“So you extorted a god and when that failed, you tried to grope him?” Bullhead asked with round eyes.

I felt my face burn.

“Eighty-one years ago…” Horseface muttered. “That was when we were hired, wasn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, the Great War had just ended. Yodu was shorthanded. King Yan recruited us personally from the grasslands. Say, didn’t you bury a jug of wine that year—”

I lifted the pouch to Bullhead and Horseface’s eyes.

“It’s a cover up,” I said, shaking the paper in their faces. “These words, I didn’t write them… but they are in my handwriting.”

Only males in the village learned to read and write. But the villagers sent me to study with the old village scholar after a wandering fortune-teller predicted I would amount to greatness. I was the best in every subject except penmanship. Despite my efforts, I always added a squiggle to the last stroke of my characters. The boat lantern flickered, highlighting the words on the paper. On the last stroke of every character on the paper was a squiggle.

“The handwriting is mine, but there’s no way I wrote it. This means, for some reason, in some way, the massacre had something to do with me.”

Horseface and Bullhead exchanged glances.

“Ziyan,” Horseface began, “let’s assume you are right… er… about the massacre being a cover-up for… whatever. But why would a god mimic your handwriting? He or she could have finished you off with the rest of your villagers, and y’all would end up in hell anyway.”

I stared at the lantern that stood on the tip of the boat. The soft, feathered glow radiated through fabric and mist despite their effort to dim its light.

Bullhead was right. Why didn’t I die?

Because the No-Name god saved me.

If the mastermind planned for me to be in hell, then the No-Name god was the wrench in the plan.

If I were the mastermind, then what would I do next?

My chest strained with unease, the same unease I felt when the yaoguai smiled at me before she died.

“She lured me!” I exclaimed.

I killed myself after seeing my handwriting and feeling responsible for the villagers’ deaths. I hoped to fix the situation, but I was now on the exact path that the mastermind wanted. A chill ran down my back.

No, no, I couldn’t panic. I steadied my hammering heart with deep breaths. I remembered the No-Name god. Why did he come just in time? Why did he choose to save me? Had he been watching me from the skies?

“You look thirsty,” Horseface said, offering me the flask.

If he cracked an egg on my cheek, it would probably sizzle.

Regardless, the No-Name god could confirm that there was someone else behind the massacre. He could even help me capture the mastermind. Hope sprouted in my mind like seedling in fertile soil. I took a deep breath. The cold air filled my lungs and cleared my head. I had to save my people from hell, and with the help of the No-Name god, I was going to succeed.

“This paper is not actually paper, but silk. It looks Shenjie made,” Bullhead noted. “These Shenjie gods drop their possessions without concern, causing yaoguai to spring up left and right, and who has to deal with the consequences? We, Fetchers of the Dead, do.”

“What’s Shenjie?” I asked, with renewed determination.

“The governing center of gods,” Bullhead said. “Shenjie gods make all the decisions, and we, in Yodu, carry them out. For example, our boss, King Yan can give sentences based on life records. But fatewriters in Shenjie write those life records.”

“The god who helped me after the massacre, is he from Shenjie?” I asked immediately.

“Probably, Shenjiers sometimes meddle in mortal affairs.”

“Can I go to Shenjie?”

“To enter Shenjie, a soul must have done great good for the world. There are many who wish to rise to Shenjie for immortality and eternal youth, but very few make it,” Horseface said in one breath. Then he added unnescessarily, “Those who do certainly aren’t the ones being sentenced to the 18th Level.”

I didn’t care for immortality or eternal youth, but I did want to save the villagers.

“Can you take me to Shenjie?” I pleaded.

“We can only take you where you are supposed to go,” Horseface answered gruffly. “Coming up is the Bridge of Regrets where Old Lady’s Meng stands.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “There is no use in dreaming up conspiracies. Just drink Mengpo’s amnesia soup and accept your fate.”

Amnesia soup. I would forget all that happened, and the mastermind behind the massacre would have his way with us in the 18th level of hell. I was a doe exposed in a meadow, and the mastermind was a hunter hidden among trees. My nails dug into my palms. No way was I going to walk obediently into this trap. No way was I going to let the villagers burn in hell for an eternity.

Mist swirled around us as I pondered my next move. The heavy fog condensed on the neck of my collar. Water droplets trickled down my back. I shivered.

“Cold?” Horseface asked, kinder now that I seemed to have accepted my fate. “It’s the breath of ghosts.”

Before I could ask him to clarify, the fog thinned. The river opened up to what appeared to be a lake. Thousands of shacks crowded on the shores.

“A town!” I gasped. I had seen a town before, but this one certainly dwarfed the one nearest to the village.

Our boat came to a halt. Bullhead leapt out and docked it fluidly.

Horseface offered his hand. I stared at his outstretched hand and gripped with more force than necessary. Within one day, my world had changed, but I was going to Shenjie, one way or another.

A bridge reared before us. Various doors lined the two sides, with signs hanging above them in elaborate calligraphy: Yodu Branch of Censorate, Yodu Academicians, Yodu Department of Inter-deity Communication, Lady Meng’s Soup Factory (warning: excessive consumption leads to drowsiness, fatigue, and permanent memory loss.)

An old lady stood underneath the signs, ladling soup from a giant pot. I watched as expressionless ghosts file by her one by one, drinking from her dipper and crossing the bridge to the other side.

“I hate queues! I died of a heartattack waiting in line for the newest iphone, only to wait in line again for some stupid soup,” one soul grumbled.

His complaint earned him an extra dipper of soup from the old lady, and he stepped to the other side gagging.

“Oh man, he’s gonna be so out of it in his next life.” Bullhead chuckled as we stopped at the end of the line.

“What’s an eye-fong?” I asked.

“A tool mortals invented to talk with each other through long-distance,” Horseface replied, “but it happens thousands of years in the future relative to your time.”

“Oh yes, time is just another dimension to us, so you will see mortals from all time periods here. Future mortals create lots of toys to make up for the fact that they don’t have powers.They have things that fly in the sky that you can ride and machines on which you can play games. I’ve snuck up—“ Bullface interrupted excitedly but soon shut his mouth at the sight of Horseface’s frown.

“Well, this is it. After drinking Lady Meng’s soup and crossing this bridge, you will be led to… uh, the 18th Level. It might not be so bad…” Horseface trailed off awkwardly.

My insides plummeted.