"Emperors of the Mortal World never seem to know their place. They think Heaven has chosen them, so they chase grand ambitions and try to cover the sky with one hand. But in the end, they either had the good fortune to be born into the right family or were raised up by the times. Their power may seem boundless, but it's only a passing illusion. Imagined authority clouds their minds until they believe they own all within the Four Seas, that they themselves are the state. But once a man dies, everything comes to nothing. At most, he enjoys a few carefree decades."
On a street paved with bluestone slabs, a man in a green robe walked slowly along, holding a folding fan and wearing a Five Colors crown. He muttered to himself as he went.
Wherever he passed, a faint Mist Aura spread outward.
"What a pity. In the end, apart from their lives, everything they have is an illusion. It can all be seized or stolen. Trusting such things to protect them is like floating duckweed without roots."
He stopped abruptly and snapped open his fan.
At once, wisps of Black and White vapor gathered and condensed into five ghost faces on its blank surface.
"So what are you relying on? Your surname is Chen, yet you still hope to escape. That won't do."
As he pondered this, the man walked toward the red-lacquered gate.
"But a Fate Pattern that could force two Underworld Constables' True Spirits to reincarnate and send Buddhist monks into Ascension one after another was born into an emperor's house. And that emperor's name is on the Underworld Office's rolls. He's meat on the chopping block, a meal served on a platter. If I can steal that Fate Pattern, taking Meng Po's place