Chapter 8: The Bureau of Tribulation Transference  

Nether Capital.  

In the Nether Palace, towering stone pillars—so massive they would take dozens of men to encircle—pierced the heavens. Vines densely coiled around the high walls, while countless talismans slithered like living creatures across their surfaces.  

Those were chains.  

Hundreds upon hundreds of colossal chains seemed to bind some enormous entity, their sight alone enough to send chills down one’s spine.  

A Ghost Messenger knelt in reverence, his chest still bearing the wound inflicted by Yu Qingjian. He kept his head lowered, not daring to look up. “My Lord, the Director of the Bureau of Tribulation Transference has been taken away by Yu Qingjian. This subordinate… has failed in his duty.”  

Atop a mound formed by countless chains, Feng Hui sat at the highest point, his features barely discernible.  

“Losing to Du Shangheng’s Spirit Attachment isn’t entirely shameful.”  

The Ghost Messenger froze.  

How did the Lord know?  

Most spirits in the Nether Palace were aware of their formidable Lord’s disdain for Du Chongjun. Not daring to dwell on the Spirit Attachment, he ventured, “However, this subordinate heard upon arrival that Yu Qingjian has already returned to the Bureau of Tribulation Transference. With Pei Wu Xie absent, this subordinate is willing to atone for his failure by personally retrieving the Director.”  

Feng Hui scoffed.  

Trembling with fear, the Ghost Messenger cautiously lifted his gaze—only to stiffen in shock.  

For centuries, the Lord of the Nether Palace had maintained the same disheveled appearance: unbound ink-black hair and tattered black robes. Yet today, for some unknown reason, he had finally discarded those fire-scorched garments.  

The man now wore new robes of black and red, exuding an ancient grandeur. His lapels were adorned with dark golden tassels, their intricate patterns shimmering like flowing rivers of gold. Even his once-loose hair was now partially tied up with a crown.  

The Ghost Messenger blinked in disbelief before hurriedly lowering his head, not daring to look further.  

Had the Lord suddenly changed his ways?  

“The Bureau of Tribulation Transference gaining a new Director is cause for celebration. Why resort to violence?” The Lord seemed in good spirits as he lazily remarked, “Send Zhang Que to the Bureau. Have him deliver my congratulations to this new Director.”  

The Ghost Messenger jolted, recalling the rampant rumors circulating through the Nether Capital.  

Had the two truly shared a past?  

“As you command.”  

Shaking with trepidation, the Ghost Messenger rose and retreated. Just before leaving, he stole one last glance—as if compelled by some unseen force.  

Atop the mountain of pitch-black chains, a massive shadow seemed to slither silently past. Feng Hui lounged there in his new robes, fingers idly stroking something unseen. His half-lidded eyes revealed a sinister vertical pupil.  

—It resembled a dragon, yet carried the chilling aura of a serpent.  

Feng Hui abruptly lifted his gaze.  

The Ghost Messenger stiffened, limbs locking in place.  

But today, the Lord was in an exceptionally good mood. Without reprimand, he merely smiled and flicked his wrist. The heavy doors groaned shut with a creak.  

Drenched in cold sweat, the Ghost Messenger staggered away, the terror of his narrow escape flooding his mind.  

***  

Li Changsheng drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of being carried on someone’s back. His throbbing right arm hung limp.  

His mind felt as though it were being torn apart. Fragmented memories—sharp as shattered glass—pierced his consciousness like blades.  

Someone sat beside him, silhouetted against the light, their face indistinct. Their voice was calm, devoid of inflection.  

“…A half-demon with meager cultivation yet grand ambitions. How dare a lowly creature covet the Child of the Heavenly Dao? Will you truly debase yourself for the sake of an impure-blooded serpent demon?”  

“…”  

No answer came—only labored breathing, ragged with pain.  

The voice seemed to chuckle. Then came agony—excruciating, as though his wrist were being torn apart. A deafening roar filled his ears, mingling with the man’s icy words.

“In that case, this hand…”

A faint *ding* sounded.

It seemed to be the chime of a golden bell.

Li Changsheng abruptly opened his eyes, his pupils unfocused and dazed, struggling to clutch his right hand.

“No…”

“Hey! Don’t move around!” An unfamiliar voice buzzed noisily in his ear, gripping his right forearm to stop him from flailing.

