Chapter One: The Fiery Shipwreck

The icy, bone-chilling seawater submerged Hua Sheng’s face, and in his ears, apart from the gurgle of bubbles, there was nothing but silence. Looking up from beneath the surface, he could just make out the flickering, uncertain glow of fire above the waves.

That distant firelight receded farther and farther away, while he was slowly sinking beneath the water. The pressure intensified, making his eardrums ache. The surrounding light grew even more stingy, and his already blurry vision faded further.

Why am I in the water? Where is this place?

He could not recall a thing. At that moment, Hua Sheng had only one desperate wish: to swim to the surface as quickly as possible. He stretched out his arms, but suddenly, a stabbing pain near his heart burst forth, so excruciating it nearly made him faint. It was as if a surge of high-voltage current had ripped through his body.

He must have suffered a grave wound. In the dim light, he could see dark liquid floating in the water, rising slowly from his mouth and chest. A strong taste of blood filled his mouth. Even in the water, unable to breathe, a human being’s animal instinct could easily recognize the taste of blood.

If this goes on, am I going to die?

His consciousness began to blur, but the instinct to survive still spurred him to move his arms. The frigid sea kept flooding into his lungs. Though he knew how to swim, his strength had abandoned him.

That’s right, I remember now—I must have fallen off a ship… No, it was a massive cruise liner. Did something happen to the ship? Was there an accident, a fire?

But none of it mattered anymore. Hua Sheng could see nothing now—perhaps he was too far from the surface, or perhaps he had lost too much blood and his vision was failing.

Gradually, the water felt less cold. Even without air, it wasn’t so uncomfortable anymore. People said there was oxygen in water; if you fell into the sea and your lungs filled with water, maybe you could survive for a while from the oxygen within it.

But that couldn’t be true—if it was, how could anyone ever drown?

Helpless, Hua Sheng’s mind flashed with images. He was an orphan. If he died now, he would never see his birth parents again. What did they look like? What were they doing at this moment…?

Why am I in the sea? He was astonished that he could not remember, even though it had just happened seconds ago. Yet it felt as if a lifetime had passed—something had been erased from his memory, leaving only pain, cold, and suffocation.

Suddenly, his mind was filled with the faces and fangs of monsters—bestial, but utterly unfamiliar—like projections from some reality. These ghastly visages appeared in the dark water with his hallucinations, their vicious eyes watching him, ready to devour his soul.

His awareness abruptly cut off, and Hua Sheng slowly slipped into endless darkness.

So be it, let me die. All life comes from the sea, even humans. To perish here, to be swallowed by the fish, is like returning home.

A faint glimmer still lingered at the seabed. The last thing Hua Sheng saw was a glowing deep-sea fish swimming past his eyes. If only he were diving, if only there were more light, the coral- and starfish-covered ocean floor might have been a beautiful sight.

Who knew how much time passed before bursts of brilliant color appeared before his eyes, and he felt a flicker of consciousness return.

What is this?

He couldn’t see clearly, but he was no longer in the water. He seemed to be lying face-down somewhere rough. Of course—a beach.

In the distance, two indistinct figures gradually drew closer.

Hua Sheng’s eyelids couldn’t fully open; he saw only blurred outlines. One was clad in white, the other in black.

What was that blood-red thing between them? A thought flashed through Hua Sheng’s mind: was it a long, trailing tongue?

Could it be the envoys of death, come to lead me to the underworld?

Did I ever commit any great sins? Well, I’m only sixteen—what harm could I have done? Surely not enough to be dragged down to the deepest hell.

As the two drew near, their features became clearer. It turned out to be a man and a woman: the man in a white suit, the woman in black. The blood-red thing between them was not a tongue, but a fiery red tie.

“Coming down to the mortal world is always such a hassle; we have to change our suits every time,” the woman in black said.

“Don’t fuss. We can’t show up in the human world too conspicuously. It’s not like it’s our first day on the job. We’ll change back when we return,” the man in white replied. “Is his name Peanut? Why would his parents give him such an odd name?”

“It’s Hua Sheng. It probably means blossoming flowers,” said the woman in black, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Hua Sheng.

“A grown man, with such a delicate name.”

“Modern parents are strange. Even after having children, they’re still children themselves. We’ve seen enough odd names. Haven’t we met kids named after pesticides?”

The man in white sighed. “Times have changed. In our line of work, you have to keep adapting.”

“Let’s just get this over with. I still have to go to training—there are tens of thousands of new ways to die, and I haven’t finished half the case studies yet. The exam’s next month. If I fail, you’ll be working solo from then on,” said the woman in black, a little impatient.

