Volume Twelve: Invitation from Hell Chapter One: The Invitation from Hell

Do you believe in the existence of hell? Do you know what hell looks like? Do you realize that everything you do cannot escape hell’s judgment? Don’t harbor any thoughts of luck, because you will never know when hell’s messenger will deliver a letter to you, inviting you to see the true face of hell. Do not commit evil, for I shall silently watch you from places you cannot see.

After returning from Jingyuan Manor, Yaoguang delivered the ghost pill she held to Huangquan, then helped Jiang Yun catalyze it. The sword spirit Qingyou, lingering beside Jiang Yun, was ultimately a wisp of ghostly soul. Long-term proximity to Jiang Yun inevitably took a toll on his body. Using the ghost pill to counteract the sword spirit’s yin energy was the simplest method—poison against poison. It would not harm Jiang Yun, nor would it harm the sword spirit; moreover, the sword spirit could use the pill to cultivate.

Yaoguang sat in the office, idly chatting with Jiang Yun, when Xuan Chen burst in anxiously, “Phoenix, we’ve received a report. The chief reporter of Scenic Frontline was found dead in the newsroom.”

“The chief reporter of Scenic Frontline—is that the female reporter named Ye Shu?” Yaoguang asked.

“Yes, it’s her.” Xuan Chen nodded.

“That woman—I know her. She’s quite famous. She’s dead? How could that happen?” Jiang Yun said gloomily. “Her programs were really interesting. We’ll never see them again. What a pity.”

“Shouldn’t this be a case for criminal investigation? Why is the Heavenly Sword Division involved?” Yaoguang wondered aloud.

“It’s Captain Song who asked for you,” Xuan Chen replied. “The victim’s death is… unusual, and a letter was found beside the body. For the details, you should see the scene yourself.”

“Let’s go then. A letter? What kind of letter?” Yaoguang said, rising to leave.

“A death invitation. More precisely, a hell invitation,” Xuan Chen answered.

“A hell invitation? What on earth?” Yaoguang muttered.

They drove to the Scenic Frontline newsroom. Ye Shu’s office was a separate room on the east side of the second floor. As Yaoguang entered, a heavy scent of blood filled the air. Before the white desk, a woman in white sat upright, her eyes wide open, filled with bloodshot veins. Her mouth was forced open with a massive pair of tongs, blood spilling from her lips, her clothes stained crimson.

“Phoenix, look at this,” Captain Song handed over a black invitation. Its cover depicted the Grim Reaper. Yaoguang opened it, reading the words printed in red ink:

Invitee: Ye Shu

Do you enjoy confusing truth and lies? Do you relish false reporting? Do you delight in turning things upside down, distorting black and white? I know you do. You love exposure, but I love your tongue. Bring your tongue, and I’ll bring you, as a guest to hell. I will treat you well.

Signed: Hell’s Messenger.

“Wow, what is this—a death notice, or an admission letter to hell? This killer has a sense of drama,” Jiang Yun remarked, glancing at the invitation.

“This isn’t an ordinary homicide, dear. There are traces of spiritual fluctuations on the invitation. Sense it carefully,” Yaoguang said, passing it to Jiang Yun.

Jiang Yun took the invitation and detected a faint trace of spiritual energy—cold and chilling.

“Preliminary judgment: the victim died less than eight hours ago. Cause of death is exsanguination after her tongue was forcibly removed,” the forensic examiner, Chen Chen, reported.

“That’s sickening. Was it done by a person, or a ghost?” Xuan Chen said.

“It’s too soon to conclude. How was the scene?” Yaoguang asked.

“It was very clean—no fingerprints, no footprints, no murder weapon,” Captain Song replied.

“How was the body discovered?” Yaoguang inquired.

“At seven this morning, the cleaning lady found it. She opened the door and was overwhelmed by the smell of blood, followed it to the victim, and called the police. The poor woman was nearly scared to death,” Captain Song explained.

“Did you check the surveillance footage?” Yaoguang asked.

“Yes, but unfortunately, nothing was recorded.”

“Wait, what do you mean nothing was recorded?” Yaoguang looked at Captain Song, puzzled.

“According to Chen Chen’s analysis, the time of death was likely between one and two in the morning. We reviewed the footage for that time, but from one-thirty to two, all the cameras showed nothing but static. There are seven cameras in the building, and all had the same issue.” Captain Song spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

Yaoguang smiled, shaking her head, and walked to the victim. The woman’s face was twisted in terror, eyes wide open, mouth forced apart with tongs, empty inside, dried blood on her chin, clothes soaked in red. Her hands were tied behind the chair, feet bound as well, yet her body showed no signs of violent struggle. Yaoguang reached out to the crown of the victim’s head, sensing for a trace of soul—the soul was gone, only a shattered remnant remained. No soul. Where did it go? Taken by the underworld’s messengers? No, there were no traces of their presence here. Could the killer have taken the soul—what for? Was it a ghost sect? No, the letter left behind didn’t fit their style. If it were the ghost sect, the invitation would be unnecessary.

Yaoguang scratched her head. Strange happenings abound every year, but this year is especially bizarre.

“Phoenix, this case reeks of the supernatural. Why don’t you take it?” Captain Song smiled at Yaoguang, clearly not wanting to handle the case himself. Ever since entering the scene, he had felt chills.

“It’s a supernatural case. I’ll take the lead. If I need you, Captain Song, I hope you’ll lend me a hand,” Yaoguang smiled.

“Of course, absolutely,” Captain Song replied.

Back at the police station, Yaoguang stared blankly at the invitation. What was its purpose? To provoke the police? Unlikely—the tone targeted the victim directly. It was as if saying, “Your life is mine now.” The tongue—why remove it? Did Ye Shu gossip excessively?

“Phoenix,” Xuan Chen entered with a stack of reports. “Autopsy results: victim died between one-thirty and two in the morning. Her mouth showed physiological response—the tongue was pulled out while she was alive. She was conscious during the removal, and died slowly as blood drained. There was a large amount of painkiller in her body—not ordinary analgesics, but medical-grade oral anesthetic. She had restraint marks but no signs of struggle, which is odd. As for the surveillance, it worked fine before one-thirty—even caught Ye Shu visiting the restroom. At one-thirty, the static appeared, and at two, it resumed. Interviews with colleagues and family all describe her as kind, lively, and a workaholic, often working late. Her journalism was popular and well received. How could someone like her be murdered in such a strange way? It’s unimaginable.”

Yaoguang said nothing, still staring at the invitation.

“You’ve been fixated on that invitation since you returned. Have you found anything?” Xuan Chen asked.

“Why did the killer leave this invitation? To challenge the police? Doesn’t seem so—the tone is directed at the victim. Also, why does it accuse Ye Shu of distorting truth and making false reports? Did one of her stories touch something sensitive, prompting revenge?” Jiang Yun mused.

“All signs point to punishment and judgment. Could it be that something in Ye Shu’s reporting was unclear, and she reported it anyway? Isn’t that just public gossip, dragging others into it? Gossip leads to the hell of tongue extraction. If that’s the case, it explains why Ye Shu lost her tongue. By the way, where did the killer put her tongue?” Huo Mingkun wondered.

“Akun, you’ve just reminded me. Isn’t this manner of death exactly the first circle of hell—the tongue extraction hell?” Yaoguang said, putting the invitation down.