Dou Chunting looked sorrowfully at his cousin. His cousin wasn’t like this before, but now he was building his happiness on his younger brother’s suffering…
He regretted using popular internet slang with Liu 13. Sure, he knew Liu 13 was sensitive, but not this sensitive—grabbing onto a single keyword and exploding over it.
“That’s a misunderstanding. ‘Brainless’ isn’t mocking anyone!” Dou Chunting quickly searched for an explanation and showed the screen to Liu 13. “Look, it just means the drama is really sweet…”
Liu 13 stretched his neck over to look, still fuming. Then he turned to Lan He and even blamed him: “Your people don’t know how to talk!”
Lan He replied, “Forget it, forget it. We’re all family.”
Dou Chunting: “…”
“Who’s family with him?” Liu 13 grumbled. Although his posture relaxed slightly, there was no way he would admit he’d overreacted.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Liu 13’s commotion had been loud enough to alarm Song Qiyun, who happened to be passing by.
“Lan He, what are you doing?” Song Qiyun asked.
“Nothing, Director Song.” Lan He cracked the door open and peeked his head out.
Song Qiyun didn’t buy it. “Let me see.”
Lan He replied, “There’s an Immortal here. It’s pretty scary.”
Song Qiyun: “…”
Embarrassed, Song Qiyun felt that he kept losing face in front of Lan He. Why did he always seem terrified whenever there were supernatural beings around? He thought about how he’d been scared stiff by Old Bai’s “bloody handprint” last time. Determined to redeem himself, he pushed through the gap in the door.
Once inside, he saw a massive snake glaring coldly at him. Its size was such that it could easily swallow a person whole.
“…” Song Qiyun’s legs wobbled, and he clung to the wall for support. “Is this your pet? You can’t just bring it to the set.”
“Don’t worry, Director Song. It doesn’t bite.” Seeing Song Qiyun so frightened, Lan He even reached out to pat Liu 13. But the snake’s scaly texture made him gag involuntarily. “It won’t stay long… ugh.”
Liu 13: “…”
Your own snake, and you’re scared of it? Song Qiyun, seeing Lan He’s reaction, felt somewhat reassured and refrained from scolding further. “Just keep the noise down.”
With that, he left.
Lan He turned to Liu 13, who was glaring at him. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not the first time I’ve gagged. Anyway, can you talk about that foreign ghost now?”
Liu 13 huffed. Export porcelain, or Kraak ware, had been shipped abroad from the Ming Dynasty through the Qing Dynasty, overlapping with his era. He grumbled, “When foreign ghosts arrive in distant lands, some are guided back, while others reincarnate in the local underworld. When Chinese people die abroad, even the Impermanents have to cross the ocean to fetch their souls. You’ve never been on such trips, so you wouldn’t know.”
Song Futan recalled, “I’ve read about it. In the past, some Impermanents fetched souls in Europe. Although they’d never been there themselves, they could vividly describe the foreign landscapes.”
“Exactly. It’s because they didn’t want to reincarnate abroad,” Liu 13 explained. “Foreign ghosts smell like burning wood, with a hint of fragrance.”
What kind of smell was that? Lan He couldn’t quite imagine. “Alright, I’ll check on Xiao Yuqian tonight to see if he’s haunted by a foreign ghost. By the way, do you think the other buyers of that plate are also haunted? Is this a group haunting?”
“They won’t reveal much more. Auction houses have their rules,” Dou Chunting said.
Lan He sighed, “Fine…”
Might as well investigate first.
—
Since his room wasn’t fit for use yet, Lan He temporarily stayed next door in Song Futan’s room that night. Together, they left their bodies to investigate Xiao Yuqian’s room.
To avoid alerting the ghost, Lan He waited until late at night. Squatting by the door for a while, he suddenly caught a faint scent—like a damp forest burning. It was fragrant yet carried a cold, rotten undertone, making it unpleasant.
He suddenly remembered he had smelled this before. At the time, he hadn’t paid much attention and thought it might have been Xiao Yuqian’s cologne. Since Xiao often appeared on set with Yu Mengmeng, he always made sure to freshen up, even wearing cologne.
