Shen Jiao felt her head throbbing, as if it were several times the size of a head and about to explode.
The ghost messenger said slowly, "The gist of it is that although you were poisoned by partridge, you died half a quarter of an hour before the poison took effect. You thought you died of fright, but that's not the case. You should have fainted from fright because Shen Qingye caused you too much physical and mental damage. Over time, without any relief, your heart developed an intractable depression. So, this fright is what scared you to death. Hmm, you could have lived for another half a quarter of an hour."
Upon hearing this, Shen Jiao was struck dumb, unable to recover for a long time.
Although being able to live a little longer sounds like a very happy thing.
But if it's only for 15 minutes, it's better not to do it at all.
Seeing her so distraught, the ghost messenger felt a pang of pity and said softly, "Alright, since you've been selling soup so well, Meng Po and I have decided to give you a special favor. Sister, go and reincarnate. The past is but a dream. People must learn to look forward. Drink the soup, cross the bridge, and don't look back. You will have a bright tomorrow."
It took Shen Jiao an unknown amount of time for her mind to clear. When she came to her senses, she found herself standing in front of Meng Po's stall, holding a full bowl of steaming Meng Po soup.
If I remember correctly, that smell is probably from the pot she cooked on her first day at work.
After so long, there's still stock left?
Was it fate, intentional, or deliberate?
Shen Jiao was shocked.
The ghost messenger and Meng Po stood side by side, saying nothing, only smiling at her.
Shen Jiao remained silent, thinking to herself, "Fine, fine, fine. As the saying goes, a child doesn't despise his mother for being ugly, and a dog doesn't despise his home for being poor. I'll drink the soup I made myself, even if I have to kneel down!"
Just as she was about to drink, Meng Po suddenly stopped, her breath catching in her throat. She reached into her tattered pocket and pulled out a very worn and crudely made hairpin, handing it to the ghost messenger.
Perhaps the hairpin was held in her hand until she breathed her last, and by some twist of fate, it ended up in the underworld.
Shen Jiao smiled, her eyes crinkling like a crescent moon, and said softly, "I don't know when he will come down. I don't know many people in the underworld. I can only ask you, brother, to return this item to him when you see him one day. From now on, we can go our separate ways and be well, with no debts between us. Thank you, brother."
Having said that, before the ghost messenger could utter a sound, Shen Jiao raised the bowl and drank it all in one gulp.
His movements looked quite dashing, but when he was halfway through drinking, his face, which was crumpled up like a piece of paper, looked rather disheveled.
Looking at the half-empty pot of Shen's secret soup that was faintly glowing green, Meng Po thought to herself that she had been too hasty and should have given her a different bowl to drink from.
It's such a waste to have so much left over.
Shen Jiao's seven emotions and six desires vanished like smoke. At this moment, her eyes were clear, even somewhat blank. She mechanically accepted the other shore flower given to her by Meng Po, and turned around to step onto the endless Naihe Bridge.
Suddenly, it seemed as if someone behind me was screaming at the top of their lungs: "Little sister!"
"Little sister!"
"Little sister!"
The sound drew closer, each note more strained and desperate than the last.
But no one looked back. Fireflies flickered on the Bridge of Helplessness, and they continued forward, seeking a bright new tomorrow.
From then on, there was no more Shen Jiao.
There was no younger sister.
The ghost messenger looked at Shen Qingye, who had even lost his shoes while running away, and said coldly and ruthlessly, "Everyone in this world, every ghost, even every ant is busy. Who has time to keep looking back at you?"
Shen Qingye: "..."
Meng Po smiled and said, "You came down so quickly. It's good that you didn't make it in time, otherwise she would have been even more unhappy leaving."
Shen Qingye: "..."
Actually, it wasn't that fast. Shen Qingye in the mortal realm was already over forty years old, and the tyrant and Shen Jiao had both retired to the mountains and were now holding their grandchildren.
Although the ghost messenger disapproved of his second brother's actions, he was, after all, a well-informed and dutiful ghost messenger. He immediately took out his notebook and asked routinely, "Shen Qingye, age?"
Forty-two.
"cause of death?"
Upon hearing this, Shen Qingye turned his gaze away from the Bridge of Helplessness and said in a deep voice, "Died of illness."
The notebook emitted a faint green light, gradually revealing lines of text.
After reading through the book, the ghost messenger exclaimed excitedly, "Good heavens! She died of a heart ailment, and you, not to be outdone, died of depression. Middle-aged people, try to think more positively. Although you didn't see each other one last time, judging from the cause of death alone, you two siblings were quite destined for each other."
"..."
"No ordinary person would die at this time."
"..."
Shen Qingye's lips twitched. He really didn't understand how the ghost messenger's mouth could be so long, just as long as Shen Qingfeng's and Gu An's.
However, that wasn't the important matter. He hurriedly asked, "...Can I be reincarnated now?"
"Of course not!" The ghost messenger glanced at him and said, "The ghosts who are rushing to be reincarnated are already lined up for thirty years from now. You're not related to the King of Hell, yet you still dream of using the back door? Soldiers get priority, tsk, too bad you're not one either. Oh, those with merit also have priority, too bad you don't have any. But your head is shining with the light of immorality."
Shen Qingye: "..." In the dignified underworld, is there really no one to control this mouth of yours?
The ghost messenger made a grabbing motion in the air, and immediately grabbed a pen in his hand. He scribbled a series of numbers on the notebook, then tore it off, and it instantly turned into a token.
He handed it over and said seriously, "This is your number plate. Take it carefully. One number per ghost. It cannot be reported lost or replaced. Remember to estimate your reincarnation time in thirty years. If you miss it, you will have to queue up again."
Shen Qingye clutched the number tag, staring at the Bridge of Helplessness, and said unwillingly, "Isn't there any way to expedite this? I want to catch up..."
The ghost messenger was used to such questions and snorted coldly, saying, "What are you chasing? What are you chasing? What do you want to chase? What right do you have to chase her? From the moment she stepped onto the Bridge of Helplessness, she has no causal relationship with you anymore."
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