The Underworld Sable Envoy: I Cultivate Immortality at the Department of Spiritual Investigation

That afternoon, after explaining the matter of the dragon scales, there were no other tasks.

I returned to my public housing with the dragon scale, my fingertips tracing its cool surface, my mind still preoccupied with the events of the day.

At this moment, Chou Chou woke up.

It crawled out of the soft cage, squatted by the pillow, stared at the dragon scales for a long time, and then gently flicked them with its little paws, causing the dragon scales to roll halfway around on the floor.

It dialed again.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Let me check," Chou Chou's consciousness floated in, self-righteously, "After all, this is my backup granary."

I was taken aback.

Backup grain depot?

"Once the granary is full, it should be enough for you to use once or twice."

After saying that, Chou Chou didn't explain any further. He just lay down in front of the dragon scales, rested his chin on the edge of the scales, and squinted his eyes, like a cat guarding a stove.

"Yang Zongwei, that person."

Chou Chou always calls Director Yang by his full name, but never by his title or any honorifics.

He gave you this not because he trusts you.

"You need to live."

"You need to have something in your hands."

"You need to owe him."

It opened its eyes, its black bean-like pupils reflecting the faint light of its dragon scales. "The things are real." "The feelings are real." "The debt is real." It yawned and buried its face in its tail. "You do the math yourself." With that, its consciousness faded…

On my seventh day with the Spirit Investigation Bureau, a mission arrived.

Report: Abandoned ranch in CY County - suspected supernatural energy overflow.

Team Leader Dorje drove, "17" sat in the passenger seat, and I huddled in the back seat, clutching the box containing the sacrificial snow dragon scales tightly in my arms.

I can clearly feel it—not visually or audibly, but the burning sensation of holding a piece of still-warm charcoal in my palm, quiet yet ever-present.

The carriage was deathly silent, filled only with the tension of facing the unknown.

After thinking about it, I opened the box and took out the dragon scales.

A silvery-white light shone in the dimly lit carriage, gentle as moonlight, not dazzling.

Dorjee glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn't say anything.

17 didn't look back.

My fingertips touched the cool, smooth scales, and there was no more burning pain or repulsion, only a quiet, pulse-like rise and fall.

Chou Chou said that she had saved enough for one or two uses.

There was a noise coming from the trunk of the car.

It's not a person, it's a dog.

A pure black dog crouched in the trunk, having not uttered a sound since leaving the city. Its fur blended into the shadows, with only its eyes occasionally flashing a faint red light.

"Its name is Wuzhui." 17 didn't even turn his head. "LS is issuing them; branches across the country are testing them."

"Try what?"

"Let's try the folk remedy," Dorje said calmly. "What instruments can't detect, dogs might be able to smell. According to the older generation, pure black dogs can see evil spirits."

Black Steed…

I looked through the gap in the back row, and the dog was staring at me, its ears perked up and its nostrils twitching very slightly.

I have no idea what it's smelling.

But it remained quiet throughout.

The abandoned pastoral houses in Zayu are even more dilapidated than described in the report.

Dorjee parked the car in a mountain hollow two kilometers away and walked the rest of the way. The afternoon sun on the plateau was still blinding at six o'clock, but the wind carried a biting cold. The withered yellow meadows were silent underfoot.

17 walked at the front, holding the newly issued portable detector in his hand. The green line on the screen was steady, like a stagnant pool of water.

"Unknown energy: 0," he whispered.

Dorjee didn't speak, he just raised his chin.

The black horse followed at 17's feet, untethered, walking very slowly, leaving shallow marks on the withered grass with each step.

The shepherd's hut is an old-style log structure in southern Tibet, with dry moss filling the gaps, a crooked wooden door, and a rusted lock.

17. Gently push the door open with the gun barrel.

The interior was darker than the exterior. The newspapers covering the windows were yellowed and translucent, with no musty smell, and even the old, worn smell that one would expect from an old house was so faint as to be almost undetectable.

It looks like it has been deliberately cleaned.

I stood at the door and didn't go in. After all, why should a lowly temporary worker like me risk my life?

Dorjee entered the house, his flashlight beam sweeping across the walls, the stove, and the neatly stacked cow dung cakes in the corner.

17 followed closely behind, checking each gun barrel one by one.

