The Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Chapter 106: Where to Seek One's Master

"The one who lost control and died...?" The guard repeated his words slowly, then harrumphed. "A cultivator?"

"Mm."

"A cultivator at such a young age coming here? You've really been dealt an unjust fate."

The guard's smile was forced; many ordinary people lacked the natural aptitude for cultivation and couldn't establish good karma. When they mocked cultivators, it was often tinged with envy.

"I can tell your soul isn't quite right, not pure."

Master Huaizui had placed a charm on Mo Ran to conceal his living aura and allow him to interact with spirits, so the guard couldn't see through him, but still felt something off. He nonchalantly sat back down, crossed his legs, and fished a pitch-black ruler out of a drawer.

"The Sin Measuring Ruler," he said smugly, though it wasn't clear what he was proud of since the ruler wasn't his. The smaller the official, the more they loved to show off. The guard slammed the ruler down on the table and raised an eyebrow at Mo Ran. "Hold out your hand so this officer can measure your virtuous deeds in the mortal world."

Mo Ran: "..."

His virtuous deeds in the mortal world?

Would they immediately drag him before the Great Yanluo God to crush him into dust?

But with everyone watching, there was nowhere for him to escape. He could only sigh and hold the Soul Guiding Lamp in one hand while reaching out the other.

The guard pressed the Ruling Measure against Mo Ran's wrist. The instant it touched his pulse, the ruler shrieked shrilly, its black body oozing blood as if weeping, accompanied by the cries of millions.

"I can't die with peace in my heart..."

"Mo Weiyu, you'll never be reincarnated after this unforgivable sin!!"

"Daddy! Mommy!!! Why, you wretch?! Why?!"

"Please don't kill me... I beg you, don't kill me—"

Mo Ran yanked his hand back violently, his face instantly turning as pale as paper.

The ghosts around him gazed at him mournfully, and the guard's expression was particularly cryptic. He stared at Mo Ran like a ravenous beast, then after a moment, looked down at the ruler.

The red glow on the ruler had vanished, and the blood seemed to have been an illusion, flowing away without a trace. The table was clean except for the ruler, which slowly revealed a line of words.

Inescapable Sin, escort to the...

Which level of Hell?

But before the Sin Measurement Ruler could finish its assessment, Mo Ran had already withdrawn his hand. The guard roughly seized his arm with ferocity, his gaze piercing and malicious, like a hunter who had finally caught a rare and precious bird after a long period of boredom. His nostrils flared, an odd light shimmering in his eyes, as if half his intestines were spilling out – yet this time, he didn't bother to push them back in.

"Stay still, let me measure you again."

He was impatient, greedy, almost begging for credit from Yan Luo with his actions. His ghostly claws dug deeply into Mo Ran's wrist, forcefully pulling him closer, then violently plunging the Sin Measurement Ruler into the other's flesh once more.

If he managed to capture a spirit bound for the lowest depths of the Netherworld, it would be a tremendous feat. He could expect at least a three-rank promotion, never having to spend another day recording the comings and goings of every lonely soul at this city gate.

"Measure! Measure well!"

The Sin Measuring Ruler flared once more.

Blood still flowed profusely, and cries filled the air.

All the lives that Mo Ran had taken, all the wrongs he had committed, seemed to be compressed within this narrow black ruler, the overwhelming resentment threatening to burst it apart.

"So much hatred..."

"Mo Weiyu, I'll never forgive you... not even in death."

Mo Ran's expression grew increasingly grim. He lowered his eyelids, pressing his lips together tightly. No one could discern the emotions in his eyes.

"You have no conscience! You've turned the mortal world into a hell!"

"I won't let you off even as a vengeful spirit!"

"Ahhhh—!"

Wailing, howling, cursing, resenting.

Suddenly, amidst all those voices, a faint sigh was heard.

"I'm sorry, Mo Ran, it was Master's fault..."

Mo Ran snapped his eyes open, filled with sorrow.

He had heard Zhen Wanning's voice again, in his final moments from his past life. So gentle, so sorrowful, yet it pierced into his skull like a sharp blade, threatening to shatter his very soul.

The voices gradually faded, and the measuring rod returned to its calm state.

A new line of small text reappeared:

Beyond redemption, to be escorted to the...

This time, Mo Ran didn't pull his hand away, but the line still remained incomplete!

The guard paused, patting the black rod. "Is it broken?"

To their surprise, the black rod trembled slightly. After a moment, the words vanished on their own, and a thin wisp of immortal aura rose from its surface, shimmering with brilliant, boundless light.