So this was it?
Lan He exchanged a glance with Song Futan and nodded.
When they entered the room, they saw a red-haired foreign ghost sitting on the bed. It seemed troubled by the Five Emperors’ Coins and unable to approach them.
The ghost turned to look at them and surprisingly spoke fluent Chinese: “Did you two also come to me in a dream? Get in line.”
Lan He: “…”
Momentarily speechless, Lan He quickly pulled out his uniform and put it on. “I’m an Impermanent. Do you know what that is, friend?”
The ghost replied, “Ah, I’ve heard of you. You’re the underworld police here. My apologies, Officer. Please go ahead.”
Lan He was exasperated. “…I’m not cutting in line!”
Lan He saw him wearing a Western court-style outfit and heard him speak fluent Chinese. She wondered if he had learned it in the underworld over the years. After all, Kraak porcelain was mainly exported during the Wanli period of the Ming Dynasty to the Kangxi period of the Qing Dynasty—quite a long time ago. Or perhaps…
Lan He: “Are you a missionary? Do you know Matteo Ricci?”
Foreigner: “???”
Foreigner: “What Ricci? What are you talking about?”
Song Futan noticed he was wearing an earring and asked, “How long have you been dead?”
Foreigner: “Since the year before last.”
Lan He: “I thought you were an old ghost, judging by how you’re dressed.”
Foreigner: “I was a model in Beijing. The day I died, I was on a photoshoot.”
Lan He: “…”
This misunderstanding was awkward. Lan He had thought he was some kind of ancient ghost.
“So, are you the previous owner of that porcelain piece? What’s your grudge? You disturb people’s sleep every day, causing drastic personality changes. If you’ve lived in Beijing, you should know to adapt to local customs. Even in the underworld, there are rules here. The living and the dead shouldn’t interfere with each other,” Lan He lectured him. “By the way, what’s your name? Where did you die?”
Song Futan, listening, realized this wasn’t Lan He’s usual demeanor. Upon reflection, it seemed like he was mimicking Wang Lili’s authoritative style.
“It’s not my fault his personality changed. My name is White,” the red-haired foreigner explained. “Yes, I was the last owner of this Kraak porcelain, but I meant well. I wanted to help and warn him to get rid of it. When I was alive, I bought a set of Kraak porcelain. I didn’t dream about it, but I did notice personality changes over time. No one warned me, and eventually, I died in a car accident. After I died, I discovered the porcelain was strange—it had an odd aura. But it was passed on to someone else, so I followed it and made its owners dream about leaving it. Otherwise, they’d end up like me.”
This set of porcelain was already affecting Xiao Yuqian greatly, and according to White, it had caused his fatal accident back then.
“It’s not your fault?” Lan He scrutinized him. While he seemed to have unresolved feelings, there wasn’t much malice in his eyes. Based on his explanation, the dreams were connected to him, but the personality changes stemmed from the porcelain itself—a combination of influences.
Lan He glanced at the porcelain plate Xiao Yuqian had stored in a box. Thick dark energy emanated from it.
“So, where did you buy it? Do you know what happened to its previous owner?”
White looked helpless: “I don’t know. It was like this when I bought it. The seller told me it was part of a batch looted from a Portuguese ship and once treasured by Southeast Asian royalty. I always found it strange—almost like it had a cursed power. Could it be connected to royal secrets, Southeast Asian witchcraft, or even… was it made with cremation ashes?”
White’s wild guess left Lan He momentarily unsure. “Wait a moment. Provide me with all the information you have, and I’ll investigate further. By the way, were you also responsible for the dreams of the other buyers?”
“Yes, it was me! They split the set up and sold the pieces separately. I’ve been running around every night delivering dreams—it’s exhausting!” White sighed.
Lan He almost laughed. “Then tell me about the other buyers as well.”
It just so happened that the auction house wouldn’t disclose this information. If White’s story was truthful, he had been tragically harmed by the porcelain—dying young and left to linger over it to prevent others from suffering the same fate.
If this was indeed the obsession of the previous owner, it had led to haunting the subsequent owners. But his intentions were good.