"Check complete, no abnormalities." He holstered his gun. "No signs of anyone living here, the stove is cold." He squatted down, picked up a bit of ash with his fingertips, and rubbed it apart. "Nothing's been touched."

Dorjee didn't respond; he stood there, staring at the wall.

There was something hanging on the wall.

It is neither an artistic ornament from the southern Tibet region nor a Thangka.

It is a bell.

It appears to be made of brass, about the size of a fist, with a surface that has long since oxidized to a dull ochre color. The bell clasp has fallen off and has been re-threaded with a red cord. The knot is unique—it's the kind of knot that only elderly people would tie; I've only ever seen it in books.

Dorjee looked at it for a few seconds, then raised his hand and touched it very lightly.

The bell didn't ring.

The bell tied to the red string swayed in the air for a moment, then stopped.

"Abnormal energy detected is 0." 17. Reading is reported again.

Dorjee withdrew his hand.

"Fall back."

After confirming that there were no abnormalities at the scene, we began to retrace our route.

As the sun sets behind the mountain ridge, the meadow droops in the wind.

17 was still walking in front, with Dorje following three steps behind him, his steps as steady as ever.

The black horse clung tightly to 17 feet, its tail drooping very low.

I walked at the back, my right hand in my pocket, clutching the dragon scale through the fabric.

It is warm.

"bite."

It was a very soft sound, like two coins lightly touching.

I suddenly stopped in my tracks, and 17 also stopped, looking down and sweeping the withered grass at my feet with a powerful flashlight.

"What did you drop?"

The flashlight beam swept across the grass roots, pebbles, and a small piece of dried yak bone, but nothing else.

We turned off the flashlight and continued back the way we came.

We've only taken three steps.

"Ding, ding, ding." It rang three more times.

Something's not right, nine out of ten things are wrong! We bent down and parted the surrounding grass to carefully examine the area.

"There's nothing there." There was a hint of unease in 17's tone.

The wind blew across the meadow, so softly that it made no sound.

The black horse stood frozen in place, its ears pressed completely against the back of its head, revealing only the whites of its eyes.

I looked down at the dragon scales in my palm; they were still warm.

step.

"bite."

Two steps.

"Ding, ding."

Three steps.

"Ding, ding, ding."

Each step was accompanied by a sound, no more, no less, as if the machine was counting each and every step we took.

17's breathing became erratic. He stopped asking questions and stopped bending over. His knuckles, gripping the gun, turned white.

Dorjee finally turned around.

His face was backlit, making his expression unclear, but his voice was deeper than usual.

"How many steps did you take after you came in?"

I know he's asking me.

"Thirteen steps to enter the courtyard, seven steps from the door to the stove, and the same goes for coming out..."

I suddenly stopped.

From the moment I turned around and started my journey back, every step I took made a sound.

One step, one sound; twenty steps, twenty sounds.

"Wuzhui, run!" Dorje ordered Wuzhui.

The bell no longer rings with every step.

It started counting.

"Ding, ding, ding, ding—"

The four tones.

Five tones.

Sixth tone.

Precise and calm, as if something was crouching on the wall of the abandoned wooden house, two kilometers away in the darkness, using an invisible red rope to tie each of our ankles.

It tugs at you every time you lift your foot.

The black horse stopped.

It lay frozen in the withered grass, its front legs slightly bent, and a very low, whimpering sound like the grinding of gravel rolled from its throat.

This was the first sound it made after leaving the city.

"What did Wuzhui smell?" 17 asked.

Dorje and I didn't reply.

Seven steps, eight steps, nine steps.

I asked, "Can we use the dragon scales?"

Dorjee didn't turn around. "That was approved for you by Director Yang."

His voice was as flat as reading a task briefing: "It's not for my use, it's for you."

"You decide what's given to you."

Ten steps. Eleven steps. Twelve steps.

The dragon scales were still warm.

I didn't take it out.

Thirteen steps. Fourteen steps. Fifteen steps.

The black horse began to tremble.

It's not cold! Black Steed has thick fur and shouldn't be shivering from the cold.

But it was shaking violently, the shaking spreading from its back to its hind legs and to the tip of its tail.

"Keep going!" Dorje shouted at Wuzhui.

Seventeen steps.

The black horse opened its mouth, but no sound came out; only its tongue hung out, and it was struggling to breathe.

Step 20!

