Volume Twelve: The Invitation from Hell Chapter Ten: The Fifth Invitation

The “Mirror of Retribution” hell case involved overseas matters, so Yaoguang and the others were kept busy with various follow-up tasks for quite some time. This case was excessively complex, and as the investigation unfolded, it even implicated some public officials. The final matters were handed over to the criminal investigation team.

“Phoenix, the fifth invitation has appeared,” Xuanchen announced, holding up his phone.

“Alright, let’s go. Who is it this time?” Yaoguang asked. This killer seemed intent on cycling through all the punishments of the eighteen levels of hell.

“A middle-aged woman,” Xuanchen replied.

“A middle-aged woman? What did she do to attract the killer’s attention?”

“The details aren’t clear yet,” Xuanchen made a helpless gesture.

They arrived at an old residential compound. Outside the building, many people were already vomiting.

“How terrible must the victim’s death have been to make everyone so sick?” Xuanchen wondered aloud.

“Master, prepare yourself. This one is really twisted,” Jiang Yun and Huo Mingkun supported each other as they came down the stairs.

Yaoguang looked at the two suspiciously. They headed upstairs—and even Captain Song was vomiting.

Yaoguang approached; Captain Song, still nauseous, handed over the invitation with one hand.

Yaoguang opened it.

Inviter: Hao Zhenyan.

You love gossiping behind others’ backs, don’t you? You delight in stirring up trouble, treating others’ pain as your evening’s entertainment. You know all the neighbors’ affairs, and you like embellishing these stories to tell others, don’t you? I understand—this is your only pleasure. You are hopelessly addicted. I also enjoy gossip, and you bring yours, I bring you. Come, be a guest of hell; let us gossip together.

Signed: The Messenger of Hell.

“Wow, this is certainly a unique middle-aged woman. No wonder she was targeted. Seems like she must have caused quite a bit of trouble. There might even be more to this story,” Yaoguang said, speechless.

He stepped inside. Right before him was a large steaming basket, still emitting wisps of hot steam—clearly not cooled yet.

The room carried an indescribable smell—an odd mix of meat aroma and foul stench.

“Guys, don’t tell me this middle-aged woman is inside the steaming basket,” Yaoguang said in surprise, staring at the large steamer.

“That’s right, it’s still a bit hot, so it can’t be taken down yet. Looks like it steamed all night. The fire underneath only just went out,” Lele explained, helplessly watching the drifting steam.

Yaoguang glanced around, found a stick, and slowly pushed open the steamer lid. A rush of hot steam escaped, mixed with a strange odor.

Levitating, Yaoguang’s stomach churned the moment he saw the corpse. The person had been steamed alive, resembling a roasted pig. The woman was plump and fair, and after steaming, even more so. The steamer was stained with many dirty marks—likely from the victim’s incontinence.

Yaoguang landed and stepped out, feeling nothing but revulsion.

Outside, he took a deep breath.

“There’s no surveillance in this building. Doors and windows are intact, with no signs of forced entry. The woman was a widow; her children live out of town. The family has been notified to return,” Captain Song reported.

“Understood,” Yaoguang replied as he descended. Below, a crowd had gathered, chattering loudly. An elderly woman approached, grabbing Phoenix’s arm.

“Officer, is the deceased the old Mrs. Hao from the fourth floor?”

“Probably. Auntie, do you know anything?” Yaoguang asked.

“Ah, it’s retribution. I warned old Mrs. Hao to mind her tongue and stop meddling in everyone’s business, but she wouldn’t listen. Now look—her restless spirit is taking lives,” the woman said regretfully.

“Restless spirit taking lives? Auntie, what do you mean?” Yaoguang asked curiously.

“You don’t know? Old Mrs. Hao was notorious here as a gossipmonger. She’d say a neighbor’s wife had an ugly baby, or that a son-in-law was just a migrant worker. There wasn’t a single thing in the neighborhood she didn’t know. People enjoy gossiping, sure, but old Mrs. Hao not only gossiped; she embellished everything, making it sound as if she had witnessed it firsthand. At first, we believed her, until that incident happened.”

“What incident? Auntie, please tell me in detail,” Yaoguang urged.

“That was two summers ago. A young couple moved in—the man handsome, a company supervisor; the woman delicate, a bar waitress. Somehow, old Mrs. Hao heard the woman worked at a bar and started spreading rumors that she was promiscuous, working the bar to get men. At first, people believed it and began mocking the woman. She tried to ignore it, but soon everyone stared at her strangely. One day after work, the woman overheard old Mrs. Hao talking badly about her and couldn’t take it anymore. She slapped old Mrs. Hao and cursed at her fiercely. Mrs. Hao kept quiet for a couple of days, then intensified her slander. The insults eventually reached the man’s ears. The couple fought violently, and the next morning the woman was found hanging in front of Mrs. Hao’s door. Mrs. Hao’s door bore blood-written words: ‘After death, you will burn in the steaming basket hell. You are a gossipmonger; even as a ghost, I will haunt you. You shall not rest in peace.’ The police took the body away. Later, the man smashed Mrs. Hao’s door to pieces, acting like a madman. Nobody understood him then. He later explained that the woman took her own life because of Mrs. Hao’s poison tongue. But the coroner told him the woman was already three months pregnant when she died. What a wicked deed. Since then, no one believed Mrs. Hao anymore. Soon after the woman’s death, Mrs. Hao claimed her house was haunted—that the woman’s ghost was seeking revenge. No one believed her. Now that Mrs. Hao is dead, maybe the woman’s spirit has come for vengeance. Mrs. Hao brought this on herself,” the elderly woman shook her head helplessly.

“Thank you, auntie,” Yaoguang said, speechless. To be a gossipmonger to the point of dying in hell—that’s a special kind of fate.

Yaoguang bid farewell to the woman.

“Master, what is the fifth level of hell?” Jiang Yun approached and asked.

“The fifth level is the Steaming Basket Hell. Some people, in daily life, spread rumors, distort facts, and slander others—gossipmongers, as people say. After death, they enter the Steaming Basket Hell, where they are thrown into a steaming basket. After steaming, they are blasted by cold winds, then sent to the Tongue-Pulling Hell. Hao Zhenyan was a typical gossipmonger—and a formidable one at that. The girl who died was truly driven to death by her. Taking neighborhood gossip as a pastime and a profession—that’s a first. No wonder the killer chose the Steaming Basket Hell for her. She deserved it,” Yaoguang said with a shake of his head. “Ah Xu, you check on the whereabouts of that young man from back then. Yun’er and Akun, verify the elderly woman’s story in the community and see if you can dig up more information.”

“Understood, Master,” Jiang Yun nodded.

The body was finally carried out. Yaoguang felt waves of nausea—not from the corpse itself, but from the victim’s soul, which was truly repulsive.