Li Changsheng’s forehead was drenched in cold sweat as he blinked in confusion.

His vision gradually cleared, and the first thing that came into view was the pale face of a ghost.

Li Changsheng: “…”

Had he died from excessive blood loss?

Where was this? The underworld?

Noticing his open eyes, the bloodless ghost immediately grinned with delight—this specter must have been a hanged ghost, for as soon as it opened its mouth, its tongue flopped out with a *splat*, dangling absurdly long.

“You’re awake?”

Li Changsheng: “…”

Li Changsheng closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

“Wonderful!” The hanged ghost cheered, deftly rolling its tongue back in and mumbling, “Don’t move your right hand around. It’s just scabbed over—don’t tear it open again… Lord Yu! Go inform Lord Yu, the Director has woken up!”

Li Changsheng watched as the hanged ghost floated away, then glanced around.

Black magpie branch patterns—the Nether Capital.

This was the Bureau of Tribulation Transference.

Li Changsheng raised a hand to press against his forehead, inexplicably recalling that shocking declaration of “ravish first, kill later,” and thought, *My life is over.*

Now that he was in the Nether Capital’s territory, wasn’t he at the mercy of that “fake Dragon God” to toy with his life as he pleased?

This was truly dire.

Weak from blood loss, his lips pale, Li Changsheng struggled to sit up.

When Yu Qingjian hurried over, he found the newly appointed Director slumped weakly against the pillow, his right hand limp and pale against his abdomen, while his uninjured hand held a long pipe, its jade mouthpiece clenched between his teeth as he exhaled wisps of smoke.

His face was pallid, his features half-hidden in the swirling white smoke, the sickly pallor making him seem as fragile as mist, ready to dissipate at a touch.

Yu Qingjian was momentarily stunned by this languid, decadent beauty.

It took him a moment to recover before he bowed slightly. “Director.”

Li Changsheng gave him a weary sidelong glance, took another worried drag from his pipe, and sighed.

The Bureau’s staff couldn’t defy the Nether Palace’s master—what hope did he have of saving his own life?

Ah well. No saving this. Might as well wait for death.

The Bureau was full of vengeful spirits; as long as one’s soul wasn’t scattered, recovery was possible—a few days soaking in the Yellow Springs, and they’d be lively again.

But the ghosts had never seen a human so fragile that a mere wrist injury could leave him unconscious for three whole days. Rumors of the new Director’s rare beauty had spread, and they now crowded at the doorway, peering in eagerly.

Yu Qingjian listened to the chattering outside, glanced back, and the ghosts immediately scattered like startled birds.

Seeing Li Changsheng still looking troubled, Yu Qingjian offered rare reassurance: “Director, there’s no need to worry. I’ve already summoned the Bureau’s physician—they’ll surely save your hand.”

Li Changsheng arched a brow, tilting his head. “My hand?”

Yu Qingjian hesitated. “Your right hand is severely injured. You may not regain full use of it.”

Li Changsheng was baffled.

His right hand had always been useless—even holding a sheet of paper was a struggle. Why the sudden concern…?

A flicker of understanding crossed his eyes. “No strength?”

Yu Qingjian nodded. “Though that ghost was a quack in life, sentenced to the Bureau to atone for killing patients with his malpractice. His diagnosis might not be accurate.”

Li Changsheng lowered his gaze, sighing theatrically, feigning despair. “Then perhaps it’s best I leave. No point dragging the Bureau down.”

Yu Qingjian glanced at the silent Mountain Ghost standing nearby.

He couldn’t tell whether the Mountain Ghost had recognized a new master or if there was another reason, but the fact remained that the Director Seal of the Bureau of Tribulation Transference had indeed acknowledged Li Changsheng.

Yu Qingjian, out of consideration for the Mountain Ghost, reluctantly offered some bureaucratic platitudes to console him: “Director, you need not belittle yourself. You bear Golden Merit and were chosen by the Heavenly Dao. Even the Mountain Ghost of Shangheng Chongjun obeys your command. You will surely revive the Bureau of Tribulation Transference.”

Li Changsheng: “…”

Shut up, Lord Yu!

Li Changsheng took a drag from his pipe, resigning himself to fate.

Having just woken up, he felt dizzy and lightheaded. Even after resting, there was no improvement. Frowning, he asked, “How long was I asleep?”

“Three days.”