The black horse fell straight down.

There was no struggle, no sobbing, no convulsions.

In an instant, it was as if all the bones in Wuzhui's body were removed, its body went limp, and its dog skin was carelessly thrown on the ground.

Dorjee looked at Wuzhui for three seconds, then looked up at me.

That glance held no doubt, only the facts that the field team leader had already confirmed:

Something strange, undetectable by instruments, has been following us all along.

It has always been there.

"I want to take a test," 17 said.

He shone his flashlight forward and slowly lifted his foot.

The bell didn't ring.

Dorje and I held our breath.

The wind stopped, the meadow fell silent, and the last rays of sunlight on the mountain ridge sank completely below the horizon.

Then--

"bite."

The sound didn't come from behind.

It starts from 17 feet.

17. Stood frozen in place, feet dangling in mid-air, this is the posture of taking the 19th step, toes pointing forward, muscle inertia still present.

But I could no longer step on it.

Dorje reached out and grabbed his tactical harness, forcefully pulling him back.

17 staggered and fell to his seat, his chest heaving violently, his lips opening and closing, but he couldn't make a sound.

"How many steps did you take?" Dorje asked in a low voice.

17 looked down at his feet. "It should be nineteen steps."

The dragon scales in my palm suddenly burned.

The long-accumulated power seems to be resonating in some way.

The power of the underworld emerged from my fingertips, no longer in wisps, but surging forth, winding around my tiger's mouth, wrist, and forearm through the gaps between my fingers.

Dorjee turned his head and looked at the thick black mist that was slowly writhing. He didn't say anything, but just pulled 17 behind me.

"Nianyang, these are your things," Dorje said. "Use them!"

It's not that I don't want to, it's that I simply don't know how to use it.

The power of the underworld continued to surge through his arm, like a wild beast awakened but without purpose, wanting to rush out, to tear, to pounce on that unseen being—

Unseen eeriness...

Killing someone in an unknown way...

Supernatural power…

The black mist spreading from my fingertips…

The monitoring instruments can't see it, but my underworld power can sense some kind of eerie presence. What if I guide this black mist to my eyes?

A bold idea suddenly popped into my head!

I slowly closed my eyes, trying to draw the power of the underworld upwards, through my wrists, forearms, elbows, shoulders, and neck, finally covering my eyes…

A sharp pain struck.

It wasn't the sharp pain of a knife cutting into your eye, but rather the cold pain of an ice blade slowly embedding itself in your eye socket.

I heard the sound of teeth clenching and felt the faint hum of dragon scales in my palm.

Then, I opened my eyes.

Everything felt unfamiliar.

Half of the thick darkness was removed, revealing the outlines that had been hidden beneath.

Each withered blade of grass is adorned with fine, hair-like grayish-white threads, one end buried in the soil, the other merging into a giant, slowly rotating cocoon in mid-air.

It is located right in the middle of the meadow.

It has been here since the moment we stepped into this place.

We just can't see it.

It is about three meters tall, suspended and coiled, with countless white lines hanging down from its edges, like upside-down vines or dead nerve endings.

Every thread is tied to the footsteps we've taken.

Thirteen steps to enter, seven steps to the stove, twenty steps to leave the courtyard.

One step, one line.

Every single thread was trembling slightly.

At that moment, I saw the black horse's reins.

Extending from where it fell, through the withered grass and frozen soil, it wraps around the index finger of a dry hand.

The fingernails were translucent, curled, and sharp as knives.

The thread was broken, the cut was clean, as if it had been cut by a sharp blade.

But it didn't retract the line; it just let it hang there.

Like waiting for the next prey.

"What are you doing?"

Dorjee looked at me in surprise.

I didn't turn around.

"What did you see?"

Based on his experience as a senior field team leader, Dorjee had a general idea about my behavior of directing the black mist into my eyes.

"It's counting," I said softly. "It takes a few steps and counts a few times. Twenty steps... and then it reels in a line, and with each reel in a line, the person tied to the rope dies."

I pointed to the ankle of 17.

There was nothing to the naked eye.

However, in the black mist's field of vision, an extremely thin gray-white thread stretched three meters from his ankle into the night, wrapping around the ring finger of his withered hand.

The thread wasn't broken, it just loosened by half an inch.

"After walking nineteen steps, his line was about to break," I said.

