Zhao Huoyan understood—Song Miaozhu was willing to accept platform fees and discounts, but customization privileges were non-negotiable.
And that was a problem.
The Bureau's actual directive was clear: Fees and discounts were flexible, but fourth-grade clothes customization rights were mandatory.
That was because, among all current offerings the SEIU could provide to their ghost members [beyond benefits for dependents and ancestral lineage], this was the most valuable and exceptional reward available. The SEIU had no means of accessing the Underworld directly. Their entire relationship with ghost collaborators relied on residual patriotism from their time among the living.
But that bond could not last forever.
Especially now, with the realms of the living and the dead more strictly divided than in any previous cultivation era. Ghosts meddling too much in the mortal world risked their records being flagged in the Underworld's spiritual registries. If a ghost disrupted the order of Yin and Yang, they would not only lose merit but also face harsher penalties during their reincarnation queue.
And yet, the Bureau's benefits system couldn't keep up.
Hell coins were not something they could simply issue at will. No matter how finely made, paper money was still just a replica in the Underworld. Burning it like a paycheck wasn't enough—it was merely a well-crafted shell.
Only when burned with genuine emotion could paper offerings transform into real hell coins.
And finding people with that kind of sincere sentiment? Not easy.
Several ghost agents, once fiercely loyal to the country, had already had their merit docked due to over-involvement in mortal affairs. They were fined in hell coins, their yearly offerings reduced, and ultimately severed ties with the SEIU. Were it not for the SEIU still helping care for their families in the mortal realm, even more ghosts would've cut contact.
Ghosts needed hell coins to sustain their existence, to maintain their ghost lifespan. Without coin, no longevity. And without that, they couldn't even look after their own loved ones, let alone anyone else. If the SEIU couldn't keep up with Underworld benefits, the situation would only grow worse.
Song Miaozhu's fourth-grade Yin Paper Clothes was the only paper-crafted item the SEIU had discovered that retained high value in the Underworld. It could be sold instantly for real hell coin. No other paper-crafting master had been able to produce more than third-grade items, no matter what techniques they used. That was why the higher-ups demanded they secure the rights to purchase and custom-order her fourth-grade Yin Paper Clothes.
But unfortunately, Song Miaozhu valued her creative and commercial freedom too much to be bound by such an agreement. Zhao Huoyan understood her position. If your goods sold out on their own, why tie yourself down to a limited sales channel?
The SEIU simply didn't have enough leverage. They had no better offer.
At this point, all Zhao Huoyan could do was appeal to her reason and emotions. He laid out the Bureau's predicament, explaining why this right to custom orders was so vital. Even though she wasn't formally affiliated with the SEIU, Song Miaozhu had provided crucial intel many times. She likely did care about the SEIU's future.
Song Miaozhu had one burning question:
"Why this obsession with the underworld? Foreign ghosts? Or something else?"
Were they… investigating her?
Zhao Huoyan caught her suspicion:
"Master Song, you've misunderstood. Recruiting ghost collaborators is partly to resolve the problem of lingering spirits in the mortal world. But it's also about acquiring more information on the revival of spiritual energy from the Underworld itself.
Aren't you curious who rules the Underworld? Who set its laws?
We suspect that the ruler of the Underworld, the one who established its rules—possibly even the King Yama and other deities—were once cultivators from previous eras. Maybe even immortals referenced in the ancient manuals you've sent us."
Song Miaozhu: "..."
She'd assumed the SEIU's ghost network targeted her.
How naive.
They were probing the ruler of hell itself!
She was so shocked she almost dropped her tea. "Please leave me out of this. I have no interest in getting myself recorded in the Underworld archives. I'd rather not go to hell after I die to pay off some karma debt."
She had a bright future while alive and a hopeful ghosthood after death. Why stick her hand into this hornet's nest?
She had wondered before who truly ruled the Underworld, or whether such a ruler even existed.
Based on the records in Fengdu: A Handbook for New Ghosts, the King Yama was merely a manager in the Hall of Judgment, evaluating souls based on their actions in life. And even that was just a title—there was only one Hall of Judgment, but more than one King Yama.
Among all the Underworld offices—King Yama, judges, city lords, wardens, officials, and messengers—only the last two could be confirmed as actual ghosts.
No matter how high a ghost rose in rank, they remained a ghostly official on salary. They could not take on other positions of authority. If there really was a ruler of the Underworld, odds were, they had achieved immortality.
But even if that were true—so what?
Each cultivation era had different paths and laws. Just because you learned how someone else became immortal didn't mean you could copy them.
When Zhao Huoyan still wouldn't give up, Song Miaozhu unleashed her fury:
"Using ghosts to spy on hell's ruler is like sending traitors wearing 'I'm a mole' signs!
Any ghost who enters the Underworld is entered into their registry. Their actions in life are recorded, and everything they do after death is tracked! The Underworld Registry Office isn't staffed by idiots!
Since the last cultivation era, the Underworld has changed its ghost entry process specifically to sever ties with the living realm and prevent cultivators from disrupting the balance. What you're doing is practically suicidal! For yourselves and your ghost operatives!
There are countless cultivators, but how many truly ascend? You'll die someday too—ready to face hell's judgment?"
Song Miaozhu had her ghost-run paper shop. She had the Secret Art of Paper Crafting. When it came to cultivation resources, no one was better off than her. And even she didn't dare claim she would become immortal.
"Tell your superiors: Stop fixating on the underworld—it's their domain!
Invest those resources in living cultivators! Study spiritual energy!
Every time I check the SEIU's newsfeed, it's Underworld this, Underworld that. Anyone reading it might think we cultivate Yin qi for a living. And if you really must poke around in the Underworld, then leave me out of it. Maybe you're not afraid, but I sure am!
You've never seen a ghost fresh out of hell. Those who make it out are the lucky ones with minimal karma. The rest—well, they get tortured until their soul burns away."
Zhao Huoyan sat up straighter. "Then I'll report to the Chief immediately."
Song Miaozhu waved her hand in exasperation. "Not here, please. The last time you 'reported,' it turned into a whole video conference where I had to explain everything again. If you must, do it elsewhere. Believe what you want. I'm done getting involved. And forget about my contribution-point store."