Author's Note: I am fully convinced that China, with his long and ancient existence and his having witnessed so many atrocities through his lifetime, has come to very particular conclusions regarding the afterlife. That is, part of him believes (or at least wants to do so) in Heaven and Hell and reincarnation; yet another part sneers and wonders if all of humanity does not deserve to burn forever — himself included.

Which brings us to why he appears so calm before the guardians and demons of Hell in this chapter: China has honestly resigned himself to a doomed afterlife. I think that because of his cynical nature, he holds doubts that such a human being like him could possibly deserve to enter Paradise, especially with all the horrific deeds he has committed with his history. How could he be allowed into Heaven when his hands are so tainted, even as (or especially because he is) an immortal? Chinese lore tells of the Immortals to be great sages, wise but heavenly; they are above the sinful natures of Earth.

But China is immortal yet worldly. He is both of Heaven and the exact opposite of what Heaven wants. He is bloody and terrible, sad and passionate, and — worst of all — he is so utterly human. He fears. He hates. He loves. He mourns.

Which afterworld, therefore, does he most deserve to be sent to?

Thus, China greets death and the sadistic beasts of Hell as future friends. Who knows: they very well may end up being so.

Part III

地獄

"Hell"

One block down Yao's street lies a head shop, tucked between a run-down grocery market and an apartment building. Yao had only been in there once, when his back pains were particularly bad and he hadn't felt like walking or driving six blocks over to the herbal pharmacy he preferred. The head shop had been small and ill-lit; the air was thick with mixed herbs and incense smoke from the altar in the corner. Someone had propped an electric fan on the counter where it sat whirring back and forth, barely stirring the stiflingly hot air. From behind the counter, the muted sounds of a television issued from the other room: some Chinese soap opera was on.

An old woman shuffled out as Yao sifted around for dipsacus and Sichuan achyranthes. Her back bent as though unseen weights pulled her shoulders down, and her hair was like a cloud: wispy and snowy white. A thousand fine lines creased her face and the rice-paper-frail skin of her hands.

Yao remembers feeling vaguely amused when he looked at her. What fraction of his age did hers make up? A hundredth of his five thousand years? A thousandth? Or perhaps, not even remotely close: just a flicker that would vanish before he could even glance over. The thought had made him feel abruptly exhausted.

The altar in the back housed hand-sized statues of several different Buddhas; Yao recalls gazing at them wearily as the old woman fumbled to give him his change.

So it is this Yao muses on — the red and gold of those Buddhas' faces, the dim glow of burning incense — while agonized screams fill the suffocating air and the hideous laughter of demons pierces through the dark. A nether creature whose head spills with horns shoves by Yao roughly. It pauses and turns to leer at him, hissing between needle teeth, then goes to join the others' fun. Yao grimaces at its back, irritated at the unpleasant jerk back to reality.

This is the first level of the afterworld: the first of seven. And just as is expected in a dream, Yao can't recall how they even got here.

(He doesn't miss how, ironically, the horrific faces of these demonic bureaucrats are colored the same reds and golds of the altar.)

Ah Xiá and the butterfly stand near him, the young girl ashen-faced and trembling. Her fear of him had been quickly drowned by terror of the acid-faced demons instead. One passes with a cackling bellow, and she pulls back against Yao with a fearful sound. His eyes flick down at her, mildly annoyed, and he heaves a great sigh before placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. She flinches and looks up at him but he just stares off at the head of the line. It's much shorter now; there isn't that many people until Ah Xiá's turn. Behind them stand so many others. Women, men, children, elderly — and all with terrified faces as they await their turn on the Weighing Bridge.

"How much longer until ours, I wonder?" he mutters. But as if in response the people ahead begin to move forward, ushering them to do the same. The monsters shrill in laughter and a whip cracks, to which a guttural scream echoes.

"What are they...still doing?" the butterfly whispers, wings fluttering his shoulder. Yao glances behind him and the butterfly peers back, lips taut with fright. "T... That man... He was heavy..."

Yao sighs. Just minutes ago, roaring demons ushered a man onto the scales which the sins he'd committed in life caused to plunge several meters. No time was wasted in administering punishment. With the utmost relish, the demons demonstrated for the man his first taste of what awaited him: those waiting in line whimpered and looked away as they skinned him alive and cut him to pieces. But Yao had worn a look of indifference even as he silently reached out to turn the two girls away. No need for them to watch, after all.