…
The next day, Lan He turned over in Song Futan’s arms: “Wake up, time to work.”
Song Futan hugged her and spoke his mind: “The alarm hasn’t gone off yet, and no animals are disturbing us…”
Lan He: “Help! The scriptwriter wants to seduce me!”
As the two bantered, a knock sounded on the door: “Cousin, cousin, cousin!”
Song Futan: “…”
There were no animals, but there was a pesky cousin.
Song Futan opened the door and let Dou Chunting in. “Up at five?” Lan He had set an early alarm for his filming schedule, but Dou Chunting’s schedule wasn’t as tight—he could’ve slept in.
“I never went to sleep,” Dou Chunting said excitedly. “Sister-in-law, did you catch the ghost?”
“Well… you could say we caught it, but it might not be related to the ghost.” Lan He recounted last night’s events. “We need to verify some things.”
“There’s more to it?” Dou Chunting began to brainstorm. “I’ll go ask around later.”
Dou Chunting, feeling a sense of purpose, leveraged his family’s connections to investigate the buyers and the seller who had sold the porcelain to White.
When Dou Chunting returned, he had a clearer picture. “Phew, I found out who sold the porcelain to White—it was someone from an antique shop in Beijing.”
Lan He: “And the seller? Can we trace what happened to previous owners?”
“That guy mostly dealt in grave goods and has already been arrested.” Dou Chunting sipped some water.
Grave goods, or burial artifacts, were shady business—rarely undertaken by most due to the bad luck they carried. Selling such cursed items to others was especially unscrupulous.
“Arrested?” Lan He muttered. “Do we need Wang Lili’s help?”
“Wait a moment, I asked Grandpa to contact an expert in ancient ceramics today. Let’s consult him first,” Song Futian said, as he was investigating the matter academically.
Song Futian made a video call to the expert and sent over the photos.
The elderly man stared at the photos for a while. Although they weren’t the actual objects, he could still discern some details. He said, “This… was previously in the hands of that Lai guy?”
He was referring to someone already in prison—a notorious figure. This was just a nickname; the elderly man, being well-acquainted with the antiques circle in the capital, knew about this person.
“There isn’t much information available on Kraak porcelain, but since you said it came from Lai San, I have some idea. You’re saying this was once part of a Southeast Asian royal collection? I don’t think that’s likely—Lai San didn’t have those connections,” the expert adjusted his glasses. “In academia, there are two views on Kraak porcelain: one is that it was solely for export, and the other is that Kraak porcelain was also sold domestically.”
Lan He was stunned. Domestic sales? Did this mean the porcelain wasn’t worth its original price?
Since he wasn’t visible in the video call, he could only look at Song Futian in confusion.
Song Futian asked, “Are you suggesting that all the previous owners of this piece were Chinese?”
If that were the case, it might be easier for them to trace the history. If the previous owner were indeed some foreign royal family, where would they even start to figure out what had happened?
The expert said, “Tsk… Let me put it this way: with the quality of this plate, we Chinese wouldn’t collect it. It was made for foreign buyers to admire, with thin bodies and glazes, and wasn’t practical—it’s not durable!”
At that time, the wealthy wanted exquisite porcelain, and the poor wanted durable items. This piece appealed to neither group. Who would it have been sold to domestically?
Song Futian already had a vague suspicion. Looking at the damaged marks on the porcelain, he said, “If the body was thin, wouldn’t there have been many defective pieces during the firing process?”
The expert laughed, “Exactly! These marks might not necessarily be due to poor preservation; they could have been there right out of the kiln. These defective pieces were the only ones sold domestically. And who would buy them? Families arranging funerals, using them as grave goods. The first owner of this piece was likely a deceased person!”
Dou Chunting was speechless. “…No way.”
So, Lai was really good at spinning tales. A burial object was exaggerated into a royal collection piece. Moreover, due to the lack of information in subsequent auctions, many buyers, like Xiao Yuqian and others with partial knowledge, ended up purchasing it.
In reality, the item had never even left the country but had instead been buried in a tomb for a long time.
