Chapter 150 Reincarnation

The old Daoist next to him was vomiting so hard he was seeing stars; everything he had just eaten was coming back up, a truly miserable sight. The ground was covered in a colorful mix of reds, whites, and yellows, looking like a sauce shop had exploded.

Tears welled up in his eyes. The old Daoist felt so much regret, so much hate. How could he be so unlucky?

He'd been so careful, so cautious, thinking he had dodged one pit, only to realize he'd foolishly and recklessly jumped into an even bigger, deeper one.

And while jumping, he was even shouting:

"So ethereal!"

"Leave her body and come with me."

Zhou Ze urged. He was the last one needed. Send him back to hell, and Zhou Ze could finally get his promotion.

Perhaps this was a case of searching high and low only to find it right under his nose. He had been busy at the school, even uncovering some past-life karma, but hadn't caught a single genuine ghost. Then, on the way back, he found him (or her).

The woman hung her head, as if resigned to her fate, but she still spoke:

"I want to stay with her a little longer. She wants me to, too. We can still meet in our dreams every night, and I can see my three children."

Zhou Ze remained unmoved. Every dead person has their own attachments to the living world. It's a characteristic of any intelligent life form, an instinct for survival that drives them to cling to any opportunity to stay.

Even Zhou Ze himself was the same, but understanding was one thing, and rules were another.

Besides, the husband's ghost had been staying in the woman's body, and her body would soon be unable to handle it, leading to problems. In the end, it would only be hurting everyone involved.

"Bang!"

The woman suddenly shoved the stall in front of her, sending the steamers crashing toward Zhou Ze. Then, she turned and ran, desperate to escape being captured.

Zhou Ze pushed aside the steamers, his fingernails lightly scratching forward, releasing a wisp of black mist that ordinary people couldn't see. It instantly ensnared the woman.

She groaned and collapsed to the ground.

Zhou Ze took a few steps forward, crouched down beside her, and placed his hand on her forehead. Immediately, a wisp of black soul was pulled out.

It was the face of a man, struggling and roaring in anger, filled with intense unwillingness and hysteria.

"She wants me to! She wants to stay with me! She told me in her dreams that we would raise the children together! She wants to!"

The man argued for himself, then glared at Zhou Ze.

"She wants to! Why are you meddling!"

"I need the points."

"............" The man was speechless.

Zhou Ze was telling the truth. At the end of the day, he needed the points, and he was only one point away. He'd been waiting for days and could only use this guy to complete the task and get promoted.

The man was stunned for a moment. Zhou Ze's frank admission that he was motivated by personal gain left him speechless because he knew that no matter how much he argued, he wouldn't soften the other's heart.

"Let me go home and see my three children one last time."

The man pleaded.

"I promise I won't leave or run away this time."

"You don't get to make demands of me, and I'm not running a charity show."

"There's... another... ghost... in my house!"

"Alright, I guess it's only right to let you go home for one last look before you go. There's always a human element outside the law, right?"

The old Daoist, who had just finished vomiting, felt like throwing up again.

But he held it in.

He didn't dare.

The woman woke up, feeling dizzy. The old Daoist helped her back to her feet. Being possessed by a ghost, even if it was her husband, took a significant toll on the body and mind.

Following the male ghost's directions, Zhou Ze began walking toward his home.

The old Daoist was a busybody at heart. Although he had made fun of her large steamed buns earlier, he wouldn't take advantage of her now. She was pitiful enough as it was, and he wouldn't do anything so beastly. Instead, he started chatting with the male ghost:

"Hey, brother, where are you from? Your wife doesn't sound like a local."

Tongcheng dialect was easy to recognize, it's very distinctive because it's basically on a completely different frequency from Mandarin. The dialects of some other places, however, sometimes have a local flavor because they are too similar to the Mandarin language family, so locals unconsciously speak with a dialect accent when speaking Mandarin.

"Sichuan," the man replied.

He was starting to understand and accept the situation, mainly due to Zhou Ze's attitude, which was so different from the compassionate Daoists and monks he'd seen on TV.

"So, how did you die?" the old Daoist asked.

"Died of pleasure."

"How do you die of pleasure?" the old Daoist pressed.

"Drug... overdose."

"Uh..." The old Daoist's interest was piqued, and he asked like a curious child, "What does that stuff feel like?"

