Chapter Nine: The King of Destruction (Part One)

Over the next few days, Shi Jun moved with extra caution, fully expecting a string of inexplicable troubles to “float” his way just as they had on his birthday. He knew he had no control over such things, and no matter how hard he tried to puzzle it out, he could not understand why all this was happening to him—what on earth had the Emperor of the Underworld taken a fancy to in him, and what did he want? Fortunately, Shi Jun was not one to dwell on matters or get himself tangled in pointless knots. He reasoned that worrying was useless, and avoidance was unrealistic; better to let things unfold as they would, and deal with real problems when they came. With that thought, his nerves eased, and he slept soundly each night, though a persistent, peculiar feeling remained—as if someone, unseen, was watching him from a shadowed corner.

Since his birthday, his mother, Qin Xiaoya, had undergone a transformation he could not account for. The heavy, unsmiling air about her had vanished; she seemed lighter, even cheerful, and had gone so far as to buy a few pots of flowers for the balcony, humming little tunes as she did housework. Even the colors of her clothes had grown bright and lively. Shi Jun was both delighted and bewildered by these changes, not knowing that it was because Qin Xiaoya had finally let go of a burden she'd carried for eighteen years. He figured instead that his mother must have found someone new to rival his father, and silently rejoiced at her “renewed youth.”

Yet until the end of the summer, Shi Jun encountered no further “adventures.” He never tried to convince himself it was all a dream—after all, the scale he’d picked from Little Troublemaker still lay in his CD case drawer. Perhaps, he mused, the Emperor of the Underworld really had “mistaken him for someone else” and decided not to bother him anymore?

With this faint hope, and having passed a peaceful summer, Shi Jun managed to put the whole episode out of mind.

For some, the saying “love is the best nourishment” could not have been truer. In the final days before the start of the semester, Hu Hai, brimming with energy, came to drag Shi Jun out for some video games, chatting as they walked together.

Though Hu Hai had always been well-favored by nature, he was usually careless about his appearance, wearing T-shirts and jeans year-round and sometimes mismatched socks. But today, he seemed a changed man: in the sweltering heat, he wore shiny leather shoes and crisply pressed trousers, a white short-sleeved shirt, and even a tie—awkwardly knotted, as if under duress. All of it was clearly the result of Chen Ya’s influence.

Despite being unaccustomed to such changes, Hu Hai dared not disobey. He kept tugging at his collar, as though hoping to free his thick neck from the tie’s grip, but never actually removed it. His face glowed with pride as he proclaimed, “It’s been ages since I’ve had a break—haven’t been to an internet café in so long I’m practically suffocating!”

“Isn’t that the definition of hypocrisy? Clearly, your heart’s not with your girlfriend at all! And you still dare to complain?” Shi Jun said, feeling for him, but refusing to go easy.

“What would a dullard like you know about the love lives of the beautiful and the handsome?” Hu Hai retorted with a mock glare, then sighed. “But honestly, I could use a break. Women... they really are troublesome creatures!”

Shi Jun snorted. “Look at you, all full of insight on women!”

“Of course!” Hu Hai said smugly, though his pride barely lasted ten seconds before he sighed again. “You just don’t get it—women are built differently from us. You can never figure out what they’re thinking, what they want, what they’re up to... I’m more confused than ever!”

“So the love stories of the beautiful and the handsome are that complicated, huh? Guess I really don’t get it.” Shi Jun put on a serious, concerned face. “I can’t help you there, but if you can’t even figure her out, why stay with her? Break up—it’s kinder in the long run...”

“No, no!” Hu Hai interrupted. “I’m not irresponsible...”

Hearing this, Shi Jun pretended to be struck by enlightenment and laughed. “Wow, you’re really something—already talking about responsibility?”

Hu Hai quickly grabbed Shi Jun by the neck and waved a fist in his face, half serious, half embarrassed. “Laugh all you want if you’re not afraid of dying!”

Shi Jun laughed heartily, drawing the attention and frowns of passing pedestrians.

Suddenly, a thin voice piped up by Shi Jun’s ear, “Lord Underworld Constable! Lord Underworld Constable! What’s got you so happy?”

Shi Jun’s laughter stopped abruptly, as if sliced in two. He glanced around quickly, but saw nothing.

“It’s me, Little Troublemaker! I’m here with Sister Chiyang to see you.” The voice was unmistakably the impish child’s.

“What do you want?” Shi Jun blurted out, only to be thumped hard by Hu Hai.

