The Goal Was to Become a Ghost Master

Chen Feng made a circuit of the graves and discovered that Cihang City's spirit money was uniformly printed, with each note worth one million.

"Damn it, would it kill them to add a few more zeros?"

Two hundred billion divided by one million meant two hundred thousand notes. At this rate, how long would it take to steal enough offerings?

It was far too slow.

Chen Feng decided to go big. "Come on, Brother Dao. Let's find a joss paper shop, build it up, and make our fortune."

The Underworld Bank was a bank too, after all.

Brother Dao waved him off. "Hold on, buddy. Remember this: only money burned by the living, carrying their grief for the dead, counts as spirit money. The freshly printed stuff in those shops is all dead money. It's no use to us."

So that was how it worked.

It made sense to Chen Feng. If printing scraps of paper could make a ghost stronger, the Ghost King would have become a god after ruling Cihang City and printing money every day for so many years.

When one plan failed, Chen Feng came up with another.

He pointed out that they were in the remote hills outside Cihang City. Who knew when someone would come to pay respects? They would be better off finding a public cemetery. Surely they could pull in a few hundred million in a day.

Brother Dao gave him a thumbs-up. "Now that's a great idea, buddy. If we want to become the Ghost King, we need to get stronger first."

"And ghosts have only three ways to do that. First, harm people. That's against all decency, so we're not doing it."

"Second, ghosts can devour each other. Too risky."

"That leaves the third way: eating offering money. Once we