Chapter 11: Chapter 11

The black light from Jiang Chen's staff sent Ma Xiaoling flying backward. She crashed through a stack of cardboard boxes, scattering old newspapers and plastic bottles across the alley. Her body—no, the body she'd stolen—lay crumpled, but her soul had already detached, hovering in the air like a serpent coiling to strike.

"You think that hurt?" She laughed, her voice echoing off the brick walls. "I've been beaten by better men with better weapons. You're just a rookie with a stick."

Jiang Chen's hands were still shaking. The names. She'd promised him names. But she'd also tried to possess him again, and that meant she couldn't be trusted. Could she?

She was a con woman. Lying was what she did.

But she'd seen his death. She'd seen the execution, the needle, the cold table. She'd seen the witnesses who weren't supposed to be there, the judge who'd barely looked at the evidence, the paperwork that had been rushed through in three days.

Three days. From arrest to execution. Even in China's justice system, that was impossibly fast.

"What's the matter, Soul Reaper?" Ma Xiaoling circled him, her ghostly form flickering. "You've got questions. I've got answers. But you're too scared to hear them."

"I'm not scared."

"Then why are you gripping that staff like it's the only thing keeping you alive?" She stopped circling, faced him directly. "Oh wait. You're not alive, are you? You're dead. Just like me. The only difference is, I chose to stay. You chose to serve."

"I didn't choose anything." The words came out harsher than he intended. "They gave me a job. They said if I did it, I could have a second chance."

"A second chance at what? Life?" She laughed again. "Look at yourself, Jiang Chen. You walk among the living, but you're not one of them. You eat their food, breathe their air, pretend to be their friend. But when the sun goes down, you're hunting souls like a dog hunting rats. That's not a second chance. That's a leash."

He knew she was manipulating him. He knew. But that didn't make it hurt less.

"I can give you names," she said again, her voice softening. "Three names. The men who framed you. The man who paid the judge. The man who signed your death warrant."

"Give them to me now."

"Take me to Diyu first."

"You'll try to escape."

"Of course I will." She smiled. "I'm a con woman. It's what I do. But here's the thing, Jiang Chen—I've been running for seventeen years. I'm tired. I'm old. My soul is frayed from jumping bodies every few months. I don't want to escape. I want to rest."

"Then why did you try to possess me?"

"Because I wanted to see if you were worth trusting." She floated closer, her face inches from his. "And I saw your death. I saw the fear. The confusion. The moment when you realized no one was coming to save you." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've been inside hundreds of minds. I've seen thousands of deaths. But yours... yours was special. Because you didn't deserve it."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He'd known, deep down, that something was wrong with his case. But he'd pushed it aside, told himself it was just the system being the system, that he was guilty of enough other things that it balanced out.

But justice didn't work that way. And neither did the afterlife.

"If I take you to Diyu, the judges will judge you," he said. "They'll send you to punishment. Maybe worse."

"I know."

"Then why do you want to go?"

She was quiet for a long moment. The alley was silent except for the distant hum of traffic and the drip of water from an air conditioning unit.

"Because I've been running so long I forgot what I was running from," she finally said. "I want to remember. I want to know if it was worth it. I want to know if the person I was before I started stealing bodies deserved to die."

"You killed two soul reapers."

"I know."

"You stole bodies. You ruined lives."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "I know what I am, Jiang Chen. I know what I've done. But I also know that I didn't start this way. Someone made me this way. And I want to see their face when the judges sentence them."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to trust her. But every instinct screamed that she was playing him, that this was just another con, another angle.

"What guarantee do I have that you'll tell me the names?"

"None." She shrugged. "But what guarantee do I have that you'll actually let me see the judges? You could drag me back, have them wipe my memory, and I'd never know. I'd just wake up in some hell and spend eternity wondering who I used to be."

"Then we're at a stalemate."

"Not necessarily." She pointed at his staff. "You can bind me. Not to the staff—that's temporary. A soul contract. Permanent. If I try to escape, the contract burns. I'll feel it. I'll stop."

"Soul contracts are dangerous. If you break it, you could be destroyed."

"I know."

"You'd be giving me complete control over you."

"I know." She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I've been in control my whole afterlife. Maybe it's time I let someone else steer for a while."

Jiang Chen hesitated. Soul contracts were ancient magic, rarely used because they required both parties to be completely willing. The binding had to be mutual. If either side had reservations, the contract wouldn't hold.

And he had plenty of reservations.

