Episode 1: An Accidental Journey to the Underworld (Revised)

War was on the verge of breaking out; the very air was thick with the scent of impending conflict.

Inside the room, one man wore a sullen expression, the other remained impassive. They faced each other in silent confrontation. Obsidian seethed over the other’s opportunism, a dull ache twisting in his stomach, while Yama’s thoughts lingered on the way Obsidian had just wiped his mouth, his expression complicated. In truth, he hadn’t lied—he merely intended to pass the Soul-fixing Pearl to Obsidian.

Fuming, Obsidian sized up the scoundrel before him—the one who had taken advantage of him. He was tall, even taller than Obsidian’s own impressive height, with features as finely sculpted as a statue, eyes deep and dark as obsidian, skin unnaturally pale, and lips so bloodless they were nearly colorless.

Obsidian couldn’t help but grumble to himself: this man certainly looked the part—he could pass for a celebrity back home—what a pity his character left so much to be desired.

“What’s going on here?” came a voice as Gilt Lantern entered, taking in the menacing atmosphere between Yama and Obsidian.

Hearing this, Obsidian glanced over. The newcomer, too, was dressed in ancient garb, a light blue robe draped elegantly over his frame, his face wreathed in an ever-present smile—though it never quite reached his eyes, where the occasional glimmer betrayed a mind busy scheming. To Obsidian, he seemed like a modern corporate elite transported to an ancient setting.

One word surfaced in Obsidian’s mind as he looked at this man: a smiling tiger.

Gently pushing Yama aside, Gilt Lantern stood before Obsidian, smiling. “Young man, welcome to the Underworld. I hope you’ll forgive our lord for any lack of hospitality.”

Obsidian’s temper, inexplicably fanned by these words, flared ever higher. He snapped, “Is this really a matter of forgiveness? It’s a matter of character! What kind of person takes advantage of someone when they’re down?!”

Yama’s brow furrowed at this, and he shot a cold glare at Obsidian.

Obsidian sprang up, stomped over, and shouted, “You think you didn’t?! Was it a pig who just stole a kiss from me? You’re a grown man—too cowardly to admit you took advantage, are you? If you’ve got the guts, why not let me return the favor?!”

Yama looked down at the furious man before him—and for a fleeting moment, the face overlapped with one from his memory.

But in that memory, the man had said it with a smile.

“If you feel I’ve wronged you, Yunqing, then take it back—it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

So Yama, dazed, simply replied to Obsidian, “Alright.”

Obsidian was stunned, pointing at him in speechless outrage. After a long moment, he finally stammered, blushing furiously, “You… you… how can you be so shameless?!”

Gilt Lantern, watching from the side, nearly burst with suppressed laughter. Absentmindedly stroking his chin, he wondered—could it be possible? This man’s temperament was worlds apart from that other.

Yama, regaining his composure, shot a glance at Gilt Lantern, who was still grinning at the side. “He’s yours,” he said, and with a swirl of his sleeve, he departed.

Gilt Lantern cleared his throat softly and asked, “So, do you understand your current predicament?”

Obsidian, still stamping his feet in anger, paused and blinked. “My predicament? What predicament? Am I not still dreaming?”

With a sigh, Gilt Lantern looked at him with a touch of sympathy. “Boy, you’re in the Underworld now!”

He expected Obsidian to blanch at this—but, to his surprise, Obsidian merely shrugged indifferently. “And?”

“Well, you know how it is—no one here gets a free ride. The Underworld doesn’t keep idlers,” Gilt Lantern replied, watching for his reaction.

“So, what do you propose?” Obsidian echoed his tone mockingly.

How interesting, Gilt Lantern thought, quietly amazed. He chuckled and took out an abacus. “Naturally, I propose we settle accounts. Because of your arrival, our staff wasted at least three days of work. Let’s set the lowest daily wage at forty copper coins. We have about two thousand five hundred employees—not counting the odd ones. That’s four hundred taels of silver lost per day, which, by your world’s reckoning, is thirty-two thousand yuan. In three days…”

Obsidian cut him off hastily. “How is it my fault they weren’t working?”

Gilt Lantern withdrew his abacus, his eyes crinkling with a smile that didn’t reach their depths. “They all went on strike to see you. How is that not your fault?”

