13. Tears Are a Man’s Best Dowry

Xia Lingyin’s gaze was filled with scrutiny, as if he were doubting the truth of Yu Dongxi’s words.

“That’s very touching—but I can’t neglect my duties or abuse my authority. Sorry.”

Yu Dongxi realized this guy was really hard to fool. Just as she was stuck on what to do next, a flash of red streaked past her with a “whoosh”—and the next second, the man in front of her was trapped under a red umbrella. The red umbrella gradually shrank, forming a small ring.

She then heard Xia Lingyin’s annoyed laugh: “Hey, Qiu Sui, was that really necessary?”

Qiu Sui ignored him and turned to Yu Dongxi. “Start searching. Quickly.”

So this was the so-called nonviolent noncooperation?

No, wait… Xia Lingyin didn’t plan to cooperate in the first place. In the end, fists really do speak louder than words.

She had to admit, the underworld was surprisingly high-tech— even their archive system was fully digitized. Before long, Yu Dongxi had located the Song family from Bingcheng.

The Song family was old money, a lineage that had endured for hundreds of years. It was a true aristocratic family. Most of its descendants had remained based in Bingcheng. Although not as large as before, the Song family was still thriving.

Yu Dongxi flipped through the family register from beginning to end, clicking her tongue as she went. Money, she thought—it really is something magical.

Finally, she turned to the current head of the Song family.

The present head was none other than Song Puyuan, the powerful figure behind the renowned Song Pharmaceutical Group in Bingcheng.

Yu Dongxi had heard of this name even when she was alive. The man had spent years living abroad and had only returned to the country in recent years. Although he was well-known, she had never associated him with the prestigious Song family.

Maybe because the guy had always seemed like a carefree slacker, Yu Dongxi found it hard to believe he could come from such a serious and disciplined family.

Now that they had a lead, the next step was to find Song Puyuan.

But for the moment, there was one more issue—

“Qiu Sui, what about him?” Yu Dongxi tilted her chin slightly toward the red umbrella. Xia Lingyin had been silent for a while—no one could tell if he had just accepted his fate… or passed out.

“It’s fine. He’ll be able to come out on his own once time’s up.”

Xia Lingyin: “……”

“All right then, let’s head out.”

“Mm.”

The clanging and banging sounds grew fainter until they completely disappeared. Xia Lingyin tentatively called out a few times: “Hey, Qiu Sui? Qiu Sui?”

Only silence answered him.

Xia Lingyin: “…” Damn it, Qiu Sui.

Given that the two of them were now dead, they obviously couldn’t just go looking for someone directly. Yu Dongxi had already thought of this long ago.

The little black dog wiggled and pushed its head out from under Qiu Sui’s arm. The feeling of freedom—it had been a long time. “Actually, I have an idea. Back when I was still alive, I saw several spirit mediums in the village. They said that descendants who share a bloodline can summon the soul of an ancestor, even if that ancestor has already reincarnated.”

“You sure know a lot,” Yu Dongxi said as she freed the little black dog from Qiu Sui’s arms.

“Of course…” The little black dog coughed a few times. “I get what you two are planning, but your plan is really incomplete. Your top priority now should be to find the guy first.”

What the little black dog said wasn’t wrong—their plan was indeed lacking. Now, it had offered them a new direction.

Standing at the exit of the Underworld, Yu Dongxi grabbed Qiu Sui’s arm and said, “We don’t know this guy at all, and showing up out of nowhere would be way too forward. Rich people like that are usually very superstitious. And since Song Puyuan doesn’t have a son… so—”

Yu Dongxi leaned in and whispered something into Qiu Sui’s ear.

After hearing it, Qiu Sui smirked and said, “Alright, I’ll go buy it.”

—

Recently, Song Puyuan had been extremely anxious. The reason was simple: he was already over forty but still had no children. Since he was young, he had been taught that children were an inseparable part of a family. Yet now, he still didn’t have one of his own.

He sighed. He wasn’t young anymore. The older he got, the more he craved the companionship of family and children.

Late at night, when everything was quiet, Song Puyuan sent away all the servants. His wife was already asleep, but he still couldn’t fall asleep himself. As usual, he poured himself a glass of red wine to help him sleep. He thought he’d toss and turn again like usual, barely getting any rest until the middle of the night.

To his surprise, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The red wine spilled on the floor.

In his dream, Song Puyuan saw many people—including his deceased parents.

It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of them. As soon as he saw them, his mother punched him hard in the chest. “You useless child! You’re already so old and still don’t have a single kid. When you’re old, you’ll realize how miserable that is. When you were younger, I kept nagging you to have a child early. And now look at you—nearly fifty, and still childless! Do you know how worried your father and I are down here?”

When he was young, they pressured him to get married. Now, in middle age, they pressured him to have kids.

Song Puyuan sighed, gently catching his mother’s hand. “Mom, I’m anxious too, but being anxious doesn’t solve anything.”

“You don’t look anxious at all!” his mother scolded, glaring at him.

“For Chinese people, your forties are the most critical time. If you don’t have children now, it’ll be difficult later on!”

