He walked along a secluded path, with flowers blooming on both sides. Yet, there was not the slightest hint of romance or beauty. The blossoms, though radiant, seemed like mocking sneers, or perhaps the eyes of onlookers.

Flowers bloom on the other shore, people journey to the afterlife;

Eric Carter remembered his last memory before this: fire, a raging fire, terrifying flames that completely engulfed him, the searing heat baking him to ashes.

But in the blink of an eye,

he found himself here.

On this path, there were actually many people,

there were elderly,

there were children,

there were also young and middle-aged people,

both men and women,

all dressed differently.

Some wore simple clothes, others were dressed in bright reds and purples, with exaggerated blush painted on their faces.

Everyone walked on tiptoe,

no one spoke,

nor did anyone make any other sound,

only the occasional “scrape, scrape, scrape” of soles rubbing against the ground could be heard.

Eric Carter numbly moved forward with the crowd, glancing around from time to time, sometimes looking back. He vaguely realized where he had arrived.

He was already dead;

and this place,

was hell.

This was the world of the dead, the final destination for the departed,

he,

had ultimately died.

He didn’t know what to do, nor what choice to make,

he didn’t want to die—no one does—but in this place, he had no idea what to do next. He felt lost and helpless.

“Yiya…”

A cold, clear melody drifted from afar.

Eric Carter turned his head and saw bright red shapes approaching in the distance, but the others around him paid no attention, continuing to numbly tiptoe forward.

As they drew closer, Eric Carter saw clearly that the bright red shapes were peach blossom paper umbrellas. In the distance, a group of women walked in a line, holding paper umbrellas, swaying gracefully as they approached.

They were tall, with alluring figures, all dressed in purple qipaos. As they moved, flashes of bare thigh appeared, a subtle seduction that made one’s heart race.

The women’s hair was styled in immaculate buns, not a strand out of place. Even their steps were perfectly synchronized, as if they were the world’s finest dance troupe, rehearsed for over a hundred years.

They walked,

they advanced,

from one end of the path to the other,

and, by chance,

passed right in front of Eric Carter.

Exquisite makeup, snow-white skin, and the cold, lingering tune they hummed together created a misty, rainy old Shanghai atmosphere.

Each woman wore a bracelet on her wrist, varying in color and size, accentuating their fair, slender arms, dazzling to behold.

Unfortunately,

they were not walking in the bustling South Street commercial district,

nor in the lavish, golden halls of a high-end club,

their feet trod the road to the underworld,

passing through a sea of otherworldly flowers,

their eyes fixed straight ahead, each following the one before,

the leader’s gaze empty and hollow.

When the last woman passed in front of Eric Carter,

she suddenly turned her head and looked at Eric Carter.

From her bright, enchanting eyes, several flesh maggots crawled out, and from her nostrils, the tail of an earthworm swayed. Beneath her delicate earlobes, countless centipede antennae dangled.

What was once the world’s most beautiful,

now,

instantly shifted to the other extreme.

Horrifying?

Of course it was!

Disgusting?

Absolutely!

But Eric Carter was already dead. The living can be scared to death, but what about ghosts?

The woman looked at Eric Carter,

and Eric Carter looked at the woman,

their gazes met briefly, then the woman continued forward, her figure swaying, her silhouette lingering, the tight qipao outlining her graceful form to perfection.

“Where… are you going?”

Eric Carter instinctively followed the line of women, leaving his original group behind.

The people trudging woodenly along the path

didn’t look over at all. They seemed incapable of thought or feeling, while Eric Carter appeared to be the odd one out.

The line of women moved forward, step by step, leaving a trail of mist, humming softly, their tune both mournful and cold;

the already oppressive atmosphere felt even more desolate with their presence.

Eric Carter kept walking forward, following them.

Then, Eric Carter saw them, one by one, walk into the pond ahead.

The pond was small,

like a mirror,

their entry seemed to shatter the calm, sending ripples across the surface.

The women at the front had already submerged their heads, and those behind continued to follow.

Eric Carter walked to the edge of the pond. He didn’t go in; he just stood there watching.

Everything here was utterly unfamiliar to him. Every person only had one chance in a lifetime to enter, and once inside, there was no way out.

In the center of the pond, something floated up—

a pair of hands,

nails painted red, skin pale,

slender and delicate,

the two hands danced gracefully, dreamlike and illusory, instantly capturing all attention, making it impossible to look away.