Dorje remained silent for a long time.

"Do you have any ideas?"

I looked down at my hands; black mist churned, and the dragon scales were burning hot.

"You'll know once you try." With that, I took a step forward.

"Ding..." As a bell rang, the power of the underworld, like a snake catching the scent of prey, suddenly shot out from the palm and pounced towards the silhouette in the center of the meadow—

He walked right through it.

Like rushing into the air.

The cocoon remained completely still, without even a tremor.

The black mist emerged from the other side, swirled aimlessly, and then dissipated.

"I can't reach it." My voice was a little hoarse.

"Unless..." "Unless what?" 17 stood up from behind me, her face still pale, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

"There's a saying in my hometown," he said very quickly, "that some dirty things can't be touched by you until they come into contact with you."

It doesn't exist in reality; it only squeezes into this world the moment it kills—and only in that moment can you encounter it.

Dorjee looked at 17.

Which book?

"I don't remember," 17 said. "It must have been some pirated folk chronicle, full of typos, but I've remembered that sentence ever since."

"When I first started out, Lao Li said that every little-known fact you know as a field worker can live an extra day."

Old Li…

Lu Lang, Peach Blossom Spirit, Severed Finger.

"Su Nianyang, do you have any good ideas?" Dorje asked again.

way…

I spoke, my voice calmer than I had imagined:

"When will it kill someone next?"

Dorjee looked at me.

"What are you asking?"

"I'm asking..." I paused, "who will take the twentieth step next."

The wind has really stopped.

The withered grass remained still, the night mist did not flow, and the last ray of light froze before disappearing.

"Are you planning to make your move the moment someone takes their 20th step?" Dorje looked at me for a long time.

"Then let's pray that method 17 really works." Dorje smiled helplessly. "I really don't want to take that step."

It's not sarcasm, but the helpless sense of relief that comes from facing the choice of "who should die" countless times during more than 20 years of fieldwork.

"I heard you used to be on the school's Sanda team. Did your team ever win any awards?" Dorje suddenly asked a trivial question.

I was taken aback.

"No, we were eliminated in the second round of the school-level competition that year."

He nodded and handed the weapon to 17.

"How many steps do I have left?" Dorje asked, adjusting his tactical vest.

From a unique perspective, with the black mist covering their eyes, five extremely fine silk threads were visible at Dorje's feet.

"Five steps left," I replied.

Dorjee took a step forward.

"Sixteen steps."

The bell rang...

"Seventeen steps..."

Dorjee is turning himself into prey; his silhouette stands as steady as a rock in the night.

"Team leader!" 17's voice changed.

Dorjee did not turn around.

I'm counting.

The black horse died after twenty paces, but was rescued after seventeen and nineteen paces.

The dragon scales felt as hot as red-hot iron in my palm.

The power of the underworld is no longer restless; it is waiting.

Wait for my decision.

I gripped the dragon scales tightly.

I tried to channel the power of the underworld to my right leg at the same time.

Thighs, knees, calves, and ankles.

Like a black mist, the extremely dense power of the underworld gathered entirely in my right leg.

The power of the underworld is no longer perception, but weaponization.

All I need to do in that instant is kick out all the Yin power gathered in my right leg.

Dorje's footsteps were steady without the slightest tremor.

The final step!

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

In that instant, all power and perception suddenly came into focus.

The blurry negative became completely clear.

The cocoon emerged from some strange space, its hanging silk threads taut.

That withered hand, with its ring finger wrapped in a 17-line thread, suddenly lunged towards Dorje's heart at an angle that defied the natural limits of human joints.

The translucent, curled fingernails pierced half an inch into the tactical vest.

No blood…

It's not that it hasn't flowed, it's that it hasn't fully integrated into this world yet.

—You can only touch it in the instant of killing.

Without the slightest hesitation, I braced myself with my left leg, raised my right knee, rotated my hip, and delivered a spring kick—

The black mist accumulated in the calf surged wildly up every muscle fiber, and the entire leg instantly transformed into a whip that lashed out at high speed.

That sound... was the last bit of energy accumulated within that scale, drawn into a fully drawn bowstring.

hum-

The instep slammed into that withered wrist.

The black mist exploded from my calf, transforming into a propulsive force that pushed the power of this kick to a limit I had never reached before.