This time, no weeping emerged from the ruler; instead, it was as if a hundred birds were paying homage to the phoenix, their melodious voices ascending into the clouds, akin to divine music descending upon the underworld. The assembled demons and spirits all seemed to be captivated, even the guard lost himself in the enchantment.

When the celestial melody ceased, the guard abruptly regained his senses.

Looking again at the Sin-measuring Ruler, six large characters now appeared:

Ordinary Soul, Proceed.

The guard exclaimed, "This can't be!"

Wasn't this soul just deemed unforgivable? How could it suddenly become ordinary?

Refusing to accept this, he measured with the ruler many more times, but every attempt resulted in the same outcome: first, a shriek, then a harmonious sound, and finally, without exception, the words Ordinary Soul, Proceed.

The guard was utterly disheartened. He had no grounds to hinder an ordinary soul from entering the underworld.

Resuming his furious stuffing of intestines, he grumbled, "Tch, looks like you truly died from losing your mind."

Mo Ran was also quite surprised and unsure of the reason. After some thought, he speculated that perhaps Master Huaiwei's talisman had confused the ruler, causing him to feel a slight relief.

"Scram, take the Soul Seeking Talisman and get lost! You've wasted your grandpa's time for far too long!"

"..." Mo Ran was more than willing to comply. He was just about to leave with the Soul Guiding Lamp when the guard's gaze suddenly lit up, and he loudly called out to stop him.

"Halt!"

Mo Ran's heart raced, but his expression remained calm. He said with a hint of exasperation, "What now?"

The guard lifted his chin. "What is that you're holding against your chest?"

"Oh, this...?" Mo Ran stroked the Soul Lamp, his thoughts racing. He then chuckled and said, "It's my burial companion."

"A burial companion?"

"Yes, it's a magical artifact."

"Hmm. Quite intriguing." The guard pointed at the table, his eyes glittering. "Place your burial companion here and let's test it again. Perhaps your artifact has confused the Sin Measuring Ruler."

"..."

Mo Ran had already cursed the guard in his heart, but there was nothing he could do. He could only put down the Soul Lamp and hesitantly stretch out his wrist again.

The guard seemed confident and eagerly pressed the ruler back onto Mo Ran's wrist.

...

Yet, the result remained the same.

The six characters were still as clear as before: Ordinary soul, proceed.

Not to mention the guard, even Mo Ran himself was utterly confused. However, after this measurement, the guard finally gave up completely and waved him through with great disinterest.

Mo Ran didn't dare linger. He picked up the Soul Lamp and walked through the long tunnel until the end, where the light shifted.

Before his eyes, the vast expanse of the Netherworld unfolded.

This was the First Level of Hell, an area that seemed endless at first glance. The sky was a crimson red, resembling boiling sunset hues. Unusual vines and exotic trees sprouted from the ground, while nearby rooftops were jagged, and distant palaces stood in rows. At the entrance, a colossal stone inscribed "Your skin returns to dust, your soul to the Southern Dreamland." Beside it, a towering vermilion archway bore the golden characters "Southern Dreamland," each one as tall as an adult man.

It turned out that the First Level of Hell was called the Southern Dreamland. If the deceased had no abnormalities, they would temporarily reside here for ten or eight years, awaiting the call of the judge to be sent to the Second Level for further judgment.

With the Soul Summoning Lantern in his embrace, Mo Ran strolled along, taking in the surroundings as he went.

Amidst the scenery, the layout bore a striking resemblance to the mortal world, with streets, dwellings, and marketplaces forming an intricate grid of eighteen alleys, nine running horizontally and nine vertically. Ghostly men, women, and children wandered about, their laughter wicked and their sobs mournful, creating a spectacle of demonic revelry and a night parade of a hundred ghosts.

From the east came the sobs of a newly widowed woman: "What am I to do, what am I to do? They say that a remarried woman will be split in two, her head for one departed soul and her feet for another. Is this true? Can someone tell me, is this truly so?"

Beside her, there was a girl with disheveled hair and an exposed collarbone, wiping away tears. "It wasn't my wish to become a courtesan, but I simply couldn't make ends meet. Before I died, I donated a door threshold at the local temple, hoping that thousands would tread on it to redeem my sins. But the village head demanded four hundred gold pieces from me to allow the replacement. If I had that much money, why would I have resorted to selling myself in the first place?"