“Who are you talking to?” Hu Hai’s hand was still at his neck, squeezing, as he glared.

“Oh, I just meant... why are you still grabbing me? There are people everywhere, it looks weird.” Shi Jun improvised swiftly.

“We’re here to invite you to join us.” A cold voice came from the other side, faintly recognizable as Chiyang’s.

For a moment, Shi Jun thought his ears were playing tricks on him. He ignored Hu Hai’s continued chatter and looked around in confusion, still seeing neither Little Troublemaker nor Chiyang. He was thoroughly puzzled: Why was this happening?

“What’s the point of looking? You can’t see us!” Chiyang’s voice was tinged with disdain. “You mortals simply don’t have the ability. If we didn’t want to find you, you wouldn’t even hear our voices.”

“That’s right! But if Lord Underworld Constable agrees to join us, you’ll be able to see us!” Little Troublemaker’s eager voice chimed in.

“Hey! What’s with you?” Hu Hai slapped Shi Jun on the back, snapping him out of his daze. “Why’d you stop walking—see a pretty girl?”

“Pretty girl... more like a real ghost,” Shi Jun muttered to himself, dizzy from the antics of one human and two “ghosts.”

What to do? Shi Jun had lost all interest in going to the internet café but couldn’t simply back out—Hu Hai was still waiting. Thinking quickly, he blurted, “Hai, my stomach’s acting up all of a sudden...”

“We’re almost there! There are bathrooms inside.” Hu Hai, clueless, threw an arm around Shi Jun and tried to steer him into the café.

Shi Jun wriggled free, pulling a pained face, moaning, “Hai, I can’t—my stomach’s really bad, let’s go next time, sorry!” Before Hu Hai could react, he darted away toward home.

Once inside, Shi Jun glanced around in relief, finding his mother still at work. He stood in the middle of the living room and shouted angrily at the empty air, “You two, come out!”

Nothing happened for a while. Just as Shi Jun started to doubt his own hearing, Chiyang’s cold voice came again: “Why run if nothing’s wrong?”

Then Little Troublemaker cheerfully called out from the other side, “Lord Underworld Constable, where did you go just now? Looked like fun—can you take me there next time?”

“Don’t interrupt, Troublemaker—let’s get down to business!” Chiyang’s tone was stern, but gentler than before.

“Oh, Sister Chiyang, do you want to say it, or should I?”

“You go ahead. This kid’s all talk and no substance, and I haven’t the patience to deal with him!”

The two voices bickered endlessly in Shi Jun’s ears. His neck was sore from twisting about, but he still couldn’t see anything, which made him both tense and annoyed. Chiyang, with her constant barbs and chilly sarcasm, soon kindled Shi Jun’s anger, burning away any lingering fear. He could bear it no longer and shouted, “Both of you, shut up!”

Chiyang gave a cold laugh but said nothing more.

But Little Troublemaker piped up, “Please, Lord Underworld Constable, we’re not trying to harm you, just let us finish...”

“Enough!” Shi Jun snapped, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“We really mean no harm...” Little Troublemaker pleaded.

Shi Jun didn’t care about their intentions; he knew he would never wade into these troubled waters. He was determined not to give in—otherwise, there would no doubt be more trouble down the road.

Suppressing his anger, he tried to reason with them, “Stop pressuring me! I’ve told you—I just want to be an ordinary person. I don’t want anything to do with gods or monsters, and I certainly don’t want to add you to my list of acquaintances. There’s nothing you need to tell me, and nothing I want to know. If there’s any sense of reason in your underworld, then don’t force me!”

“You’re really stubborn! You think we have no means to deal with you?” Chiyang’s angry voice rang out again.

Shi Jun was startled. He was honestly afraid these powerful underworld beings might resort to extreme measures to force him, but now that the threat was out in the open, he was even more determined not to give in. If he yielded once, who knew if there wouldn’t be a second or third time? With this in mind, he stiffened his neck, determined, and snorted with contempt.

“Lord Underworld Constable...” Little Troublemaker tried to smooth things over, seeing that Shi Jun was truly angry.

“Don’t call me that! My name is Shi Jun—Shi! Jun! And I’m not, and never will be, your underworld constable!” Shi Jun had reached the end of his patience.

“Just think it over—please? Or maybe we could grant your wishes, and then you’d change your mind, really! We can...”

“Don’t beg him!” Chiyang cut in sharply. “Shi, I’ll ask you one last time—yes or no?”