"Bang—"

It wasn't a physical collision, but rather the dull thud of two iron plates colliding at high speed.

The recoil surged up from the instep, but instead of springing back, my foot sank in.

The black mist, like concentrated sulfuric acid, poured wildly into the cracks in the dry skin where it touched the instep.

It's not burning. It's corrosion.

I could clearly see that on that wrist, a palm-sized circle of charred blackness, radiating from the instep of my foot, was slowly spreading outwards.

Like aged leather burned by a raging fire, it curls, cracks, and peels off from the edges.

It paused, and something rolled across the dry, wrinkled, featureless skin.

The instant I landed, my fingers touched something cold—a rock. It was the size of a fist, with sharp edges.

Without thinking twice, I poured all the last remaining black mist from my fingertips into my fingertips.

Black mist surged wildly from my fingertips, instantly enveloping the stone.

This ordinary stone, dug out of the frozen soil, was transformed into a jet-black "weapon" with dark purple patterns flowing across its surface.

The dragon scales emitted a very soft, sigh-like hum in my palm.

I gripped it, sprang up from the withered grass, and slammed the stone, shrouded in black mist, into the charring wound.

The strange, unknown creature cried out, but it wasn't any kind of sound that came from the vocal cords, throat, or chest cavity!

In that instant, I clearly saw that hand—with the thread still wrapped around our ring finger—fade into a blurry afterimage in the night fog before disappearing completely.

The charred area where I smashed into the rock lit up for a moment before disappearing completely.

I knelt in the withered grass, my right leg completely numb. My hand was still in the "smashing" position, my fingers frozen in mid-air.

At this moment, the half-inch wound on Dorje's chest stopped deepening. The hand that had reached for Dorje's chest disappeared.

After a long while, Dorje looked down at his heart.

The tactical vest had a tear as thin as a thumb, with neat edges, but the combat uniform inside was intact.

He reached out and touched it.

"Didn't go in, hahaha." He laughed loudly, "Just half an inch away."

17. Frozen in place, the beam of a flashlight shone on the empty meadow.

"Is that thing dead?"

No one answered.

I don't know, the feeling of kicking it still lingers on the instep of my foot.

Dorje bent down and picked up the black horse.

The dog's body was still warm, its fur was soft, and its limbs hung down as if they had no bones, as if it were just fast asleep.

17 stood behind him, opened his mouth, but ultimately remained silent.

Dorjee did not turn back.

"Back to the station."

It was 11 p.m. at the Linzhi branch of the Public Security Bureau.

I held the faded dragon scale in my hand, recalling Chou Chou's words.

—Enough for one or two times.

— You'll have to wait after using it.

—Calculate it yourself.

Today, I used it to repel the unknown and eerie.

17 are alive, Dorje is alive.

I don't know if it's worth it.

The cold white lights in the corridor were glaring.

I sat on the bench, the black mist no longer emanating from my fingertips, and the dragon scales had lost all their warmth.

Dorje came from the other end of the corridor and sat down next to me.

After a long silence, he spoke: "That time with Lu Lang," he looked at the snow-white wall opposite him, his voice flat, "I thought those arrows you shot with the black mist were just luck."

"It's not meant as a pejorative term." He paused for a moment. "After working in the field for a long time, you get used to attributing things you can't explain to luck. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to go on the next mission."

He paused.

"That kick of yours today wasn't just bad luck."

I looked at the back of my hand. The teeth marks were so faint they were almost invisible, but the spot was still faintly warm. "But I didn't kill it with that kick."

"Nobody expects you to kick it to death. Being able to fight against an unknown supernatural entity is already a step forward for all of humanity." He stubbed out his cigarette. "If we can fight it today, we can kill it tomorrow!"

Three o'clock in the morning.

I pushed open the door to the public rental housing.

Chou Chou curled up on the pillow, forming a perfect circle.

I walked to the bedside and sat down.

It didn't wake up.

I gently placed my hand on its back; the fur was warm, and its heartbeat was steady.

After a long silence, I spoke softly:

"I used it twice today."

"I've used up all the money I saved."

no respond.

In the darkness, a warm and soft little body slowly moved over and gently rested its chin on the web of my hand.

That's where the teeth marks are.

Consciousness slowly entered.

It's very light and warm.

"I understand. I'm not blaming you. Just remember to use it sparingly next time..."