Li Changsheng: “…”

His voice was as rough as if he had chewed a mouthful of gravel. After a long silence, he said, “So for three days, you just left me lying here without even giving me a sip of water?”

Yu Qingjian: “?”

Yu Qingjian’s face showed utter bewilderment—”You actually needed water?”—before belatedly realizing, oh right, mortals need to eat and drink.

“My oversight. I’ll have food prepared for the Director immediately.”

Li Changsheng listlessly grunted in acknowledgment.

Yu Qingjian turned to leave.

Li Changsheng called him back and slowly said, “I want the braised pork bowl from Zhucui Residence in Guihancheng—but make it vegetarian, using tofu instead of meat. Also, the signature roasted chicken from the neighboring shop—no ginger, wine, or vinegar. And bring a portion of glutinous rice osmanthus lotus root from Meiwailou, but don’t drench it in too much honey syrup.”

Yu Qingjian: “?”

Li Changsheng seemed to want to order more, but his throat was too uncomfortable. He weakly added, “This will do for now.”

Yu Qingjian: “…”

These past few days, Yu Qingjian had been replaying the events of that night at the Dragon God Temple, belatedly realizing that this man might have been hiding his abilities all along, subtly avoiding taking up the Director Seal.

Was his current pickiness another act—pretending to be “spoiled, fussy, and hard to please” to get himself expelled from the Bureau?

Yu Qingjian narrowed his eyes, observing closely.

Li Changsheng took another drag from his pipe and, noticing Yu Qingjian’s hesitation, asked, “What’s wrong?”

Yu Qingjian: “…”

Yu Qingjian silently drew a sharp breath, for he couldn’t detect even a trace of pretense on Director Li’s face.

Was this man truly this difficult to serve?!

Yu Qingjian had never met someone so picky, rejecting this and disliking that. After a long silence, as if wanting to curse, he glanced at the Mountain Ghost, took a deep breath, and suppressed his frustration. “Understood,” he said before leaving to make the arrangements.

Li Changsheng listlessly smoked for a while, the bitter tobacco practically marinating him in its scent.

Outside the room, ghosts drifted past, seemingly eager to catch a glimpse of this “Heaven-chosen Director” who could make even the sharp-tongued Lord Yu dance to his tune.

Li Changsheng called out, “Someone.”

Soon, a “someone” floated in through the door. “Director, how may I serve you?”

“Who is currently in charge of the Bureau?”

The hanged ghost replied, “The deputy is absent. Normally, it would be Lord Zhou, but he is currently in the Human Realm’s Little Fengdu, exorcising vengeful spirits. For now, Lord Yu is in charge.”

Li Changsheng: “…”

Yu Qingjian was the least reliable option.

Li Changsheng then asked solemnly, “Is there anyone in the Bureau capable of standing against the Nether Palace Master?”

The hanged ghost gasped in alarm. “D-D-Director, the Sealed Palace Master holds a special status—even the ruler of the Nether Capital gives him face. Though we in the Bureau despise him, no one dares to provoke him at the Nether Palace.”

Li Changsheng was puzzled. “Disgust? Why?”

The hanged ghost cautiously replied, “Because the Sealed Palace Master… once showed disrespect to Shangheng Chongjun. Centuries ago, he attempted to desecrate the corpse and sent people to destroy many of Chongjun’s sacred statues and temples. This time, it seems the deputy envoy killed a few malevolent spirits from the Nether Palace who were vandalizing Chongjun’s statues, which is why he was summoned to the Nether Capital for questioning.”

Li Changsheng furrowed his brows.

From the sound of it, no one in the Bureau of Tribulation Transference dared to confront that “fake Dragon God” head-on.

So where was the path to survival in the Bureau?

Li Changsheng wanted to ask more, but suddenly, noises erupted outside, accompanied by chattering and clamoring.

The hanged ghost hurriedly floated out to look and paled. “Director, it’s the Punishment Enforcement Bureau!”

“The Punishment Enforcement Bureau?”

“The Punishment Enforcement Bureau is subordinate to the Nether Palace. Those arrogant fools always follow the Sealed Palace Master’s lead.”

Damn, Yu Xiaoyan. Li Changsheng’s heart skipped a beat. Was the Sealed Palace Master sending people to kill him now?

Was there still time to run?

Li Changsheng held his breath, preparing to play dead and pretend he didn’t exist.

Deafening shouts rose from below.