“No wonder… if it’s a grave good,” Lan He realized.
If it were an antique, one would have to figure out what had happened to its owner to make the object so “ominous.” But if its owner had been deceased from the start, the explanation became clear.
Even if they couldn’t find the original owner, they could make some educated guesses. Tomb curses were common enough. Alternatively, if the tomb owner had died violently, the properties of the burial goods might have been affected. Long-term display at home might influence the owner’s temperament.
“Xiao Song, is there someone else with you?” The expert heard Lan He mumbling but didn’t ask to see him. “Are you writing a script about this, or did you come into possession of this porcelain? I’d advise you to get rid of it. It’s most likely a grave good.”
“I’m just looking into it. Thank you very much,” Song Futian politely ended the call.
—
“Brother, what should we do with this porcelain? Selling it directly doesn’t seem right,” Dou Chunting said.
“Take it to a temple for purification rituals. That might help dispel its negative energy,” Lan He suggested. “But even so, now that people know it’s a grave good, many wouldn’t want to keep it, let alone pay for it. They might just sell it off.”
Indeed, several owners were already discussing selling it back to the auction house.
Dou Chunting stood up and said, “I’ll handle this. Since White has been warning people not to keep it around, and we know it might be a grave good, we should show some responsibility and not let it harm others. I’ll buy the pieces, have rituals performed, and then donate them to a museum.”
“A noble act—truly a city hero,” Lan He applauded.
Dou Chunting modestly bowed. “Thank you. Cousin, give me that expert’s contact information. I need to negotiate the price.”
Dou Chunting then informed Xiao Yuqian that the porcelain was likely a burial object.
Xiao Yuqian broke out in a cold sweat, thinking the tomb owner had been haunting his dreams. He immediately wanted to visit a temple to pray. Dou Chunting didn’t go into details, as it would only make Xiao Yuqian more anxious.
Dou Chunting simply said he would buy the porcelain and have rituals performed. Xiao Yuqian refused to take any money, claiming he had offended the deceased and thanking Dou Chunting for his help. Not only that, Xiao Yuqian himself planned to find a place to pray; it was just too unlucky.
Dou Chunting contacted the other owners and collected the entire set of burial porcelain. The buyers had already noticed something strange about the items and, upon learning they were grave goods, reacted similarly to Xiao Yuqian—nobody dared profit from them.
Finally, Dou Chunting brought the Kraak porcelain to Juehui Temple, where monks performed rituals to dispel its ominous aura.
—
Outside the temple, White stood watching the porcelain placed on an incense-filled table as monks chanted sutras. He looked utterly amazed.
Lan He asked, “Now that your wish has been fulfilled, are you planning to move on? If you want to go, I can speak to my colleagues to see if they can contact the underworld department of your country to escort you.”
“I don’t want to leave,” White replied. “I’ve worked in China for ten years, and I’ve stayed here for two years after my death. I think it’d be nice to be reborn here. Besides… this chanting gives me a sense of peace.”
Lan He understood. Many foreigners embraced religion, and it seemed White had been influenced by Buddhism.
Lan He said, “Alright, let me contact the local underworld officials to see if they can take you to wait for reincarnation. If you haven’t done anything immoral, with the merit of warning others after your death, you should be able to get in line for a human reincarnation.”
“What? Officer, can’t you escort me there yourselves?” White asked in confusion.
“Ah, I’m just a police officer; he’s the family member. Besides, I’m from a different department,” Lan He had to explain to White the difference between their Eastern Peak Underworld and the regular Underworld. “Hold on, just a moment.”
Yan San was patrolling nearby and arrived shortly after. “So, this is the ghost you’re talking about who wants to convert? Sure, no problem.”
He had a long string of ghosts trailing behind him, so many that the rope wasn’t long enough.
Lan He pulled out his own chain. “Brother Yan San, let me help you with this. You’re so busy—didn’t they say there’s less work now than before?”
“What do you think? Fewer tasks mean layoffs for us reapers, too. Can’t just keep idle hands around,” Yan San grumbled, muttering under his breath about how bosses are the same in both the living and the dead worlds.
