Life and Death Book

"Choose the cup without poison, and you may become my disciple."

In a desolate, ruined temple, Zheng Que knelt on a straw mat before the shrine. Lined up in front of him were seven bowls of murky liquid. Standing beside him was an old man in grey Taoist robes, his hair tied in a square bun. The old man stood with his hands behind his back, his voice indifferent.

Not far away, a pitch-black coffin sat silently in the shadows, emitting a fishy, sweet stench like a crouching beast.

Zheng Que's gaze was fixed on the seven bowls of murky wine, his heart churning.

This was a world of cultivation where one could seek the Tao and eternal life. He had been reborn here, having lived for sixteen years already.

In this world, the underworld did not exist. Departed souls could not enter reincarnation and were forced to linger in the mortal realm. Over time, evil spirits ran rampant and ghosts proliferated; for ordinary people, merely staying alive was an immense struggle.

Zheng Que was lucky. Not only had he managed to survive to the age of sixteen, but he had also encountered a cultivator willing to take him on as an apprentice.

However, this cultivator's requirements were quite unusual.

Among the seven bowls of murky wine that looked identical to the naked eye, only one contained normal wine. The other six were laced with corpse poison that would kill anyone upon contact.

As he pondered, the grey-robed old man beside him continued, "If you choose wrong, you may still enter my sect."

"Though, it will be as a corpse puppet."

As he spoke, the old man flicked his sleeve. The heavy coffin lid opened immediately, and two dark shadows flew out, landing tamely in his hands. They were a complete set of skinning knives and a burial shroud reeking of thick blood, covered in various talismans.

The old man glanced at Zheng Que and deftly selected a willow-leaf-shaped blade, seemingly already preparing to mark the spots for incision to craft a corpse puppet.

Zheng Que snapped back to reality. This was the rule for the grey-robed old man's apprenticeship.

One choice out of seven; only the survivor would earn the chance to enter the Tao.

Before him, many had come seeking apprenticeship, only to die by the poisoned wine.

Today was the last time the grey-robed old man would take an apprentice in this area...

Thinking of this, Zheng Que took a deep breath and reached out, feigning hesitation. His gaze and fingertips hovered back and forth between the seven bowls. After waiting for a few breaths, he seemed to grit his teeth and make a decision, quickly choosing the fourth bowl from the left.

He picked up the bowl and, without further hesitation, tilted his head back and drained it in one gulp.

The fiery liquid hit his throat like a sharp blade, slicing straight down. In the blink of an eye, he felt a surge of heat rising in his lower abdomen, and his entire spirit felt invigorated.

Watching the bowl Zheng Que had chosen, the grey-robed old man looked slightly surprised, but he soon nodded. With a casual wave of his hand, he retracted the skinning knives and the burial shroud.

Without further ado, he stated bluntly, "The Big Dipper marks death, the Seven Stars determine fate. Your luck is quite good."

"Since you have chosen the path of life, from this moment on, you are a disciple of Qu."

"It is nearly dark. Go back and rest."

"Return here tomorrow morning."

Hearing this, Zheng Que felt a surge of joy in his heart and immediately bowed, saying, "Yes, Master!"

Daoist Qu did not say anything more, merely waving his hand to signal that he could leave.

Zheng Que backed out of the temple door with a respectful expression. Outside the door lay a small courtyard; having been abandoned for a long time, it was overgrown with weeds and carpeted in moss. The daylight was bright, and the rustling of snakes and insects could be heard faintly.

Against the courtyard wall grew a large, withered tree, its branches still gnarled and twisted, casting mottled shadows upon the ground.

The treetops were empty, yet within the shadow of the tree hung a slender figure, swaying like a pendulum. It was none other than a Female Hanging Ghost, her hair disheveled and her feet bare.

The Female Hanging Ghost drifted with the wind, swinging back and forth like a swing, gliding repeatedly over the threshold of the courtyard gate.

Zheng Que looked at the shadow of the Female Hanging Ghost and frowned. Without the slightest hesitation, he went straight to the low wall furthest from the dead tree and vaulted over it, showing no intention of going anywhere near the tree's shadow.

After leaving the dilapidated temple, he walked briskly for a distance. Only when he felt the chill behind him gradually fade did he let out a silent sigh of relief.

But soon, a thick fog surged from ahead, accompanied by the faint, clamorous sound of wind instruments and drums.

Zheng Que looked up and saw, deep within the fog, a procession of people dressed in bright red, beating gongs and drums while carrying a red bridal sedan chair, approaching him with a festive air.

A cold wind swept by, and the curtain of the red sedan chair parted slightly, revealing a slender figure sitting upright inside. She wore a phoenix coronet and rosy-cloud cape, looking exquisitely charming. The maidservants accompanying the sedan chair on either side had pale skin and cheeks smeared with bright red rouge; their smiles looked as if they had been painted on, filled with a fixed, joyous expression. Their pitch-black eyes stared straight at Zheng Que, appearing indescribably eerie.

A Ghost Wedding Procession!

Zheng Que did not say a word. He turned and ducked into the nearest alley, quickly putting distance between himself and the procession.

He kept his head down, walking in a hurry. Relying on his familiarity with the small town, he took many twists and turns for quite a distance before the festive music behind him finally, reluctantly, faded away.

After identifying his direction, Zheng Que headed toward his residence.

By now, the daylight was fading and twilight was rising. Everything around was veiled in a dim, hazy gloom.

As he approached his home, he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of several children gathered in a nearby clearing. They were drenched, with water constantly dripping from their hair and clothes. Yet, the children seemed completely unaware, still playing and frolicking. The ground beneath their feet had been trampled into a muddy mess, with tiny scraps of red paper mixed into the filth.

One of the children laughed and said, "Old Zhao's second son married a wife yesterday, but on his wedding night, he didn't even get to touch her hand."

Hearing this, a companion immediately said, "Who told that Zhao the Second to place one shoe right-side up and the other upside down? How was his wife supposed to find the bed like that!"

The other children chimed in, agreeing, "That's right!"

"How can you blame his wife for that!"

"Hee hee... serves him right... he deserves it!"

Zheng Que did not look sideways, refusing to even glance at the children. He walked straight past them to his own door, pushed it open quickly, and after entering, turned and bolted the door without looking back. Feeling the empty silence of the house, he finally caught his breath.

This small town was becoming more and more abnormal!

The wandering lonely ghosts and wild spirits on the streets were already more numerous than the living.

And that was while the sun had yet to set...

If he failed to become an apprentice today, he reckoned he wouldn't last long in this small town.

Thinking of this, Zheng Que walked straight into the inner chamber, opened up his bedding, and prepared to rest.

As he climbed into bed, he deliberately leaned down to place his shoes, one facing forward and one backward, before finally lying down.

After a day of rushing about, Zheng Que was exhausted and fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but in a hazy state, he saw himself sitting on a wobbly armchair. In front of him was a pitted, uneven long table. The surroundings, which seemed to have once been a grand and expansive main hall, were now nothing but crumbling walls and ruins. A large hole gaped in the roof above, and a cold, sinister wind whistled through, chilling him to the bone.

Zheng Que looked at the tabletop. Resting there was a book with an ancient aura. On its yellowed cover were three striking blood-red characters: Life and Death Book!

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