Volume One, Chapter 13: Delivering the Message

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Chuguang stepped out of the recycling shop, holding that small piece of special metal. She walked along the road back to school, clutching the metal. Along with the metals from the dormitory, the total was at most 1.2 million. That left 11 million still to be raised—where could she find the rest?

Shaking her head in frustration, a headache coming on, she took out a copper coin spirit money from her pocket. “If I remember correctly, it’s called Ru’an, right?” She needed to deliver this letter to him as soon as possible, and maybe, just maybe, make a little extra.

Before heading back to school, Chuguang decided to check on Ru’an’s whereabouts. She scanned a shared bike and pedaled off with a rhythmic clatter.

Soon, she arrived at the location—an old, shabby residential complex. Room 301.

Just as she was about to head upstairs, her stomach growled. Feeling hungry, she noticed a noodle shop just outside the complex.

After some thought, she ordered a bowl of noodles. The shop was run by a couple from the same neighborhood. The noodle stand was outside, beneath a massive tree whose dense canopy shaded the area completely. Under the tree, stone tables were set up where many elders liked to gather for tea and conversation.

As Chuguang ate, she overheard the elderly chatting.

“I heard Ru’an’s grandmother passed away. He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything these past few days, locking himself in his room. The property managers have tried calling him out several times, but to no avail.”

“You mean Granny Qi? She lived a long life; it’s her time to rest.”

“That may be so, but what about her grandson? He’s truly all alone now. Poor young man…”

All neighbors from the same complex, of course they knew about such a significant event, especially after so many years living side by side. Their words were filled with sympathy for Ru’an.

Listening carefully, Chuguang pieced together the details: Ru’an was now a solitary figure.

That made things much easier. She could send the letter to him using the wind spirit, without needing to appear in person.

Just as she finished the last sip of soup, one of the elderly ladies at the door continued, “Ru’an’s not to be pitied! The young man passed the Special Management Bureau exam. He went from an ordinary citizen to a man above all others overnight. Even if his grandmother passed, she must have gone with a smile.”

“That young man has made something of himself.”

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Chuguang was about to leave but froze upon hearing those words.

Ru’an passed the Special Management Bureau exam?

Her eyelid twitched.

That was dangerous.

The Special Management Bureau was the most skeptical of superstitions.

Looking down at the letter in her hand, she felt a heavy weight. Could she really deliver this letter?

While she hesitated, a figure appeared before her.

Just as she was about to step back, the shop owner’s wife poked her head out and called, “Ru’an! You finally showed up. We thought something had happened to you since we hadn’t seen you in so long.”

Upon hearing the name, Chuguang looked up. The figure was tall and handsome, with noble features and a righteous air, but deep lines of exhaustion etched across his brow.

Ru’an’s voice was hoarse as he said, “Give me a bowl of noodles.”

The shop owner nodded and turned to prepare his order.

Ru’an sat down at a table.

Chuguang, who had intended to leave, paused and approached him, curiosity getting the better of her.

Ru’an noticed and raised his eyes to meet the girl’s surprised gaze. “What is it?”

“Have you lost a family member recently?” she asked.

He furrowed his brow but said nothing.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Chuguang explained, “but you’re surrounded by a very strong yin energy—it’s the aura of the dead. The energy is unusually intense, which means the deceased was very worried about you before passing. Their spirit must have lingered near you for some time, which is why you carry such a heavy yin presence.”

This was what the living called the ‘first seven days’ after death.

For seven days after a person dies, the energy is at its peak and tends to cling to those nearby.

Hence the old saying: the first seven days after death, the spirit has not yet left.

In truth, the person’s soul has departed, but the lingering spirit energy remains strong for a while—this was the period known as the ‘seven days of resting the soul.’

Ru’an had never believed in such things before, but now, he found himself willing to believe.

He cleared his throat. “Do souls really exist after death?”

Chuguang tilted her head. “They do, but most people don’t know it. The living cannot enter the world of the dead, nor can the dead come to the living world. The strong yin energy around you means the deceased cared deeply about you. If you believe it, come with me.”

She clenched her fist in her pocket, thinking it best to hand the letter over directly.

On the surface, it did not openly oppose the use of spirit artifacts, but such matters were taboo. It was better not to attract attention.

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Chuguang’s words sounded like those of a charlatan, and Ru’an hesitated.

He missed his grandmother dearly, but that didn’t mean he was easily fooled.

“Rest assured, I’m not here to scam you. The costs are fully covered by the deceased. You only need to keep a calm heart.”

Ru’an eyed the bowl of noodles being served, half skeptical. “Alright, let’s go.”

Perhaps she was a fraud. But what if she wasn’t?

What if his grandmother was truly nearby?

What if she really had something to give him?

The thought tore at his heart.

The two of them settled beneath the large tree.

Chuguang pondered for a moment and then gently tapped Ru’an’s forehead. Indeed, the yin energy matched that of the old lady; she hadn’t mistaken him.

From her pocket, she produced the copper coin spirit money. “Don’t make a fuss. I’m just here on business and don’t want the Special Management Bureau to notice. Dealing with the dead is always a sensitive matter.”

When Ru’an saw the spirit coin, his eyes widened. Before he could speak, she cut him off.

The girl’s expression was indifferent, as if separated from the lively world around them.

“There are rules. Just pretend you’ve never seen me. The Special Management Bureau always turns a blind eye to these things. You’d better not meddle.”

Frowning, Ru’an took the spirit money, but before he could speak, words appeared on the coin.

Familiar characters materialized.

His breathing quickened.

“Be careful. Spirit coins are valuable in the underworld. This one is worth about 20,000 yuan. Your grandmother paid for it herself. If you want to reply, write your message on the back.”

Chuguang thought for a moment and added, “If you burn it at her grave, remember to write her name. If a spirit picks it up, it might deliver your message.”

“Also, be sure to write her exact address and name.”

Chuguang recalled there was a magistrate’s office on that street—the Eastern Magistrate’s Office Street. The old lady used to queue there often; perhaps she lived nearby.

Spirit money belonged to the underworld. As long as the yin energy remained, burning it wouldn’t destroy it; spirits could still find it.

“The letter has been delivered. Remember to respond. Write ‘Magistrate Street.’”

Chuguang handed over the letter. “The transaction is complete. Goodbye.”