White kept staring at Yan San. “Why doesn’t he wear a mask?”
Since his death, White had only seen Lan He and Song Futian. He thought all reapers covered their faces. Not only was Yan San unmasked, but he would occasionally stick out his long tongue.
“I’m an exception. Generally, we don’t wear masks,” Lan He explained.
Yan San chuckled. “Speaking of those masks, it’s all the talk in the Underworld now. They’re wondering why the infamous Lord Lai keeps his face covered so much. What do you actually look like?”
As Lan He gained fame in the Underworld, naturally, some ghosts grew curious about his face.
Most assumed he must be extremely ugly or have a horrifying death appearance, which was why he covered his face. Some even speculated that he altered his appearance.
Most Impermanents, being public servants, didn’t like wearing masks. Even if they looked terrifying, it served as a deterrent when capturing souls. Yan San and Old Bai, for instance, often stuck out their tongues as part of their intimidation.
But Lord Lai had always worn a mask. Even Yan San, who was on good terms with him, had never seen his face.
This led to a betting frenzy among ghosts—especially those in the capital—on what Lord Lai might look like. They noted that his eyes were fine, so did that mean his lower face had been crushed?
Lan He chuckled. “Everyone will find out eventually.”
Everyone dies eventually, so they’d see what he looked like when they joined the Underworld.
White decided to reincarnate in China, but seeing Yan San made him a bit nervous. On the way, he kept asking Yan San and Lan He about what life in the Underworld was like.
Before reincarnation, he would have to spend some time in the Nether City.
On the Yellow Springs Road, Lan He said to White, “Don’t worry. When the time comes, I’ll ask someone to burn you some paper offerings. You can wait for your turn to reincarnate in peace. Besides, your Mandarin is fluent, so communication won’t be an issue. You might even find other foreign ghosts who’ve decided to stay and reincarnate here. You could make friends.”
White nodded repeatedly. “Will I see you in the city?”
Lan He replied, “I told you, I’m not with the main office.”
White sighed. “Oh… I’m just worried about encountering local thugs or gangs.”
Lan He laughed, impressed by his concern. “Relax. China has great law enforcement, and even the Underworld is honest and straightforward.”
White nodded in relief.
As they spoke, White noticed a stall on the roadside. He locked eyes with the vendor.
The vendor first saw Song Futan and showed a complicated expression. Then, he noticed Lan He, and his whole body shivered. The vendor thought to himself, *Why is this Eastern Peak Reaper here again? Is he here to cause trouble? I’ve heard he’s gotten fiercer these days.*
Lan He smiled.
An old acquaintance. The last time he and Song Futian had come to the Underworld—actually, their first time here—this guy had tried to sell them buns, intending to trap them. Netherworld food isn’t something the living can casually eat.
Now that the seasons had changed, the vendor had switched businesses. No longer selling buns, he was now peddling fruits: apples, grapes, oranges, watermelons—you name it. Just a moment ago, he was enthusiastically calling out to ghosts to buy.
“Hey, changed your trade?” Lan He stepped forward, and the vendor immediately took a step back, clearly haunted by memories of Lan He—no surprise, given Lan He’s reputation had grown. He was now known to be both wealthy and fierce.
The vendor forced a smile. “Yes, sir. Would you, um, like some fruit?”
As soon as he finished speaking, his face filled with regret and fear. He worried that Lan He might interpret his words as a challenge. “I didn’t mean it that way! I really didn’t mean to offend you!”
Lan He smiled. “Relax. So, are your melons guaranteed to be ripe?”
The vendor froze.
“Mercy, my lord!” the vendor cried, shoving the melons toward Lan He before turning to flee. *If I can’t afford to offend him, I can at least avoid him!*
White watched as the vendor abandoned his stall and fled. “…?”
Did he ask the wrong person? Was this what they called “honest and straightforward” in the Underworld?
Author’s Note:
Lan He: They’re all relatives—spare Dou Chunting, okay?
Liu 13: Still doesn’t know he’s the fourth in line…
Lord Lai just has a thug reputation, no need to be concerned 😂