Chapter Three: Gao Xiaolan

“How are you feeling now?” Yang Yaxin asked softly as she placed the food she had bought on the table. Qin Yang rubbed his stomach and said, “My body feels much better, but I’m absolutely starving.”

Yang Yaxin handed him the food, all light and plain dishes as the doctor had instructed. After Qin Yang finished eating everything, he glanced at Yang Yaxin and smiled. Yet, as his eyes fell upon her sweet face, he was momentarily lost in thought. Since waking up, he hadn’t truly looked at Yang Yaxin. Now that he did, he was stunned. He hadn’t expected this young woman to be so beautiful. Her character aside—gentle and kind—her sweet appearance made her instantly likable. He found himself utterly entranced.

Yang Yaxin noticed his unwavering gaze, especially those deep, black eyes that seemed to draw her in. She grew bashful and lowered her head. Off to the side, Qin Wu, noticing his *** stare, was furious and snorted in irritation.

“Pink? Pink?” Qin Yang was dumbfounded. As he looked more closely at Yang Yaxin, her clothing seemed to fade away, vanishing from his sight, revealing her undergarments. But the “pink” he muttered wasn’t the color of her white underwear; it was the delicate pink of her budding chest—pure, unblemished pink—which instantly ignited a fire within him.

“Pink?” Yang Yaxin was puzzled. She was wearing a white down jacket—what pink? But she didn’t dwell on it; Qin Yang’s gaze was so heated, it made her heart flutter.

Soon, she realized his gaze had moved to the doorway, and his expression looked as though he’d seen something unbelievable.

“Yin-Yang… Yin-Yang Eyes?” Qin Yang swallowed hard, for at the doorway, a black shroud—a soul—was slowly drifting closer. When it was less than a meter away, it rushed toward him. Frightened, he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, everything was back to normal: Yang Yaxin’s clothes were back on, and the black shroud had vanished.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Unable to take it anymore, Qin Wu walked up, displeased, and asked loudly.

Qin Yang looked at her, and as he did, he noticed Qin Wu’s clothes beginning to fade as well, her tender skin exposed to his view. The visual impact was far more intense than any adult film. Though her body was still that of a girl, for someone like Qin Yang, who had a particular weakness for the youthful and innocent, the temptation was overwhelming.

He swallowed, his eyes drifting slightly lower. “So tender… like a little forest.”

Qin Yang felt heat rushing through his body, his breath coming out in hot gusts.

“Pervert!” Qin Wu instinctively stepped back, clearly sensing the lasciviousness in his gaze.

Yang Yaxin, too, was flustered and embarrassed. She quickly grabbed Qin Wu and left, saying they were going to buy more food, using it as an excuse to escape the awkward situation.

Qin Yang was left in a daze. What had just happened? Was this some kind of x-ray vision? That’s incredible! When did I acquire this ability? Could it be that strange place from before? Remembering the memories he’d absorbed earlier, he focused and began to recall the new information.

Gao Jinfai, forty-eight years old, had worked at Golden Sail Shipyard before dying in an accident, leaving behind a sixteen-year-old daughter with no one to care for her. What made Qin Yang want to laugh and cry was remembering the bank card password in those memories. Setting that aside, Qin Yang felt he had to return to that strange place.

“How do I get in? ‘Open sesame’? Or ‘Hell’?” The moment he spoke, a powerful force pulled at his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he was shocked to find himself standing before the gates of the Palace of Hell.

It was as dark as ever, but this time, to his surprise, there was a person in front of the palace.

A man dressed in a long black robe, his entire body shrouded in black mist. His face was ghostly pale and sinister, his eyes entirely black, with no white at all—a truly eerie sight.

Startled, Qin Yang asked, “Who are you?”

“Honored Host, I am the Steward of Hell,” the man replied in a deep, familiar voice. It was the same voice that had previously asked if he wanted to read memories or receive information about soul points.

“Steward?” Qin Yang was puzzled.

Unbothered by his confusion, the Steward continued, “My task is to assist your growth and help you restore Hell as quickly as possible.”

“Restore Hell?” Qin Yang felt more confused the more he listened.

The Steward explained, “With Hell, there is Heaven. The ultimate adversary of Hell is Heaven itself. Somewhere in this world, there is a mysterious emissary of Heaven. He may have existed for centuries, or even millennia, and his sole purpose is to destroy you.”