“Then we’d better hurry,” said the man in white, glancing at Hua Sheng. “Your name is Hua Sheng? Hua as in flower, Sheng as in flourish?”

Hua Sheng tried to make a sound, but he had no breath, and his mouth wouldn’t open. Yet in his mind, he heard his own faint voice: “Yes…”

“Sixteen, are you? Such a promising age,” the man in white mused. “I won’t bother with clichés like ‘gone too soon.’ Early, yes, but glorious? Not quite.”

“Let’s get to the point!” the woman in black said to Hua Sheng. “Your parents are already dead. To put it bluntly…”

“If we’re being that blunt, let me say it,” interjected the man in white. “The two of us are now speaking to a corpse washed up on the sand. You haven’t been dead long—perhaps a few brain cells are still alive, and a handful of stem cells; your fingernails might even keep growing for a while.”

Hua Sheng’s mind twisted in confusion. So I really did die?

“So…”

“So I’m to go with you now…” The voice echoed in his consciousness.

“Ordinarily, yes,” replied the man in white. “But since your parents died before you, you’re an orphan.”

The woman in black added, “And as an orphan who died an unnatural death, you have, for humanitarian reasons, two choices.”

The man in white scratched his head. “What a pain. I’ve always said this goes against the laws of nature. The universe is indifferent—what’s the point of this hypocritical compassion?”

“A new official always has to make a show with some new policy. Didn’t you say the times have changed? At the Battle of Changping, Bai Qi ordered the slaughter of four hundred and fifty thousand Zhao soldiers; Xiang Yu, in his rebellion against Qin, gave one command and two hundred thousand surrendered Qin troops were buried alive. All bulk deletions—where was there any talk of compassion? Reincarnation is just a matter of starting over a little sooner or later,” said the woman in black. “But now, it’s the new century, and human life is more valuable than ever. We can’t just take it so casually.”

“So, Mr. Hua Sheng, you have a choice: One, come with us for a brief vacation, write a summary of your sixteen years, fill out some paperwork, draw a number, and see where you’ll be reborn. But since both developed and developing countries are facing aging populations and young people don’t want children, you might end up somewhere like Africa or India. But that’s all up to chance—the rules are fair. The other option is to invoke the Implicit Amendment, Section 5, Article 33, of the Minor Protection Act.”

Hua Sheng’s mental voice grew hoarse, but he still managed to ask, “What’s that article?”

“It means you can choose to go on living in this lifetime, in a place called Saint Pening.”

“Where? How far is that from my home?”

“Not far—but in terms of physical distance, it’s about eighty-four trillion kilometers,” said the man in white.

“Another planet?” Hua Sheng nearly choked, if he’d still had breath.

“No, still on Earth. Strictly speaking, it’s just a place with vast lands,” said the man in white.

Hua Sheng was no fool. The Earth’s equator is only forty thousand kilometers; the distance from pole to pole is similar. No matter how you walked, you could never reach a distance of billions of kilometers. Even the sun is only a hundred and fifty million kilometers from Earth—eighty-four trillion kilometers would be nearly twenty-eight thousand round trips to the sun and back.

At the speed of light, it would take half a year! Even by rocket, he’d die of old age before he got a fraction of the way. What was the point of going to such a distant planet? Spending a whole life on the road—he might as well move on to reincarnation.

The woman in black straightened her tie and said, “Of course, you don’t actually travel by conventional means. The place is still on Earth. The physical distance is real, but it was created by immortal arts.”

So immortal arts do exist—like something out of a fantasy film.

“If you decide to go, we’ll arrange a special passage. If the paperwork goes quickly, you’ll be there after clearing one checkpoint,” said the man in white.

“What kind of place is it?”

“It’s a long story, and we have things to finish. In short, if you do well there, work hard, and study diligently, you might get the chance to meet some rather famous immortals. For example, the Buddha Victorious in Battle. Of course, he doesn’t live there usually, but sometimes people are summoned for an audience.”

The Buddha Victorious in Battle—where had he heard that name before? Was it from a game he played as a child? Hua Sheng racked his memory. He wanted to roll over and think, but his body felt drained, as if all his blood had been drawn out—he couldn’t even move a finger.

“Who is this Buddha Victorious in Battle?”

“That’s his title. We rarely call him by name, but everyone should know him. Every so often, they release a movie or TV show about his life before enlightenment—pity most of them are terrible. It’s baffling, really,” said the man in white. “But every year, they keep filming, and each new generation of stars gets to play him.”

“He hasn’t used his old name for over a thousand years,” said the woman in black. “He used to be called Wukong—Sun Wukong.”

It was as if a thunderclap exploded in Hua Sheng’s mind. One voice echoed in his head.

Whatever that place is, I must go!