Zhou Ze glanced at the old Daoist, who stuck out his tongue and didn't dare to say another word.

"Heh, it feels great, of course..." the male ghost replied.

"So great you became a ghost and wasted your family's fortune?" Zhou Ze added.

As a doctor in his previous life, Zhou Ze was well aware of the terrible harm that stuff could do to the human body. Ordinary people only knew that using that stuff was addictive and wasted money, but in fact, a lot of the damage it did to the body was completely irreversible.

"Right, right, right, look at the mess you've made of your life. Your wife is working so hard to raise the kids, and you're off having a great time," the old Daoist immediately chimed in, catching Zhou Ze's drift.

"Heh," the man snorted. "The stuff you rich people use here is garbage. Who knows what kind of crap they mix in it? Back where I'm from..."

"Yeah, yeah, if you made so much money, how come your wife and kids are in such a bad way?" the old Daoist scoffed.

The male ghost seemed to be getting stubborn with the old Daoist and said directly, "Heh, call me a bastard if I'm lying. I used to be rich, richer than you can imagine."

"After earning your first pot of gold, did you keep running the stuff?" Zhou Ze asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I? What can make money faster than running this stuff? It's a sure profit! Who would open a broken factory? It takes three years just to get your money back. It's just not interesting enough."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the old Daoist clicked his tongue.

In fact, the old Daoist had seen plenty of people like this.

This male ghost was probably a poor farmer who made his first fortune by running that stuff at great risk, then turned his life around. Life was good, but the pleasure was so addicting, he couldn't let it go. If you asked him to open a factory, start a business, and live a good life, he wouldn't be able to handle it because his values and views on money had completely collapsed.

This was similar to many prostitutes or gamblers. For a prostitute, it's easy for her to earn tens of thousands a month, and for a gambler, the next bet could be thousands or tens of thousands. Once their views on money are impacted by this, asking them to return to working steadily in a factory for three or four thousand a month would seem pointless to them.

And then,

They are ruined.

It's hard to start over and live a good life.

Why do so many people who are determined to retire from the game for good soon fall back into it?

Because they can't handle the rhythm of a normal, ordinary person's life.

"So, since you said everyone in that village is doing this, you should know that using that stuff is harmful to your body, right? Why did you still do it?" the old Daoist asked, puzzled.

"When everyone in the village is doing it, you don't think much of it. It's the environment," the man said wistfully. "It's like when your dad, your uncle, your brother, and your colleagues are all smoking, even if 'smoking is harmful to your health' is printed on the cigarette pack, you won't think it's a big deal.

"Anyway, everyone's doing it."

The old Daoist nodded thoughtfully.

Then, the old Daoist asked, "So, where's your money? Did you use it all up before you died?"

"I left a lot of money," the man said. "I didn't fail my family. I didn't fail my wife and kids."

"Heh," the old Daoist chuckled.

This family lived in a garage room in a community. The ground floor was originally people's garages, which had been converted into small one-bedroom apartments for rent.

The woman was helped into the house. There were three children in the house, all staring wide-eyed at Zhou Ze, the old Daoist, and their mother.

Two boys and a girl, all probably of elementary school age, one of whom was wearing a red scarf around his neck.

The children's clothes were a bit worn, but their faces were clean, and they were in good spirits. Although their living conditions weren't great, their mother must have taken good care of them.

But no matter how you looked at it, this family didn't seem like the kind where the man had left a lot of money after his death.

"Hey, didn't you make a lot of money? How come your wife and kids came all the way to Tongcheng and are living here?" the old Daoist asked.

"She wanted to bring the kids here. She didn't want to stay in the village," the man replied.

At that moment, Zhou Ze spoke up: "Where's the other ghost?"

Boss Zhou had always believed that more points were better, and he really wasn't interested in relationship columns or charity.

The male ghost's gaze turned to a curtain in the corner.

Zhou Ze walked over

and pulled back the curtain.

Behind the curtain was a small plastic bathtub, and squatting inside was a young man who looked to be in his twenties, shivering. On his chest was a scarlet red mark that was particularly glaring.

"He's my son. After I died, he used the money I left at home to start using, and then when the money ran out, he followed my old path, selling to support his habit.

"He had bad luck and got caught.

"The amount was too large,

"So they sent him to Rongcheng

"And executed him."