Yao, on the other hand, has witnessed these kinds of things for many centuries, for too often.

(But with that in mind, he has to wonder if there's truly any difference between these demons and the humans they inevitably punish. Ha. What a thought.)

"Just don't look," he says now, watching the man's body be restored so he could be sent off shaking and sobbing hysterically. He'd actually frothed at the mouth, a sight as pitiful as it is horrendous. But the demons simply laugh and call out for the next person in line. Yao exhales slowly. "Don't watch them."

"P-Please..." He glances over at the sound of her voice. Ah Xiá stares, her eyes fixed on his chest but not seeing. "I-I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to think."

A quiet scoff escapes him, despite himself. "Oh? Then what exactly would you like to chat about, Little Miss?" he asks, a sardonic note to his voice, and Ah Xiá cringes at the condescending tone. Yao frowns — very well, perhaps that was a bit unnecessary — and then sighs. "Come," he says, this time somewhat gentler. "If you want to speak of other things, I am not unwilling to do so."

But one of the demons overhears, and suddenly rancid heat crashes over Yao's face as the red-skinned creature laughs, its breath possessing a stench like charred and rotting flesh. His face twists in disgust and, without a word, he discreetly eases himself between it and Ah Xiá. The girl seizes his robes, so utterly terrified she doesn't dare even look up at the beast. Out of the corner of his eye, Yao sees the butterfly land lightly on her shoulder.

A raspy, gurgling bellow issues from the monster, and it takes Yao a moment to realize it's talking. "Speak of other things! Hahaha, yes, do so! Speak of life and joy, O ghost!" jeers the demon in delight. A yellowed tongue spills out between its teeth, red saliva dripping with an acidic hiss. Yao pulls back in revulsion and the demon waves its claws tauntingly. Its eyes fixate on Ah Xiá, who stiffens under its eager gaze. She looks caught between screaming and turning to run.

"Ah, is this the Little Miss who died?" the demon questions, lowering its voice to a honeyed croon. The thing leans forward and crooks its multiple fingers, and Ah Xiá whimpers, burying her face in Yao's back. "Is this the little dead girl? Ha, ha! How many sins have you committed, girl, eh? What worthless offerings were you given? How scrawny you look, no fun at all!"

It smacks its lips, and Yao tenses at the realization there are globs of flesh caught between its teeth. He feels Ah Xiá shudder, her cheek pressed to his spine.

"Go away," she whispers, near-inaudible. "Go away, go away." The demon hears and only lets out an earsplitting laugh. Yao grits his teeth at the sound.

"Best hope your family stuffs you well! You'll need it if you land in one of our hells! Now let's see... You can't possibly be 一塵不染 yī chén bù rǎn (not contaminated by a single speck of dust), heheh. So what might've a pretty girlie like you done...? Maybe eloped with a worthless low-status son? Disrespected your elders or husband? Oh, maybe you died in childbirth. Ha, send you right to the Blood-Gathering Lake for that, hahaha!"

"That's quite enough."

The demon's laughter cuts off. Abruptly. Bulging eyes zero in on Yao, who smiles calmly and holds out an arm between the creature and its prey.

"This escort job is taking a lot more time than I expected, and you're being quite a bother. It's irritating. So why not do your filial duty as well and torture those who really deserve it?" he asks in a cool tone, though ice leaks into his gaze until he's glowering at the nether beast. The demon snarls and glares down at him; it pulls itself up to full height, leaning down over his head so that needle teeth bare inches from his face and burning saliva drips onto his cheek. His skin chars and runs, but Yao's eyes merely narrow.

And then, just as suddenly, it freezes.

The next time it laughs, the sound fills the void.

"HAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! You! You!" it screams, dancing back with savage thrill lighting its fire-eyes. "I know you! Look, look, hahaha, look's who's here!"

As it screeches, the other demons begin to flock around, annoyed at what the fuss was all about. Yao bristles at their sheer ugliness: festering skin, burning hooves, melted faces, iron fangs and clawed fingers with too many joints. And that hunger. That sadistic, eager hunger in those eyes.

These things want nothing more than to inflict agony. That much is clear.