To the west, another man was counting as well: "Four hundred and one days, four hundred and two days, four hundred and three days... We agreed to depart together, to end our lives in a tragic love, yet here I've been for four hundred and four days, and she still hasn't followed. Ah, she's so delicate; perhaps she's lost her way on the path to the underworld. If that's truly the case, what am I to do?"

Newly deceased ghosts sobbed in clusters, gathered at the entrance of Nankao Village, unwilling to depart, lingering in their sorrow.

But beyond them were older spirits who had already accepted their fate, returning to their former lives with calm and resignation. They each occupied themselves with various tasks, passing the endless days, awaiting judgment.

Upon reaching the third street, the hustle and bustle resembled the lively world of mortals.

After all, these were ghosts who still carried the vestiges of flesh and bone, having not yet consumed Yama's Soup, thus still blurring the line between human and spirit. Those who were once actors continued to perform street antics, while seamstresses even in death wove celestial fabrics in the netherworld. Butchers, no longer daring to take life, found work sharpening knives and scissors instead.

This translation maintains the essence of the original text, capturing the atmosphere of the Chinese ghostly realm and its inhabitants, while preserving the poetic and descriptive nature of the original language.

Shouts of commerce and applause intermingled amidst the bustling crowd.

Mo Ran approached a ghost selling calligraphy and paintings. The spirit must have been a starving artist in life, as he appeared emaciated with sunken cheeks and protruding ribs.

Spotting someone sit before his stall, the diminutive scholar lifted his foggy eyes, yet his expression was eager. "Gentleman, interested in purchasing a painting?"

"I want you to paint my portrait."

The scholar seemed a bit regretful. "Portraits lack the depth of landscapes. Take a look at this Mount Tai Mist and Clouds Scroll..."

Mo Ran replied, "I don't have a preference for landscape paintings. Please, draw me a portrait instead."

"Not fond of landscapes?" The scholar gave him a couple of appraising glances, appearing somewhat displeased. "The virtuous love mountains, the wise love water. At your young age, you should cultivate your taste and appreciate the aroma of ink and pigment. I originally didn't intend to sell this Mount Tai Mist and Clouds Scroll, but since you've inquired at my stall, you must possess some artistic sensibility. I'll offer it to you at a discount—"

"I want a portrait."

Scholar: "..."

Their gazes locked in a standoff. The scholar was no match for Mo Ran's intensity, and after a brief moment, he caved. However, after conceding, he grew quite irritated, and even his deathly pale face seemed to flush with annoyance.

"I don't paint humans. If I were to, the price would be ten times higher."

Mo Ran asked, "The Ghost Realm also uses silver taels?"

"Family and friends always send offerings of joss paper," the scholar said coldly, "for money can make ghosts grind mills. Though I disdain the taint of coppery greed, a gentleman values wealth that is rightfully obtained. You and I share neither kinship nor friendship, nor do we possess the understanding between Bo Ya and Zhong Ziqi. Why then should I gratuitously bear hardship on your behalf?"

He rattled on with a barrage of words, much to the suffering of Mo Ran, who wasn't well-read. He immediately frowned and said, "I've just arrived, and no one has offered me any ghost money yet."

The scholar replied, "No sale without payment."

Mo Ran pondered for a moment and came up with an idea. He pointed at the picture of Mount Tai's misty clouds and said, "Alright, I won't sell it then. But since I have nothing to do anyway, could you tell me about this landscape painting?"

The scholar was taken aback but then his anger turned into delight. "You want to hear about it?"

Mo Ran nodded. "Listening to your knowledge shouldn't cost anything, right?"

"No," the scholar answered proudly, a touch of both amusing and pitiful radiance on his face. "Learning has no price. Mentioning money would soil it. A scholar's affairs should not be tainted with such vulgarity."

Mo Ran nodded again, now understanding why this little bookworm had starved to death. Although he found it amusing, he couldn't help feeling a bit sympathetic. Unfortunately, he was short on funds; otherwise, he would have given the scholar a few silver coins.

The scholar eagerly fetched the framed painting from the shelf, striking a pose and clearing his throat - though it didn't really need clearing - with a mix of nervousness and pride. "Shall I begin then?"

Seeing the little bookworm take the bait, Mo Ran smiled. "Please share your insights."

Author's Note: This chapter contains various settings and dialogues that pay homage to the arrogant yet complaining middle-class youth, Mr. Lu Xun. The character prototypes and some dialogue inspirations for the ghostly woman and the ghostly scholar are derived from Xiang Linshao and Kong Yiji. I mention this to avoid any misunderstandings.