But Shi Jun’s mind was made up, and Chiyang’s threat vanished into thin air without so much as an echo.

“Fine! Don’t regret it!” Chiyang, exasperated by Shi Jun’s silence, snapped. “Let’s go, Troublemaker!”

With that, Little Troublemaker’s muttering faded away, and the apartment fell utterly silent.

Shi Jun waited a while, but nothing else happened. He glanced around, rotating his stiff neck, and let out a long sigh. He knew Chiyang would not give up so easily and suspected bigger troubles might be on the horizon. “If I refuse, so be it—why must they pester an ordinary person like me? What exactly does the underworld see in me?” he muttered uneasily.

One benefit of becoming a sophomore was that, unlike the new students, he no longer had to live in constant awe of school rules. Besides occasionally enjoying the perks of being an upperclassman, the student council and teachers were less strict with sophomores. Still, classes had to be attended, and some teachers were so unreasonable—they not only called roll before class but also delighted in dragging out their lectures, which Shi Jun found most tiresome. In his view, time management was a basic requirement for teachers; if a lesson could be finished on schedule, why insist on overrunning and then ending in a rush? That was not a sign of thoroughness, but of a teacher who rambled and wasted time.

But some teachers clearly didn’t see it that way; for them, running late was a habit. Especially during the final class before lunch, when students’ stomachs were growling, these teachers remained unhurried, ignoring the fact that everyone’s mind had long since drifted to the cafeteria. The result was poor teaching and a roomful of famished, sallow students—truly a disservice!

One day, the students finally had their revenge, though most never understood how it happened.

On Wednesday, the third period was “Drafting” taught by “Guang Linzi.” The teacher’s real surname was not “Guang,” but he was notorious for his bad temper, for always running late, quizzing students, and calling roll. On top of that, his exams were notoriously tricky, making him deeply unpopular. His face, pockmarked from childhood smallpox, had inspired students to split the word “pockmarked” and give him the elegant nickname “Guang Linzi.”

Perhaps, because it was the first class of the semester, Guang Linzi wanted to test the students’ patience and kept lecturing long after the bell had rung. When some students started quietly tapping their lunchboxes, his face darkened and he barked, “What do you think you’re doing? Is eating really more important than acquiring knowledge? Remember, you are here to study, not to eat...”

And so, he shifted into a long-winded tirade.

Sitting beside Shi Jun was Liu Zijin, nicknamed “Six,” from Hubei. He checked the “absolutely genuine Swiss watch” he always insisted was the real deal, glanced at Shi Jun, and whispered, “Want to bet he drags this out till twelve thirty?”

“You’ll lose big!” Xu Dong, a burly Beijing native with a buzz cut, turned around and laughed. “That old guy can talk forever...”

A ripple of laughter spread quietly.

“Bang!” Xu Dong’s laughter drew too much attention, and Guang Linzi caught him. Furious, the teacher slammed his hand on the desk.

“Enough with the banging!” Shi Jun muttered under his breath, “If only someone would slap some tape over that old man’s mouth and drag him outside to get some sun...”

At that moment, something happened that left the entire class dumbstruck. Of the forty-nine students present, seventeen saw the initial scene (the rest were either dozing or clutching their empty stomachs). As Guang Linzi blustered, gesticulating wildly and about to lay into Xu Dong, a piece of tape appeared out of nowhere and landed perfectly across his mouth, sealing his yellowed teeth.

The classroom fell utterly silent; everyone was stunned.

Guang Linzi was utterly humiliated. He turned sideways, grabbing at the tape, but every attempt to pull it off only left him grimacing in pain—it stuck as if rooted to his lips, and a hard yank tore out a great patch of his beard, leaving him with tears, mucus, and drool streaming down his face—a sight both pitiful and hilarious.

The direct result was that every student watched Guang Linzi’s struggle with twelve times their usual attention, Shi Jun among them, having looked up only because the teacher had suddenly gone silent.

Then, something even stranger happened. As if yanked by an invisible hand, Guang Linzi slid sideways like a crab, rapidly whisked out of the classroom.

The class sat in stunned silence for a full two minutes. Just as they recovered, a muffled roar echoed from below—specifically, from outside the teaching building: “Who did this to me?! Who pulled it off?!”

The students rushed to the corridor, crowding the railing for a look—and burst into laughter. Outside, Guang Linzi stood, disheveled and furious, clutching the torn tape, bellowing in rage—his beard now missing a large chunk, the clear result of his desperate struggle.