Chapter Seventeen: The God of Pestilence

As the two heavy doors swung open, an intense, bone-chilling cold instantly swept across the world.

"Disperse," Zhang Xiaorui murmured, casting a glance at the gate. As if the extreme cold possessed a consciousness of its own, it retreated entirely behind the doors. This was the gateway to the Underworld, the very intersection between the realm of the dead and the world of the living.

Zhao Min was stunned by the sight. She knew this girl, who appeared so harmless, lively, and cheerful, was a true master. She was aware that this master possessed genuine power, but she had never imagined the extent of it—that with a mere wave of her hand, she could throw open the gates of the Underworld.

*Is this... is this even something a human can do?* Just then, a figure in white robes emerged from the threshold.

How to describe him? He was dressed entirely in white, wearing a tall hat inscribed with four large characters: "Fortune Awaits Upon Meeting." He held a mourning staff in his hand. Upon seeing him, Zhao Min’s already pale face turned ghostly. This was no stranger; it was the legendary figure of the Underworld, Lord Bai, the White Impermanence.

Zhao Min hid behind Zhang Xiaorui, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She was merely an ordinary soul, and who wouldn't be terrified upon seeing a leader of the Underworld? Her entire ethereal form trembled. She stole a glance at Lord Bai and found, unexpectedly, that he was quite handsome.

"Xiao Bai, why have you come in person?"

Only then did the White Impermanence notice the speaker. Since emerging, his attention had been locked solely on Zhao Min; he hadn't even paid attention to who had opened the gate. The stern-faced White Impermanence’s expression shifted instantly to one of fawning obsequiousness.

"Isn't this little Miss Xiaorui? Did you open the gates of the Underworld?"

Zhang Xiaorui remained silent, merely staring at him. "You’d better rephrase that and try again."

"Great-aunt, why are you here? Are you tired? Let me massage your shoulders."

Zhang Xiaorui’s eyes rolled playfully. Seeing this, the White Impermanence knew it was a prelude to being scammed. He lunged toward Zhao Min, grabbed her arm, and turned to bolt back through the gates.

The White Impermanence was speechless. He hadn't expected that after so long, his first trip to the human realm to enjoy a stroll would lead him straight into this little menace. Before Zhao Min could even bid Zhang Xiaorui farewell, she was dragged into the Underworld. By the time Zhang Xiaorui realized what had happened, the entrance was empty. She even wondered if she had seen things—were they really that fast?

"Xiao Bai, take her straight to the cycle of reincarnation, do you hear me?"

A long silence passed before a response finally drifted back: "I understand."

Zhang Xiaorui shook her head and scratched at her hair. "What is wrong with everyone? I'm so good-looking, why do they act like they've seen a ghost whenever they see me? Running away so fast... I wanted to ask if that old man, my master, had reported to the Underworld. Honestly, I despise you. 'Lord Bai,' my foot. Trash. Ugh, just look at this..."

With a look of disdain and annoyance, she shook her head, turned back into the room, and slung a white canvas bag over her shoulder. The bag was emblazoned with five large red characters: "Serve the People."

After securing the bag, she unplugged her phone, pressed the power button, and waited for the screen to light up after a long while. She tucked the phone away and skipped down the mountain, hands behind her back.

"Oh, isn't that Xiaorui? Where are you off to? Going to read some feng shui?"

"Uncle Wang, I'm going to buy a phone."

"Is that so? Hop on. I'm heading to the city for some business, I can give you a lift."

A middle-aged man in a black short-sleeved shirt and work pants, wearing black-faced, white-soled cloth shoes, sat on a motorized tricycle.

"Alright, thanks, Uncle Wang!"

"You girl, when did you learn to be so polite? By the way, I haven't seen your master lately! Has Daoist Zhang gone wandering the world again?"

"Ugh, don't mention it. The old man kicked the bucket."

Uncle Wang froze. He coughed a few times, wondering how this little lunatic could be so indifferent about her own master’s death. But he soon let it go; the culture of the Dao was profound and vast, emphasizing that the Dao follows nature and that death is not an end, but a beginning.

Zhang Xiaorui climbed onto the tricycle. "Hold on tight, Xiaorui, we're off."

"Okay, Uncle Wang."

As Uncle Wang shifted gears, the motorized tricycle let out a piercing, sputtering roar.

There was a Wang Family Village at the foot of Qingfeng Mountain with about a hundred households. Ever since Zhang Xiaorui was brought to the mountain by her master, everyone in the village knew her. But her reputation—well, how to put it—was, shall we say, not exactly stellar. Usually, when the villagers saw her, they would avoid her like a plague.

It wasn't that she had committed any heinous crimes, but the things that came out of her mouth were more than the villagers could handle.

For instance: "I see a dark shadow on your forehead; I’m afraid you'll have a bloody disaster soon."

Or: "Are you sure this child is your son? He looks just like your cousin's kid."

Or: "Auntie, you and your brother-in-law in the woods last time—that was quite the affair, wasn't it? Did you enjoy it?"

Good heavens, it was agonizingly awkward. Who could withstand that? The villagers treated her like a pestilence, more destructive than a plague of locusts. The sheer force of her presence was far more terrifying than any ghost.

One might wonder, if everyone was so afraid of Zhang Xiaorui, why was Uncle Wang so kind to her? That was a fair question. Three years ago, Uncle Wang's son had been afflicted by something sinister. Every night, the boy would cry incessantly, attempt suicide, and sprout fleshy tumors all over his body. Once the tumors burst, they would ooze pus and blood. Uncle Wang had taken his son everywhere for treatment, from the local town hospital to the major metropolises, but nothing worked. Having spent every penny they owned, Uncle Wang and his wife had finally given up.

"Husband, I don't think our child is going to make it. There's no hope left."

Hearing his wife say this, Uncle Wang felt as if his heart were being pierced by needles. He looked at his son, who was gasping for breath on the bed, and felt an unbearable pain.

"Sigh, no matter what, we must save him. I would give my own life to save his if I could."