Chapter Fifteen: Seventy-Two Reapers

It is often said among the people that the gates of the underworld open at midnight, that the dead are most restless at the third watch, and there are also tales of ghosts opening doors at midnight or knocking at the third watch. Whether any of this is true, I can't say; only Uncle Mao would know for sure.

After the twelve ominous chimes faded into silence, I saw those malevolent spirits open their eyes. Their mouths were filled with sharp fangs, as if they were oversized bats with a tail straight from hell. They quickly gathered together, fixing their gaze on me, sensing an outsider. Though I too had wings on my back, the golden incantations inscribed upon them marked me as something other than their kin.

Each of these spirits clutched a dark trident, ready to defend themselves at any moment. I was only in a half-transformed state: apart from the unusual wings, the rest of my body remained that of an ordinary human.

As the saying goes, every group has its leader, and this gathering was no exception. The largest of the spirits stepped forward and, to my surprise, spoke in human language.

"Who are you, and why do you linger near my king?" the spirit demanded, raising his trident at me.

To me, these creatures looked just like Western devils—I’d never seen anything like them in Eastern ghost films, with their tridents and strange black tails.

"Who is your king? I don’t care what you are. If you dare commit evil here, I won’t let you off." As I spoke, my hair quickly grew long and silver, framing an icy, pale face. A string of violet-black charms ran down my left cheek, and my ruby-like eyes shone coldly at the seventy-two spirits. My two canine teeth lengthened. This was my most formidable battle form, the one I was most satisfied with.

I had expected a fierce battle to erupt, but to my surprise, there was a more peaceful resolution.

The leader hovered in the air and said, "It seems you are of the Demon Corpse lineage of the Jiangchen. But have you not heard of our great Western Bloodline?"

So, they truly came from the West. Still, I couldn't understand why they had been sealed here. I asked the leader why they had been forcibly sealed in the East, and he grew visibly angry.

"The East has the Netherworld Hall, and the West has Hell. The East has ghost officials, and the West has Death. We are the seventy-two Deaths from Western Hell, and when we accompanied the Blood Prince to travel the East, we were ambushed by some unknown forces and ended up in this sorry state."

No sooner had the leader finished speaking than the yellow jade coffin cracked open with a sharp sound. A Western nobleman, pale and beautiful, dressed in a blood-red robe, awoke.

So old Ma had gotten it wrong after all—these were not fiends but Western Deaths and a Blood Prince. His panic had been much ado about nothing. I silently scoffed at old Ma.

Though the sound of breaking jade was soft, the echoes in the cave were loud enough to carry outside. Soon, a dozen men bearing rifles rushed in. By then, I had already returned to my human form, awaiting whatever punishment awaited me. The Blood Prince did the same.

As for the seventy-two Deaths, being incorporeal, only the Blood Prince and I were taken away by the police and driven to the nearest station, accused of vandalizing relics.

Word quickly spread to old Ma and the students. As for that group of rich brats, they were no doubt delighted, probably eager to spend some money to make my time in jail a living hell. I wasn't bothered by this. Instead, I was curious about the Blood Prince sitting beside me.

Since emerging from the coffin, he hadn't said a word, only staring blankly at everything, occasionally glancing at me with amusement.

I could only smile wryly. Why did this Blood Prince seem so dazed? As I was studying him, the leader of the Deaths suddenly phased through the police van's wall, trident in hand, appearing before me.

Of course, I was the only one who could see him. To others, nothing was there.

The Death pointed his trident at the fat policeman next to me and asked, "Shall I take him out?"

Without thinking, I blurted, "Take out your own damn mother!"

Ah, the divide between the living and the dead—how could I have forgotten? The fat policeman glared at me, furious.

Without a word, he punched me, and I suddenly understood why the state kept such hefty officers. The skinny ones chased criminals; the fat ones reformed the stubborn ones like me. Together, they were a match made in heaven.

Luckily, as a first-generation demon corpse, I wasn’t easily hurt. I rubbed my face, got up, and moved to the other side—putting the Blood Prince between me and the officer.

The Death still floated in the van, and seeing me get punched, he looked a bit embarrassed, nervously tugging at his sharp mouth. His two small fangs stuck out, and his big, shiny eyes sparkled. Here, I must tell the readers: this Death was very much male.

Annoyed, I shouted at him, "Get lost!"

Unfortunately, I was pointing straight at the fat policeman. My anger vanished, and I quickly tried to explain, "Sir, I swear I wasn’t cursing at you!"

Naturally, I got another round of beatings.

We were taken to the city police station in K City, marched through a small iron gate into a dim room that felt steeped in sorrow.

And so, the Blood Prince and I ended up in jail, awaiting our hearing. I guessed we'd be here for a few days.

Sitting on the bed, I looked at the Blood Prince in a daze across from me and said, "Hey, my name is Hu Xiaodong. You can call me Xiaodong. What's your name?" There was nothing else to do, so I asked the Blood Prince on the opposite bed.

There were only two beds in the big room—so, of course, he was my cellmate.

The Blood Prince slowly turned his head and asked, "Where is this place?" His words snapped me out of my thoughts—he had only just realized what was happening. I wondered if he was confused or just slow.

But as it turned out, he was quite lucid.

He turned to me and said, "I am Smith Te, rightful heir of the Smith family, the royal bloodline. Tell me, what has happened here?"

How should I know? You just woke from your coffin, and I've never heard of the damned Smith family! Of course, I didn't say this aloud. Instead, I replied, "This is China. I don’t know anything about your family, but we’re trapped here now."

"Trapped? Are there Macas Jerey’s men outside? We must go—my father needs us, or it will be too late!" Te tried to drag me out with him.

Clearly, he was still stuck in the past. I couldn't let him take charge, so I slapped him. "Are you crazy? There’s no Macas out there—this is China, the East. Whoever you’re talking about is probably long dead."

The Blood Prince was stunned, whether from my words or from the slap, I couldn’t tell. He knelt on the ground, clutching his head, sobbing, "The Smith family is finished; my father is dead."

Seeing him cry so bitterly, this thousand-year-old Blood Prince seemed just like a child. Perhaps this was the pain of losing a father.

I went over and comforted him, holding his head. "I don’t understand what you mean. Can you tell me your story?"

Te wiped away his tears and nodded, beginning to explain.

A thousand years ago, the Smith family was the ruling dynasty of all Western bloodlines. Like the demon corpses of the East, the bloodline only revered strength. In that age of power, the man called Macas emerged from the bloodlines, reaching the rank of duke in a mere hundred years and challenging the Smith family. Of course, as only a grand duke, Macas was no match for the blood emperor and was forced to retreat. Yet, centuries later, he returned, and by then, to everyone’s shock, had reached the emperor’s level in just a century. Many grand dukes flocked to the new emperor. The Smith family thought things would end there, but Macas’s ambition was boundless—he demanded the blood emperor submit to him.

Of course, Te’s father refused; pride was everything among the bloodlines. Thus, Macas commanded most of the grand dukes to declare war on the Smith family.

Most of the Smith family’s grand dukes had already defected, leaving them isolated. When the family gate was breached, Te’s father stood out, knowing resistance was futile. He gathered over three hundred Deaths to escort the young baron east, while he threw himself into the chaos. The Blood Prince witnessed it all.

I asked, "Weren’t there three hundred Deaths? Why are there only seventy-two left?"

The leader of the Deaths suddenly burst through the wall, giving me a fright.

He said, "Good question. Let me tell you the bloody history of the three hundred Deaths..."

(Two chapters for today. I wrote late into the night, so please support original works, or I’ll be heartbroken! o(╯□╰)o)