Chapter 1: Have I Taken the Wrong Soul?

Ming Dai stood in the bustling service hall, still feeling quite lost. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that even a ghost would be bewildered here. Was this the Underworld?

Looking around at the staff busy at their posts, all dressed in suits and ties, and hearing the constant chiming of the number announcer, if it weren't for the giant electronic screen above scrolling the words: "Underworld Service Hall, Wholeheartedly at Your Service!" Ming Dai would have thought she was at a government office running errands.

She sighed. With a mindset of accepting her fate—dead was dead—she glanced at the ticket in her hand and found a place to sit.

All Ming Dai could remember was coming home from work last night, having just finished preparing a delicious meal, and before she could enjoy it, she heard someone call her name. In a daze, she followed the voice without knowing why.

As a long-time single woman living alone, she was always extremely cautious. There was no way she would just go with someone who called her. Especially since the person calling her had a shifty look—young, in a suit, trying to look proper but holding what looked like a fire poker, calling her name as he walked.

Yet her body moved without her consent, unconsciously following him. By the time she regained her senses, she was already in a car with the young man. They sped off, and her next memory was standing at the entrance to this service hall, with the young man shoving a ticket with her number into her hand.

Seeing the words "Underworld Service Hall" and "Reincarnation Office" on the windows, she was finally certain—this wasn't a movie set. She was truly dead.

Ming Dai came from a family steeped in medicine. Her maternal grandfather’s ancestors had been imperial physicians, a true family of healers. Her grandfather was among the first to study medicine abroad and, before retirement, was a renowned hospital director in the capital. Her parents were both research-obsessed scientists, so she was raised by her grandparents, barely seeing her parents once a year—they were the most familiar strangers.

Both sets of grandparents showered her with all their love, making her study traditional Chinese medicine from a young age, then western medicine in high school. Her entire childhood was spent buried in books and exams. Even in university, she was forced to pursue two degrees, a hardship that left her permanently weary.

But her grandparents genuinely adored her, always giving her the best. She never wanted for anything. When they passed, they bypassed their own children and left all their inheritance to her.

Suddenly unmoored, Ming Dai began to drift through life, opening a medicinal cuisine shop, hiring her senior to run it, coming and going as she pleased, traveling whenever she wished. With money, time, and no one to control her, her life became an endless cycle of eating, drinking, and merrymaking. She never thought of dating, let alone marriage, planning to enjoy herself for the rest of her days.

Unfortunately, joy turned to tragedy. Somehow, she had taken things too far.

She hoped her senior would remember their appointment to discuss prescriptions the next day and come looking for her if she couldn’t be reached. Otherwise, in this summer heat, even with air conditioning, she worried she might rot at home.

Lost in her thoughts, someone took the seat next to her.

She turned to look and saw a middle-aged man, his face mangled from an accident, holding his barely attached arm in one hand and gripping a ticket in the other, peering at it with his one remaining bloodshot eye, in the classic subway-elderly-struggling-to-read-phone posture.

But his vision was obscured by blood, so he couldn’t make out the number.

Ming Dai glanced at her own ticket: 438. She grimaced. What terrible luck!

She looked at the man’s ticket and softly told him, “Sir, yours is 439.”

Half of the man’s head and one ear on the side closest to Ming Dai were gone, so she had to move to his other side and say loudly, “Sir! Yours is 439!”

This time, he heard her and thanked her cheerfully, “Thank you, miss! Lucky it’s 439. Just missed 438 by one. I wonder who’s so unlucky to get that number. Must be someone who died in a real mess.”

As he only had one ear left, his voice was booming, and the entire hall turned to look. All the ghosts checked their own numbers.

The next moment, the loudspeaker called, “Number 438, please proceed to window 14 for reincarnation services. Number 438, please proceed to window 14.”

Ming Dai: No wonder you died so miserably—there’s a reason!

Feeling the scorching gazes on her back, she walked up to window 14.

Behind the counter sat a staff member with such dark circles under her eyes they nearly dropped to the floor, looking like she’d died of overwork herself.

Ming Dai sat down and placed her ticket in the slot.

“Beep. Honored ghost number 438, hello. I am the 38th staff member of the Underworld Service Office, sincerely at your service.”

Ming Dai watched her forced smile and trembling, weak voice and thought she might just die a second time.

“Hello.”

The 38th staff member scanned her ticket, and a person’s information appeared on the screen.

“Hello, let me confirm your basic details once more: Ming Dai, female, aged 35, died of sudden cardiac arrest due to overwork at 8 p.m. on March 30, 2333, in Room 1308, Rose Apartments, Capital City...”

Listening to her mechanical recitation and seeing the unfamiliar face on the screen, Ming Dai began to feel uneasy.

“Um, miss?”

The staffer’s pale lips twitched into a stiff smile. “Hello, do you have any questions?”

Ming Dai spoke timidly, “I think this isn’t me. My name uses the character for ‘pink’ not the ‘dynasty’ character.”

The forced smile on the other’s face vanished instantly. The staffer’s half-closed eyes flew open, her bloodshot eyeballs nearly popping out.

She lunged at the computer screen, diving halfway in, frantically rummaging through files, papers flying everywhere inside.

After several frantic checks, she confirmed the name wasn’t entered wrong. In other words—a soul had been collected in error!

Utterly defeated, she pulled her head out of the screen with a ‘pop,’ then her neck stretched out with a whoosh, snaking through the glass right up to Ming Dai’s face.

Only then did Ming Dai notice how large the 38th staffer’s eyes were—double-lidded, but filled with bloodshot streaks.

After a piercing scream, a crowd swarmed around them, and both Ming Dai and the staffer—computer and all—were escorted to a conference room.

Ming Dai found herself alone in the empty room, while a friendly ghost girl who had died by hanging brought in a pile of food and drinks for her.

Sipping avocado-almond yogurt, Ming Dai looked through the glass at the commotion outside.

The 38th staffer was banging her computer on the head of the young man who’d brought Ming Dai here, berating him furiously. The one being scolded was the very same young man who had led her to the Underworld.

Tsk, tsk—just look at that workplace accident!

Ming Dai slurped her milk tea and eavesdropped, gradually piecing together what had happened.

She had been mistakenly collected by the newly appointed Black Impermanence!

Tears slid down her cheeks as she gnawed on an almond. She never thought the most tragic thing in life would happen to her.

She was dead, and her money was unspent!

Thinking of the long string of zeroes in her account, she resolved—they must send her back!

While she listened to the staffer’s unrelenting, albeit clean-tongued, scolding, another ghost arrived.

This time, it was a tall, cold, imposing man with long legs and broad shoulders.

He listened with a frown for a while, glanced into the conference room, and saw Ming Dai chewing on a chicken leg, sipping a soda, and watching the drama—his headache only deepened.

Finally, the three ghosts entered. By then, Ming Dai was full.

The trio sat opposite her, making Ming Dai a bit nervous.

*Hiccup.*

The three ghosts stood up and gave her a deep bow. “We’re sorry!”

Ming Dai blinked. “No need for that, just send me back.”

The young man who had collected her looked up, mourning, “We can’t send you back. Your body has already been cremated. Waaaah!”

“What?!”