"Deal!" the Skateboard Ghost agreed enthusiastically. "Oh—and throw in a big pack of spicy strips. The jumbo one. I'll take the whole thing!"
"Of course!" Song Miaozhu lifted the hefty bundle of spicy snacks onto the counter. "That'll be six hundred hell coins in total."
She'd priced the spicy strips at three hundred per bundle. This bag was packed with them.
Skateboard Ghost pulled out two silver ingots from his clothes—one larger, one smaller. Though the design differed from Anshou Hall's ingots, their value was identical. Crafted from silver paper, when fully charged with nether-life energy, the larger one was worth five hundred hell coins, the smaller one a hundred.
Clearly, Fengdu City had more than one supplier of currency molds. With the transaction complete, the ghost left, spicy strips in hand.
Next in line was an elderly ghost clutching a long-stemmed pipe. "Got any tobacco?"
"We do!" Song Miaozhu displayed the cigarette cartons she'd brought. "These are the available options for now."
The smoker ghost frowned. "What kind of modern rubbish is this? Ah, well. Heard the mortal world's changed since my time. How much?"
"Twenty hell coins for this, sixty for that, a hundred for the premium one. Those are per-pack prices. Full cartons cost ten times more."
"Tsk! Highway robbery! Make it ten coins per pack and I'll take one," the ghost haggled. "Been dead too long—no descendants left to burn offerings. Just the pittance the underworld doles out yearly. Can't afford this!"
"Sorry, no haggling. It's tough enough sourcing goods from the living world," Song Miaozhu said with a smile.
She wasn't kidding. One look at the crowd of eager ghost customers outside, their wrinkled faces pressed against the glass, and it was obvious: her stock was going to sell out fast.
"And please decide quickly," she added politely. "Each customer only gets one minute to shop. Business hours are short."
"Hmph! Fine, gimme the twenty-coin pack!" Grumbling, the ghost peeled two yellow paper notes from his shoe lining.
An inferior currency mold—non-degrading but single-use; once drained, it'd crumble to waste. Ten hell coins per sheet.
"Here you are!" Her customer service smile never wavered. "Enjoy your smoke."
Before the smoker had even exited, the third customer—a rotund spirit—shouldered his way to the counter, jabbing a finger at the liquor display. "Boss! That whole crate of beer—I'll take it!"
Clearly a liquor lover. But Song Miaozhu didn't have any rules about rationing—there were no quotas, only time limits. She only had two hours per trip to the underworld. The faster she sold, the better. So she handed over the entire case of beer to the eager ghost.
Outside, the crowd started catching on: supplies were running low. Each time a ghost made a purchase and exited, a flood of new ones scrambled to take their spot inside—only one succeeded at a time.
For modern ghosts, these purchases recreated the joys of living.
For ancient spirits, it was novelty they craved.
Even in the underworld, excitement was a rare commodity.
Song Miaozhu noted every requested out-of-stock item.
High-demand goods joined her future procurement list.
Niche, high-ticket items? She'd research living-world prices, quote a sourcing fee, and collect deposits first.
No ghost wasted energy shouting—conserving ghostly power meant more hell coins to spend.
Ghosts here were very aware: to live well in underworld, you needed money.
Within the hour, her entire stock was gone. She picked up her megaphone and called out to the remaining customers:
[Mortal-world goods sold out! Only currency ingots remain! Return tomorrow at midnight! Bulk sourcing requests over 10,000 hell coins may enter now!]
With that, the ghost crowd finally began to disperse.
Most ghosts—except the newly dead or those still receiving offerings—weren't willing to spend over ten thousand coins at once. After all, in the underworld, coins represented lifespan. Spend too freely, and once your luck ran dry, you might miss your chance to reincarnate as a human.
Then what? Reborn as a dog or cat, maybe. And once you're an animal, you don't get into Fengdu—you go straight to the Beast City, waiting your turn in line.
That day, Song Miaozhu only received nine large custom orders—all from modern ghosts with living relatives, and they were mostly interested in tech products.
Once the shop quieted down, she started counting the day's earnings.
Then—ting-a-ling—the door chime sounded.
"Apologies," she called without looking up, "We're out of goods from the mortal world. New stock won't arrive until tomorrow night!"
"Sold out? That's strange. I see one item left right over there,." A voice like silk-wrapped honey purred.
Song Miaozhu finished counting her stack before glancing up—and froze. This ghost was the most beautiful woman she'd seen since arriving in the underworld.
The beauty hid a laugh behind her sleeve. "Does the shopkeeper also stare like those vulgar men?"
"Can you blame me?" Song Miaozhu chuckled, regaining her composure. "A love for beauty is only natural. Forgive me—your looks were dazzling. I had to take a second look."
"Oh? If that's true…" the ghost woman said with a teasing smile, "Then might you gift me that item?"
Following her gaze, Song Miaozhu nearly choked. She wasn't wrong. There was indeed one mortal-world item left in the store: a street-vendor's megaphone.
"You… want that?" Song Miaozhu asked, incredulous.
The woman nodded slightly. "Yes."
Sensing some hesitation, she introduced herself:
"I'm Xiang Yun, zither mistress and proprietor of Fragrant Cloud Pavilion in Chunyi Alley next door. Business has been terrible lately—most of our clientele's been lured away by that vulgar new bar across the street. I noticed your megaphone seems to work wonders attracting crowds, so I hoped to use it to bring some life back to my shop. Name your price—or rent it to me nightly if selling is impossible."
"Selling's fine," Song Miaozhu replied. She hadn't planned to use the megaphone again anytime soon—the few hours she'd spent hawking had already drawn more customers than she could handle.
"I'll sell it to you. But I should warn you—it's from the living world. Now that it's in the underworld, its lifespan is severely shortened. It still runs on batteries, and you'll likely have to replace them—or the whole thing—sooner than you'd expect. Is that okay?"
She'd read this in The Secret Art of Paper Crafting, though she wasn't sure exactly how much faster items deteriorated. But it was definitely noticeable—this megaphone had been brand new when she brought it here, and already it looked a bit worn.