"Look at it! Look at it!" shrieks the red demon, jabbing at Yao with a too-long finger. "See it, brothers! Look upon it and recognize!"

Another demon with eyes oozing pus and clutching a bloody rapier steps forward. It cocks its head at a disturbing angle and squints. Yao gazes back evenly. Those blistered eyes widen, and the demon roars in shock or glee.

"仙人 Xiānrén! (Immortal!)" a garbled voice yells. "Immortal!"

The demons go mad: they shriek and laugh and rush forward to grab at him. Yao hisses under his breath and jerks back, still shielding the two behind him. The newly dead stare; in confusion and uncertainty, Yao can sense. After all — an immortal? Here at the Weighing Bridge with them?

Ha... They must think the gods are laughing at them.

How pitiable they are.

Before he can react, however, a voice booms through the darkness. Deep as a lowing ox, resonant as a tiger's roar — and blazing with fury like a storm of hellfire.

"WHY HAVE YOUR DUTIES BEEN NEGLECTED? RETURN TO YOUR STATIONS NOW!"

A violent shudder travels down Yao's spine while the entire void goes flat-out silent. For the first time since their arrival Yao sees the demons show true, unadulterated fear. Eyes widen until white rings their jaundiced irises, bulging in horror as they scramble back to their posts at the Weighing scales, tripping over one another in their haste. But it's too late. Around him, ghosts scream as two shadows materialize from the darkness, a thousand li tall and a thousand li wide. Metal rings jangle around the crosspieces of a pronged spear and spiked mace, held tightly in fisted hands. Tongues of fire blaze before their mouths as, with absolutely no mercy, the two guardians of the underworld rip apart those demons unfortunate enough to have not made it back in time.

"LET THAT TEACH YOU TO ABANDON YOUR POSTS."

A different voice this time, higher-pitched and ringing but no less furious. The two guardians loom over the frightened dead like mountains. Inhuman eyes glow with blue-red-violet fire, and they scour the line as if searching for something. Hundreds of dead humans cower or plead for mercy under the searing gazes, but the figures pay them no attention.

Somehow Yao is not surprised when their eyes freeze on him. Behind him, Ah Xiá holds onto him tight, whispering what sound like pleas (prayers?) too soft to hear. The butterfly stands beside her, pale-faced but solemn.

"YOU HAVE NO PLACE HERE, IMMORTAL. GO BACK TO THE REALM OF THE LIVING WHERE YOU BELONG," both guardians boom, voices swelling and filling the void like mammoth temple bells. Yao merely smiles. With utter calmness he folds his hands into his sleeves, levelling a pleasant look at both of them.

"Well, well. I have imagined our meeting many times, 牛頭 Niútóu (Ox-Head) and 馬面 Mǎmiàn (Horse-Face). You are as impressive as I thought. Might I ask how His Majesty the Emperor fares?"

"HE-WHO-LIVES-FIVE-THOUSAND-YEARS HAS NO BUSINESS WITH THE EMPEROR OF THE DEATH REALM," is the brusque reply provided by Horse-Face. Both guardians appear with the immense bodies of armored generals, painted with bright blood and brimstone, differentiated only by their weapons and — of course — grotesque heads. Just as their names imply, a head with massive curving horns rests on the neck of Ox-Head meanwhile Horse-Face has the proud but terrible skull of a wild stallion, mane tangled and matted around his shoulders.

The guards of the underworld leave little to the imagination as to why they're so feared.

Earthquake-like pounding from Ox-Head's pike draw back Yao's attention. "WE WILL GIVE NO FURTHER WARNING," he bays. "LEAVE NOW, OR ELSE SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES."

Yao sighs and shakes his head. "Ah, well... I'm quite afraid I can't do that."

That certainly displeases them: the guardians' enraged roars explode against his eardrums. Yao grimaces but manages to remain upright; most of those in line are either knocked over by the force of the cries or they collapse from sheer horror. Ah Xiá shrieks and grips at his back.

"What are you doing?" she cries at him, eyes wide and filled with both indignation and fear. "Don't make them even angrier!"

