That hand was deathly pale and swollen, with black silt packed beneath its fingernails.
Chen Mo's throat tightened.
He instinctively took a step back, his heel already touching the edge of the River of Forgetfulness. The river's icy chill seeped up through the sole of his shoe, as if countless tiny mouths were licking his ankle.
Meng Po sighed.
"And I was just saying how peaceful things had been."
She set down her ladle and pulled a fire poker from beneath the stove.
The poker was pitch-black. It looked like it had been used for several hundred years, and it was still caked with soot from the bottom of the pot.
"Move."
Meng Po said it flatly.
Chen Mo scrambled out of the way.
The hand's owner had already crawled halfway out of the river. It was a man—or rather, it had once been a man. His face had swollen from being waterlogged, his eyeballs hung outside their sockets, and the official robes on his body were tattered, though it was still possible to make out an ancient style.
Most bizarre of all, a broken sword was lodged in his chest.
"The Underworld renegade official..." Meng Po frowned. "Dead for three hundred years, and still refusing to rest."
The monster opened its mouth and let out a howl that sounded nothing like a human voice.
Chen Mo felt as if his eardrums were about to burst.
Meng Po, however, merely gave the fire poker a casual wave.
A streak of crimson fire shot from its tip and struck the monster squarely in the forehead.
"Boom!"
Before the monster could even make a second move, it turned into a cloud of green smoke and dissipated into the mist over the River of Forgetfulness.
The surface of the river returned to calm.
Chen Mo stood there with his mouth hanging open, unable to close it for a long moment.
"Senior Meng Po..."
"Call me Sis."
"...Sis Meng, this fire poker of yours..."
"The ladle is for making soup, and the fire poker is for tending the fire." Meng Po shoved the poker back beneath the stove. "Sometimes I use it to burn other things, too."
Chen Mo regarded her with solemn respect.
"Still not leaving?" Meng Po shot him a glance. "Waiting for another one to crawl up from the bottom of the river?"
Chen Mo came to his senses and swung onto the bicycle.
"Um... thanks, Sis Meng!"
"Don't thank me." Meng Po went back to stirring the big pot. "If you want to thank someone, thank yourself—you've got a certain scent about you that keeps those things from coming too close."
"What scent?"
"The scent of the living." Meng Po paused. "And... something else."
Chen Mo didn't understand.
But he knew this wasn't the time to press her.
The netherfire engine started up again, and the bicycle shot into the mist.
[Return navigation activated.]
[Host heart rate detected as excessively high. Deep breathing recommended.]
[Friendly reminder: Your current mission completion rate is 100%. Please keep it up.]
Chen Mo complained as he rode, "Does your system actually care about employee mental health?"
[This system upholds humane management. Employee deaths increase recruitment costs.]
"...Gee, thanks."
The return trip was much faster than the way there.
The hungry ghosts of Lost Souls Ridge seemed to sense something and hid far away. Chen Mo rode unhindered the whole way and soon saw the end of the flagstone path he'd come in on.
There was a light there.
He closed his eyes and charged into it.
When he opened them again, he found himself standing in the convenience store's stockroom.
The time displayed on his phone was 3:20 a.m.
He had only been gone for three minutes.
Chen Mo stared blankly at the phone screen, then looked at the bottle of Meng Po's Soup: Sample Edition in his hand and the bronze token in his palm.
It hadn't been a dream.
[Welcome back to the Mortal Realm.]
[Current time-flow ratio: one shichen in the Netherworld ≈ one minute in the Mortal Realm.]
[Please schedule your deliveries appropriately to avoid customer complaints caused by the time difference.]
Chen Mo leaned the bicycle against the wall.
The Three Realms Special Bicycle had changed the instant it returned to the Mortal Realm—it had become a rust-covered old-fashioned roadster. Aside from the occasional flash of ghostly blue sparks across its wheels, it looked no different from an ordinary bicycle.
"Pretty low-key."
Chen Mo stuffed Meng Po's Soup into his pocket and was about to tidy up and head home when a system notification suddenly popped up—
[Skill draw credited. Use it now?]
"Draw!"
[Drawing...]
[Congratulations, host. You obtained the skill: "Courier's Instinct" (Passive Skill).]
[Skill description: When there is an undelivered package nearby, the host will develop a strong directional sense. There is also a certain probability of sensing the threat level of the item inside the package.]
[Note: This skill can be upgraded. Current level: LV.1.]
Chen Mo felt the change within his body.
There was nothing special about it. His nose had simply started itching all of a sudden.
"That's it?"
[The LV.1 effect is limited. Please work hard at delivering packages to upgrade.]
[New order will be pushed in 24 hours.]
[Current status: off duty.]
[Friendly reminder: Nether coins can be exchanged for items in the Three Realms Marketplace. Open the marketplace?]
"Open it."
A semitransparent interface appeared in front of Chen Mo.
The merchandise was dazzling:
"Netherworld Wi-Fi (for use at the River of Forgetfulness riverbank)"—50 nether coins
"Paper substitute (can substitute for death once)"—5,000 nether coins
"Meng Po's Soup: Deluxe Edition (the perfect gift for elders)"—200 nether coins
"Judge's Brush: Replica (makes your handwriting look amazing)"—800 nether coins
Chen Mo looked at the 100 nether coins in his account and fell silent.
"Even a broke ghost can't afford to be a ghost."
He closed the marketplace and walked out of the convenience store, dragging his exhausted body along.
Dawn had not yet broken.
The streetlights cast a dim yellow glow over a solitary figure.
Chen Mo mounted the old-fashioned roadster and pedaled slowly toward his rented room.
As he passed an alley, his nose suddenly began itching violently.
"Achoo!"
["Courier's Instinct" activated.]
[Undelivered package detected nearby. Distance: 15 meters.]
Chen Mo slammed on the brakes.
He looked toward the pitch-black alley.
Deep inside it, a red point of light was blinking.
It looked like a lantern.
Or maybe an eye.
Chen Mo tightened his grip on the handlebars.
"...Weren't you supposed to push a new order in 24 hours?"
[Anomalous package detected. Not assigned by the system.]
[Warning: This package carries intense resentment. Threat level: Class C.]
[Recommendation: Move away immediately and contact the Underworld Bureau.]
Chen Mo should have listened to the system's advice.
But he remembered what Meng Po had said.
"Some soups aren't meant for just anyone to drink."
He also remembered the words he'd said himself—
"It's not like I have anything left to lose anyway."
Chen Mo took a deep breath and pushed his bicycle into the alley.
At the end of the alley sat a vermilion lacquer box.
There was no sender or recipient on the box.
Only a line of blood-red writing:
"For Courier No. 9,742,001."
Chen Mo's pupils abruptly contracted.
That was his number.
The lid of the lacquer box was slowly opening.