“In first grade, it’s critical. Second grade determines your future. Third grade is no slouch either. Fourth grade is super important. Actually, fifth grade is the most crucial year of elementary school—but sixth grade is the most important transitional period before middle school,”

A sudden gust of cold wind blew through, and a bright light appeared in the distance. From the glow, two figures stepped forward—their features unclear, but one was tall and the other short.

“Seventh grade is the key. Eighth grade is the academic bottleneck. Ninth grade is the turning point. Tenth grade is another critical stage. Eleventh grade is a transitional period—you can’t slack off. Twelfth grade determines your life. Of course, college is also crucial. Your thirties and forties… even up until death—all are ‘critical moments.’ None of the above are my own words, they’re all from the so-called ‘experts.‘”

The two figures emerged from the light—a man and a woman. The man wore a long black coat and looked at them coldly. The woman looked young, wearing a hospital gown under her hoodie.

“But what I really want to say is—”

“Actually, the only truly critical moment in a Chinese person’s life… is the moment the sperm and egg meet. If you land in the right womb, you can avoid at least 80% of life’s troubles.”

Yu Dongxi tilted her head at Song Puyuan.
“Do you want to know… why you still don’t have a child?”

As expected of the Song family—an old, influential household—they really were different. Having seen much of the world, Song Puyuan quickly regained his composure. He shook his head and said, “My wife and I have both been checked at the hospital. All our health indicators are normal, but we still don’t have a child.”

“Oh, of course your bodies are fine. What’s not fine—is your ancestral tomb.”

Having been in business for many years, Song Puyuan had a certain belief in superstitions, especially when it came to feng shui, which he took very seriously. This was the first time he’d heard someone say there was a problem with his ancestral grave.

“I ask the immortal to enlighten me.”

“Ah, it’s a long story… but I’ll keep it short. It’s simple, really. One of your ancestors is causing trouble from the other side. You may need to summon their soul and have a talk with them.”

Song Puyuan hesitated for a moment, then asked,
“But may I ask which ancestor exactly are you referring to?”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that. Just follow the instructions. When you wake up, take three drops of blood from the tip of your middle finger and drop them into a bowl of clear water. Place a piece of yellow paper underneath the bowl, then set it on the rooftop.

And remember, until exactly noon the next day, not a single person must step onto that rooftop. If anyone does, I’m afraid no one will ever be able to help you have children.”

The next second, the two figures before him vanished instantly—and Song Puyuan suddenly woke up from his dream. His forehead was drenched in cold sweat. When he looked at the time, only two hours had passed. Wiping his forehead, Song Puyuan thought, No matter if it’s real or fake… it’s worth a try. I’ll try it.

He let out a deep sigh.

—

Meanwhile, Yu Dongxi suddenly woke up with a jolt, a wave of nausea surging through her. She fell to the ground, vomiting violently—but nothing came out.

Qiu Sui gently patted her back and said softly,
“I’m guessing Song Puyuan is already starting to take action.”

Yu Dongxi: “Ugh… no time to waste… blegh… we leave now…”

“The first time eating a Dream Pill is always hard. I told you I could go alone—why did you insist on taking it too?”

Dream Pills—just as the name suggests—are pills that let you enter a living person’s dream after swallowing them. When Yu Dongxi entered the Underworld, there were small vendors selling Dream Pills on both sides of the Naihe Bridge.

“I’m going,” Yu Dongxi wiped her mouth. “Let’s leave quickly. It’s about time to get ready.”

“Dongxi, why are you pushing yourself so hard?” Qiu Sui looked at Yu Dongxi’s red, coughing eyes, his tone growing heavier.

“Qiu Sui, you’ll never understand how I feel.” Yu Dongxi looked up at Qiu Sui. “You’ll never understand me because you don’t really know me.”

Qiu Sui’s breath caught—those words hit him like a blow to the head. The seemingly peaceful state between them was nothing but an illusion.

They could never go back.

At this moment, the hopelessness of seeing no way out made Qiu Sui’s eyes redden.

“I understand you. No one knows you better than I do.” Qiu Sui sounded like a child desperate to prove himself, believing that if he denied Yu Dongxi, she would change her mind.

Yu Dongxi showed no expression. “Think whatever you want. I can go by myself, you don’t need to follow me.”

With that, Yu Dongxi scooped up the little black dog and walked toward the exit of the Underworld by herself.

“Hey, you’re leaving Qiu Sui behind. What about the rest? Can you teleport, or summon spirits?” The little black dog flapped its front paws, trying to rouse the last bit of reason in Yu Dongxi.

“There’s always a way when the time comes. After darkness comes light.”

“Those two sayings probably shouldn’t be used together…” The little black dog said weakly.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not important. As long as you get my meaning. Qiu Sui is just a fragile guy—I’m too tired to bother with him.” Yu Dongxi snorted coldly.

The next second, Qiu Sui’s voice rang out: “Dongxi, I want to go with you.”

Yu Dongxi stopped in her tracks and turned around. Qiu Sui was standing behind her, his eyes still slightly red.