Chapter Twelve: The Inn of Shadows and Light

At that moment, my heart was as restless as a cat's claws. You must understand, I am still just a young man; apart from glimpses of women’s bodies in films from Japan, the most risqué sight I’d ever encountered in real life was the scenery at the swimming pool during summer. And now, Wan Juan stood before me, her skin like jade, faintly visible. I won’t pretend otherwise—my eyes were fixed on her, utterly stunned, for this girl was the only one I had truly liked during my university years.

Yet, just as suddenly, Chen Chuyi’s voice echoed in my mind. "Never turn back, or even the gods cannot save you." All of these were illusions, manifestations of my own subconscious forbidden territory. I needed to forget them completely—forget and move forward. So I ran, always forward.

I could almost smell that familiar scent, unique to her, yet my feet moved even faster, nearly at their limit. For I was running with my eyes closed; when I finally opened them, I felt a breath whispering at my ear.

"Xiao Dong, what’s wrong? Don’t you like me?" Her voice was full of temptation, but I had to endure. I recited all sorts of poetry from my youth inside my head—anything to forcibly distract myself.

"Xiao Dong, look at me, am I not beautiful?" Warm breath caressed my ear, tormenting me unbearably. I truly felt the urge to turn and glance, but I kept running, repeating my verses.

After about thirty minutes of running with my head down, the sky ahead seemed to brighten, though everything was bathed in a gloomy yellow. The atmosphere was eerie, but I couldn’t care about that; I plunged headlong into the haze.

Unexpectedly, as I entered the yellow mist, countless people appeared before me. Yet they were strange—every one wore burial garb, with handcuffs on their wrists. The women mostly had long hair draped over their shoulders, the men were pale-faced, and they floated as they walked.

Were these even people?

After two or three minutes, I sensed something odd. I kept moving forward, still not daring to look back, fearing this was another illusion. But the reality shocked me. I wandered there for about an hour, and aside from these ghostly figures, I saw taxis—peculiar vehicles, which from afar looked like paper cars, only gaining shape as you approached.

I moved along; though I too wore burial clothes, I walked normally, unlike those spirits who tiptoed.

After another three or four minutes, I saw a massive building ahead. It was peculiar: the long corridor I walked led straight to it, but beside the building was a dim, shadowy road.

Before the building stood someone resembling a modern gatekeeper. He was covered in countless chains, except for his hands and fingers—every other part of his body was bound.

Seeing him made me inexplicably tense. Moreover, it seemed all who passed had to be inspected by this figure, who pressed something onto their hands like a stamp.

I didn’t dare act rashly. I couldn’t tell if this was real or an illusion, but since I was here, I had no choice but to try.

I lined up behind a group; a young woman stood before me, probably just over twenty. These ghosts said nothing, moving forward in perfect order. When it was nearly my turn, I saw the chained man press a crimson seal on each ghost's forehead.

Though I didn’t know why, I dared not resist. An unsettling thought flashed through my mind: had I somehow arrived in the underworld?

That was the first idea that occurred to me.

"It’s your turn! Show your hand!"

Lost in thought, a cold voice reached my ears. I shivered and quickly extended my arm.

He pressed a finger to the back of my hand. Instantly, a chill shot through my body, making me tremble.

"Yin-Yang Master, go register at the Yin-Yang Inn!"

I nodded.

Then, bypassing the line, I hurried toward the grand building. As I entered, the swirling mist revealed its name: the Yin-Yang Inn.

The ghosts stamped on their foreheads passed by me, floating toward a dim, indistinct road rather than entering the inn.

Not far away, I saw a middle-aged man carrying a peachwood sword on his back. He walked with steady steps and an imposing air.

"Yang Dong, over here!"

He grinned at me and called my name.

I shuddered, instinctively recalling Chen Chuyi’s earlier warning, so I stood frozen.

Seeing me motionless, the middle-aged man strode over.

"Haha, not bad. My junior told me to wait for you at the Yin-Yang Inn. If you hadn’t arrived in three days, it would mean you could never return to the living. Today is the third day—good thing you made it!"

"Your junior? May I ask—"

"Haha, my junior is Chen Chuyi! I am Zhao Fifteen."

Hearing this, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy. The names Chuyi and Fifteen—what a perfect pair.

"Come, let’s go inside the Yin-Yang Inn!"

With that, Zhao Fifteen led me inside. Once within, I could see the inn's entirety. As we walked, Zhao Fifteen explained that the Yin-Yang Inn was a station between the living and the dead. Those suffering from life-threatening illnesses stayed here for seven days—an act of mercy from Ghost City, since many of them had greatly contributed to society. If accepted by the inn, their souls would be preserved for seven days; during that time, if someone came to retrieve their soul, they might recover. If no one came after seven days, they would enter Ghost City and, in batches, be sent to the underworld.

Along the way, I saw many strange ghosts, seemingly dining. I was quite puzzled—why would spirits need to eat? Zhao Fifteen explained that ghosts, like humans, needed to absorb incense offerings or paper money from time to time.

Incense kept their souls intact; paper money was their currency in the underworld.

As we spoke, Zhao Fifteen led me to a room upstairs.

As soon as I sat, he asked me to extend my hand.

I nodded, offering the hand that had been stamped by the chained man. Zhao Fifteen frowned slightly, then bit his own finger and wrote a large "Order" character on the back of my hand.

He traced a circle around it, then pointed.

He uttered a sharp word, and instantly, I felt a burning pain on my arm. The chilling energy that had been pressed into my hand was drawn out, rising as a cloud of black smoke.

"What is this?"

"It’s ghostly energy. Everyone entering Ghost City, whether human or spirit, must endure it. The stamp on their hand is their code, which stays with them until reincarnation. For Yin-Yang Masters crossing into the underworld, a chill is injected into their hand, which must be removed at the Yin-Yang Inn. This process costs lifespan—it’s very taxing."

I knew this, just as the laws of Yin and Yang always come with their own flaws and dangers.

I had read about this in books!

Once the ghostly energy was completely removed from my hand, warmth spread through my body.

"All right, rest here for now. I’ll return soon to help you cross back to the living."