“…So what if I barged in?! It’s not the first time. Why the sudden temper this time? Oh, could it be you actually think your Bureau can be reborn just because you have a Heaven-chosen Director now?”

“Shut up! Do not blaspheme the Director!”

“Tch, it’s always the same line. My ears are calloused from hearing it. Oh? There’s even a statue of Du Shangheng here. Aren’t you afraid we’ll smash it again?”

“Silence! Do not blaspheme Chongjun!”

Li Changsheng: “…”

Currently, the only capable senior ghost in the Bureau was Yu Qingjian. The rest were mere Nether Souls without physical forms, utterly useless. When confronted, they could only whimper.

Outside, the whimpering resumed: “What do you think you’re doing?! Stop! Do not defile the prison! The fugitives inside were captured by our deputy envoy!”

“Scram! By order of the Sealed Palace Master, I’m here to retrieve this traitorous ghost. The Nether Decree is here. If you obstruct us, we won’t hesitate to use force. Don’t come crying to your deputy envoy if you get hurt.”

“Stop!”

Li Changsheng: “…”

They weren’t here for his life?

Before Li Changsheng could finish the thought, a trembling whimper came from outside: “Our Director is chosen by fate, selected by the Heavenly Dao! Chosen by the Director Seal! Such a Divine Being will surely solve this case! Director—! Director!”

Director Li: “…”

The hanged ghost stared at him expectantly.

Li Changsheng felt the urge to smoke again.

Though utterly vexed, he couldn’t very well play dead under such eager and desperate gazes. Slowly, he rose, draping the loose black crow-and-branch patterned robe Yu Qingjian had left for him over his shoulders, and sauntered out.

The hanged ghost opened the door and announced in a shrill voice, “The Director has arrived—!”

It sounded more like “The Emperor has arrived!”

His Majesty Li lazily stepped out.

Only then did he realize he was on the second floor of a hastily built wooden hut. The railings were covered in skeletal claws, and a crowd of Nether Souls hovered nearby, staring at him expectantly.

Li Changsheng: “…”

Li Changsheng didn’t bother going downstairs—mainly because he didn’t know where the stairs were. With the robe loosely draped over his shoulders, he leaned casually against the wooden railing and glanced down with half-lidded eyes. “Who are you taking?”

The Nether Souls of the Bureau, seeing their Director for the first time, immediately brightened. They whimpered and floated behind him, baring their teeth at the Punishment Enforcement Bureau members.

The visitor from the Punishment Enforcement Bureau appeared to hold considerable status, his handsome features offset by the long saber wreathed in baleful aura draped over his shoulder.  

Upon seeing Li Changsheng’s face, Zhang Que’s brow twitched slightly before he adopted a deliberately casual tone, though his voice grew noticeably quieter.  

“Greetings, Director Li—Regarding the case of the missing Karma in Nanyuan, the Bureau of Tribulation Transference has been withholding clues and delaying the investigation for half a month now. It’s only natural for our Punishment Enforcement Bureau to take over.”  

Li Changsheng tilted his head with a faint, mocking smile. “Natural, you say?”  

“Not natural at all!” The Nether Soul behind him, emboldened, bared its teeth fiercely, no longer whimpering. “The Punishment Enforcement Bureau keeps using this excuse to snatch our cases—it’s not the first time! They always strike when our Vice Director is away. If they had any guts, they’d wait till he returned! I bet they’re just scared of him!”  

Li Changsheng cast a glance downward and said coolly, “Understood? Withdraw your Nether Decree.”  

Zhang Que narrowed his eyes and suddenly remarked, “Director Li, you’ve only just taken charge of the Bureau of Tribulation Transference. There’s something you might not know yet.”  

Li Changsheng: “What?”  

“In five days, it will be the Ghost Festival. The Nine Bureaus will gather at the Double Spring Hall in the Nether Capital to tally this year’s Karma.” Zhang Que flashed a roguish grin. “The Bureau of Tribulation Transference has lost two Directors in three years, with hardly any Calamity Spirits and Resentful Souls to exorcise. Your Karma ledger is already in the red. If you don’t balance it before the Ghost Festival, your bureau might just be disbanded.”  

Li Changsheng froze.  

Disband the Bureau of Tribulation Transference…  

Then wouldn’t he, as its Director, be free?!  

Author’s Note:  

Li Changsheng: Splendid!