A chill ran down Obsidian’s spine under Gilt Lantern’s gaze. “What’s there to see about me?”

Gilt Lantern hooked Obsidian’s chin with the abacus. “You look exactly like our ‘missing’ Lord Black Impermanence!” His eyes gleamed as he made his proposal. “How about this: take on the position of Black Impermanence in the Underworld. The monthly pay is three taels of silver. Repay your debt, and I’ll let you return to the living.”

The chance to return wasn’t something Obsidian would refuse. He knocked the abacus away from his chin and agreed instantly. “Deal.”

Watching Obsidian’s excitement, Gilt Lantern shook his head with a wry smile. “Black Impermanence actually outranks me—you’ve lucked out. That’s all I need to say. Lord Impermanence, please rest well. I’ll take my leave.”

“Oh, and a word of advice: You’ve just returned. It’s best not to go out at night in the Underworld.” With that, Gilt Lantern closed the windows and door behind him and left.

Obsidian tried to process the flood of information. He’d woken up here for reasons unknown; Yama, that poker-faced man, seemed to know him; and apparently, he was the spitting image of a missing Underworld official. Wait—a monthly salary of three taels, thirty-six a year, one hundred and eight in three years… It would take him at least eleven years to pay it all off! He’d been tricked!

Sighing deeply, Obsidian sat back on the bed—only to realize his hair now reached his waist.

The faint pain that had driven him to yell and rage moments ago began to spread, a fever building in his body, his organs wracked as if pummeled. He curled up in the corner of the bed, his face drained of all color. Against the red bite marks at the corner of his mouth, the pallor lent him an eerie, fragile beauty.

He tossed and turned, unable to control the cries he let out. Suddenly, a pair of hands gently propped him up. He felt himself pressed against something warm. Dazed, he opened his eyes to find himself in Yama’s arms. Anxiously, he protested, “Get out… get out, leave me alone…”

Yama paid him no heed. With a gentle touch, he stilled Obsidian’s struggles. “Noisy,” he muttered. Yes, noisy—this man was nothing like the one from his memories.

And yet, despite his words, Yama carefully pried open Obsidian’s tightly bitten lips, shielding them with his own arm to prevent further harm. Blood welled up instantly.

Yama seemed unfazed by the injury, focusing only on channeling spiritual energy into Obsidian, smoothing out the chaotic currents inside him and stabilizing the pearl’s power.

As Obsidian’s brow gradually relaxed, Yama finally felt reassured. He laid Obsidian on the bed, tucked him in, wiped the sweat from his face with a damp cloth, performed a quick hand seal, and changed him into clean clothes before leaving with his hands clasped behind his back.

Gilt Lantern was waiting quietly outside. Catching the faint scent of blood, he sighed, “Was this really necessary?”

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch,” Yama replied with a sidelong glance at his wound. He wasn’t lying—the injury was indeed superficial.

“If he truly returns and sees you treating yourself so carelessly, I doubt he’d let it go without a scene…”

…

When Obsidian awoke, the first thing he did was search for a mirror. Failing that, he studied his reflection in a basin of water by the bed.

His once light brown eyes were now pure, unblemished black. His hair, already long, now nearly brushed the floor. He looked like himself—yet somehow not, both familiar and foreign. For the first time, Obsidian felt estranged from the face he’d seen in the mirror since childhood.

He’d never been skilled at tying his hair. Staring at the glossy, midnight waves, he felt helpless. On someone else, it would be a pleasure to admire, but on himself, he’d rather cut it all off.

Just as he was fretting, he spotted a black hair ribbon by his pillow. Glancing around, he picked it up and tied his hair back, feeling much better.

He carefully analyzed his situation. Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it—but he resolved to gather information about Underworld etiquette and relationships. This was his first time here, after all. If he accidentally offended the wrong person, he’d be doomed.

A series of knocks sounded at the door. Without hesitation, Obsidian opened it—only to find no one there. With a sigh, he closed it again, perplexed. Did everyone in the Underworld enjoy playing pranks?

But when the third and fourth knocks yielded the same empty threshold, a cold shiver raced up Obsidian’s spine. Surely not—he’d only just arrived. Was he already being haunted by some mischievous ghost?