He simply smiles at her, the gesture a cryptic one. "Unfortunately, I've promised my guidance to this little one here," he continues addressing the guardians and motions toward the butterfly with one hand. She stiffens when their gazes burn into her, holding her head higher despite how the color drains from her skin. "Who, in turn, has been charged with escorting this young one, meaning that the girl is my responsibility as well," Yao goes on, angling his body so that Ah Xiá can be seen. His eyes narrow and he smirks.

"Surely an escort must count as an offering. My presence is likewise nothing more, nothing less. Would you not agree?"

Ox-Head and Horse-Face stare in smoldering fury, growls rumbling deep in their chests. Ah Xiá keeps her gaze steady in spite of how violently she trembles, Yao notes with a note of admiration, which he hadn't expected her to do. Not bad for a delicate sequestered flower.

"THEN WE SHALL ESCORT YOU TO HIS MAJESTY OURSELVES. THE LIVING CANNOT WANDER IN THE REALM OF THE DEAD," declares Ox-Head with a slam of the wicked pike. He bares red fangs as he speaks, flames flickering around his powerful jaws.

In tandem Horse-Face whinnies and swings his mace up to his shoulder, adding on, "THE BALANCE OF HEAVEN AND HELL WILL BE UPTURNED IF DEMONS TAKE A STILL-LIVING SOUL BY MISTAKE, OR IF THEY ARE REINCARNATED BEFORE THEIR TIME. WE WILL GO TO ENSURE YOU DO NOT STRAY FROM THE PATH."

"Understood," replies Yao, tranquil as ever and smirking wider. "It is appreciated." The guardians do not reply; they slowly turn to face the minor demons still crawling by the Weighing Scales.

"THE GIRL GOES NOW. WEIGH HER."

The demons screech and lurch forward; a multitude of others materialize from the dark to replace those who were killed. They surround Ah Xiá where they dance and jeer, calling her names and yelling about how they'd love to saw her in half and hammer nails into her eyes. She whimpers and staggers on her first step forward, quailing at the demons' attention. But the butterfly comes with her and when Ah Xiá stumbles, she takes the girl's hand and leads her to the scales. Yao studies her tight-lipped expression with no emotion.

The two young women pause before the scales, closely dogged by a legion of snickering nether creatures. Ah Xiá stares at the huge bronze platter before her then casts first the butterfly, then Yao a fearful look. He gives her a frown in response, but before he could gesture for her to hurry, the girl squeezes her eyes shut, inhales, and leaps onto the scale.

It tips.

There's a moment in which Yao's heart seems to halt.

The scales plunge — but only a few feet or so. Yao exhales quietly; of course she wouldn't tip them so much. Ah Xiá died too young to have accumulated that many misdeeds. She was not lighter than air, which would've meant she was truly virtuous, but whatever sins she'd committed had been minor. Relief washes over her face and the butterfly's. The girl staggers off of the platter and falls against the butterfly who supports her as the demons hiss around them, disappointed.

Yao glances up. Ox-Head and Horse-Face are already moving forward, towards the bridge extending into the shadows.

"THEY SHALL PASS."

The demons standing guard shrill even as they make way. The white bridge curves off somewhere into darkness. White — a suitably inauspicious color, Yao notes dryly, but he just sighs and catches up to the two girls.

The butterfly glances up at him and they exchange a long look.

"GO."

There is impatience growing in the guardians' voices. A dangerous sign.

With slow, tentative steps through the billowing shadows, the three of them cross the Weighing Bridge. The humans in line begin to stir, realizing that they are going on ahead. Then to Yao's surprise they start to scream. They start to plead. Beg. Implore to come with him.

(Of all people, he wonders why they think he could help them.)

"Xiānrén, take us with you, please, xiānrén!"

"My sons, O immortal! Take them with you, too! Take them, I beg you!"

"Have mercy on us! Please, have mercy...!"

He crushes his eyes closed and sighs wearily as a whip cracks again, the sound wet this time, and the screaming becomes fearful and agonized once more. Demons laugh and taunt as the coppery stench of blood wafts through the air. But Yao doesn't look back. The guardians of Hell follow close at his heels, and a sound like clapping thunder denotes the sealing of the void behind them. The first level of the afterworld — passed.

Yao ignores the screams that issue faintly through the air behind him, which fade to nothingness after a few seconds.

Silently the butterfly reaches over to brush his hand with hers, but he doesn't look at her, either.