A chill ran down Qin Yang’s spine. Was this some kind of joke? Someone who had existed for centuries or millennia? That was monstrous. He was tempted to back out, but before he could refuse, the Steward added, “You have already signed a blood contract with Hell. Unless it’s another emissary, no one can kill you.”

“That’s forced consent!” Qin Yang muttered, half amused and half helpless.

The Steward shook his head. “This was your choice. The moment your blood merged with Hell, your fate was sealed. Besides, the benefits Hell offers are endless. If you can find powerful souls and pay enough soul points, you can gain their abilities. For instance, the Yin-Yang Eyes you just used—they allow you to see all souls and even see through things. As for soul points—” The Steward seemed to anticipate Qin Yang’s question and continued without pause, “Soul points are the energy needed to exchange for memories and abilities from the dead—they are also the essential energy for Hell.”

“How many soul points do I have left?”

“Five.”

“How do I get more soul points?”

“The Host gains one soul point every eight hours. You can also absorb spiritual energy to supplement your soul points; the amount depends on the energy available.”

“What is spiritual energy? Where can I get it?”

“Spiritual energy is a pure force found in nature, embedded in various objects. As for the soul points needed for the dead: depending on their memories and skills in life, all souls are divided into nine levels. Level 1 souls require 10 to 99 points, Level 2 requires 100 to 999, Level 3 requires 1,000 to 9,999, and so on. Additionally, lower-level souls can be converted into points—ten Level 1 souls can be exchanged for one soul point,” the Steward said matter-of-factly.

Qin Yang nodded, but felt a sense of powerlessness. Even a Level 3 soul was out of reach, let alone the higher levels. With a bitter smile, he asked, “What else are souls good for? Are they just for exchanging soul points? Or are they just kept in Hell for storage?”

The Steward replied, “The more souls in Hell, the higher Hell’s level becomes. The higher the level, the higher the souls you can absorb. Right now, Hell can only absorb Level 1 souls. When you reach over one hundred thousand Level 1 souls, Hell will automatically upgrade to Level 2, and you’ll be able to absorb Level 2 souls.”

“One hundred thousand!” Qin Yang shouted, “Are you kidding me? You want me to absorb a hundred thousand souls? Where am I supposed to find that many?”

“On average, one hundred and fifty thousand people die worldwide each day. Over centuries, the number of souls in various places is beyond counting. These are your resources and the source of your growth,” the Steward replied calmly, his tone as cold and sinister as ever.

Hearing this, Qin Yang finally calmed down a little. Suddenly, he felt his body shaking. The Steward explained, “Someone is looking for you outside. If you have any questions, you can call me in your mind at any time. As your loyal steward, I am available twenty-four hours a day.”

As the Steward finished speaking, Qin Yang found himself back in his own body. A nurse was shaking him awake. Seeing him open his eyes, she said gently, “It’s time for your medication. After you take your medicine, you should rest.”

Qin Yang nodded, took the seven or eight pills she handed him, and while she turned to pour water, slipped them all into his pocket. He gulped down the water, and as he prepared to lie down and call the Steward for more information, a commotion broke out outside—someone was crying, a girl by the sound of it. Annoyed, he asked, “What’s going on out there?”

The nurse glanced at the door and sighed. “Another poor soul. A girl named Gao Xiaolan—her father died in an accident. No one really knows what happened. The factory claims it was a personal matter and refuses compensation. I heard they even cremated her father’s body overnight without the family’s permission. It’s all very tragic.”

“Such blatant bullying? Isn’t that a classic case of ‘the more you try to hide, the more you reveal’? And besides, how could the foreman have the right to cremate her father’s body? The poor child didn’t even get to see him one last time?” Qin Yang frowned.

The nurse shrugged. “That’s society for you.”

The noise outside grew louder, and Qin Yang’s irritation mounted. Ignoring the nurse’s protests, he got out of bed and walked out of the ward. There, he saw a young girl sitting dejectedly on the floor, her eyes lost and helpless. Beside her stood a fat man in his forties, chattering incessantly, his words full of veiled threats and scorn.

“Gao Xiaolan.”

Qin Yang was startled as he recognized the girl’s face.