But he also had a dead end. He'd been a Soul Reaper for three weeks. He had no contacts, no network, no way to investigate his own death. Ma Xiaoling was his only lead.

"Fine," he said. "But if you try anything—"

"I know. You'll burn me." She rolled her eyes. "You said that already."

He raised his staff, and black light flickered along its length. "Do you, Ma Xiaoling, formerly known as Lin Yue, willingly enter into a soul contract with me, Jiang Chen, Soul Reaper of Diyu?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to provide me with the names of those who conspired to end my life, and to submit to the judgment of the Ten Judges of Diyu without resistance?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to not possess or attempt to possess my body or any other living body for the duration of this contract?"

She hesitated. "That's a big one."

"Do you swear?"

"Fine. I do."

"Do you swear to not deceive or mislead me regarding the information you possess about my death?"

Another hesitation. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me by the Lord of Diyu, I accept your soul into my custody." He touched the staff to her chest, and black light erupted. She gasped as the contract took hold, a thin black thread connecting her soul to his staff.

When the light faded, she looked smaller. Weaker. The bravado was gone.

"It hurts," she whispered.

"Soul contracts always do."

"Now what?"

"Now we go to Diyu." He turned toward the alley entrance. "But first, I need to make sure your stolen body doesn't raise any alarms." He walked over to the crumpled form of the woman Ma Xiaoling had been possessing. She was still alive, but barely. Her soul had been damaged by the sudden eviction.

"Can you fix her?" Ma Xiaoling asked.

"Why do you care?"

"Because she was innocent. She was just a woman who trusted the wrong person." Ma Xiaoling's voice was quiet. "I've stolen a lot of bodies. But I never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve this."

Jiang Chen knelt beside the woman and placed his hand on her forehead. He'd learned this trick from the training: soul mending. It was slow work, delicate work. But it could heal the damage.

He closed his eyes and let his power flow into her. He felt her soul, weak and frayed, and began to knit it back together. It was like weaving a rope from broken threads. Every few seconds, a thread would snap, and he'd have to start over.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. He lost track of time.

Finally, he opened his eyes. The woman was breathing steadily. Her color was returning. She'd be fine.

"Thank you," Ma Xiaoling said.

"Don't thank me yet." He stood up, his legs aching. "We still have a long way to go."

"We're going to Diyu now?"

"First, I need to check something." He pulled out his phone—the one the judges had given him, which doubled as a soul-tracking device. He opened the app and searched for recent disturbances.

There was a red alert in the next district.

"What is it?" Ma Xiaoling asked, floating closer to look at the screen.

"Soul disturbance. Big one." He frowned. "It's coming from the Central Hospital."

"Someone died?"

"Someone's dying." He looked at the data. "But the soul isn't moving on. It's stuck. Trapped."

"That's not normal."

"Nothing about tonight is normal." He pocketed the phone. "We'll go to Diyu after I check this out."

"You're going to investigate a soul disturbance with a ghost criminal attached to your staff?"

"You're not attached to my staff. You're contracted to me."

"Same thing." She sighed. "Fine. But if we run into any other soul reapers, try not to look suspicious."

Jiang Chen started walking toward the hospital. Ma Xiaoling floated beside him, her ghostly form barely visible in the dim streetlights.

"You know," she said, "you're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Someone harder. Colder. Someone who'd already given up on being human." She looked at him. "But you're still trying. You're still hoping. That's rare among the dead."

"I'm not dead."

"You're a Soul Reaper. You're not alive either." She smiled. "You're something in between. Something new. Something that doesn't have a name yet."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"Take it however you want." She drifted ahead of him, her translucent form glowing faintly in the darkness. "But I've been dead for seventeen years, and in all that time, I've never met anyone like you. That has to mean something."

He didn't respond. He didn't know how.

They reached the hospital ten minutes later. It was a massive building, all glass and steel, with a red cross glowing above the entrance. Ambulances came and went. Nurses smoked cigarettes in the parking lot. Patients in wheelchairs stared at nothing.

The soul disturbance was coming from the fifth floor.

"This way," Jiang Chen said, entering through the emergency room.

"Shouldn't we be more discreet?"

"Discretion takes time. Time means people die." He pushed through a crowd of waiting patients and headed for the stairs.

"People die anyway," Ma Xiaoling muttered, following.

The fifth floor was the oncology ward. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and despair. Jiang Chen walked past rooms filled with patients hooked up to machines, their souls flickering like dying candles.

The disturbance was at the end of the hall. Room 517.

He opened the door.

Inside, a man in his fifties lay in a hospital bed, his body