern Region cultural remedial class. Customs there differ greatly from ours, so anyone going must learn how to live there. The fee is fifty thousand per person. Manage your finances accordingly.”
Hearing this, everyone’s faces changed drastically.
“Fifty thousand? That expensive? Is the remedial class made of gold?”
The grade director, seeing the students’ unrest, reassured them, “I know most of you can’t afford this, but if you want to live in the Eastern Region, you must learn their customs. So, we’ve specially hired teachers from the Eastern Region.”
Chuguang heard this, pulled out her phone, and checked her balance—twenty-three thousand five hundred yuan.