Chapter Eleven: Discovering the Evidence

“So many souls.” Qin Yang was astonished, yet soon felt it was only natural. The price of burial plots had soared; many could only afford to place their loved ones’ urns in funeral homes, and over time, these accumulated in great numbers. A few hundred yuan for storage, after all, was much cheaper than a grave.

“There are indeed quite a lot. I estimate around eleven thousand, though none are high-level spirits. But that makes sense—those of high rank in life wouldn’t end up in such places,” the butler’s voice sounded in his mind.

“You mean when the level of Hell increases, I can seek out high-level souls in more luxurious cemeteries, right?” Qin Yang rolled his eyes.

“Precisely,” the butler replied, “though there are some who are more free-spirited, like those whose ashes are scattered at sea. So, traveling across the world is also a good way for you to grow.”

Qin Yang nodded, then asked, “Butler, say a historical celebrity dies—if I find where they rest, could I absorb their soul? Like Tang Bohu or Wei Xiaobao, those guys were unmatched with women.”

“In theory, yes. But your current strength is too weak. You must understand, once a soul returns to Hell, it is forever bound to it. Right now, you cannot offer them enough safety, and their goodwill toward you is zero,” the butler reminded him, “You must prove your strength before they will choose Hell as their final place of rest.”

“What a hassle.” Qin Yang sighed, but quickly put it out of his mind. He could only absorb level-one spirits for now; let the future wait until he reached level two. He grumbled, “No matter what, there’s always a way forward. I refuse to believe I can’t convince a few dead souls.”

He had just entered the funeral home when several security guards appeared. He explained he was there to pay respects to a friend and slipped them some cash. They didn’t ask further, merely reminded him not to come at night unless it was a designated date.

“Liu Qishan.”

Following the security guard’s directions, Qin Yang quickly found Liu Qishan’s urn. At Qin Yang’s instruction, the butler refrained from absorbing the soul’s energy, and instead drew out Liu Qishan’s memories using fifteen soul points.

Liu Qishan had been a thief, distantly related to Fat Liu, often involved in shady dealings with him. In his memories, though there was no evidence that Fat Liu had murdered Gao Jinfei, there were plenty of recollections of Fat Liu’s trickery. The two had once quarreled over unfairly split spoils, and Liu Qishan secretly kept evidence to threaten Fat Liu. Later, Liu Qishan died in a car accident after drinking with friends. The memories ended there.

“Liu Qishan’s death was suspicious, likely orchestrated by Fat Liu. But it doesn’t matter; Fat Liu embezzled funds, caused worker deaths, bribed his subordinates—a string of crimes enough to ensure a miserable fate. Luckily, their conflict gave me leverage, otherwise I wouldn’t have found any evidence.”

With his mind made up and having noted the location where Liu Qishan hid the evidence, Qin Yang felt reassured. What surprised him was the butler’s notification that Liu Qishan’s lock-picking skill had been transferred to him—something he hadn’t expected. Once everything was settled, Qin Yang unrestrainedly absorbed seven hundred and thirteen spirits. Once he reached his limit, he reluctantly left.

“Butler, you once said soul points could enhance my physical strength. Is that really true?” Qin Yang suddenly recalled the butler’s words and asked.

“Actually, I don’t recommend using soul points to enhance your physical body. The more spirits in Hell, the stronger your body will grow naturally. And when Hell upgrades, your body will undergo a qualitative transformation,” the butler explained patiently. “Unless you encounter an emergency, you might use them. But given your current situation, there’s little that threatens your life. Your main goal now is to raise the level of Hell, and as it grows, you’ll gain more privileges—even the power to bring someone back from the dead.”

“Resurrection?” Qin Yang’s heart raced.

“But I advise against it—it’s an enormous expenditure, and you don’t have that privilege yet,” the butler cautioned, quelling his excitement.

Qin Yang calmed himself; indeed, resurrection was no small matter and must come at a great cost.

***********

A residential district.

Qin Yang slipped in like a thief, using the cover of night. Guided by Liu Qishan’s memories, he found the building where Liu Qishan had lived, then located his old storage unit. The apartment had since been rented out, but the storage was idle, waiting for a new tenant—giving Qin Yang a perfect opportunity.

Staring at the shuttered door, Qin Yang pulled out a wire he’d prepared. He’d been wondering how to get a key, but the butler reminded him: he now possessed Liu Qishan’s lock-picking skill. High-security locks might be out of reach, but this simple shutter lock was easy. As the wire slipped into the lock, he could visualize its interior structure in his mind, the patterns and grooves clear as day. A few twists and—click—the lock opened.

He raised the door, carefully checked the surroundings, and, seeing no one, slipped inside, then closed the door behind him.

Switching on the light, he found the warehouse dusty and cluttered with old boxes and miscellaneous junk. Ignoring these, Qin Yang pulled out a screwdriver, and on a clean section of wall, chiseled twice. He pried out a brick and found behind it a box of cassette tapes and a memory card. He pocketed both, replaced the brick, and quietly left the storage unit.

He bought a small tape player at a roadside shop, inserted the tape, and sat quietly by the street to listen.

“Has it been handled? Don’t leave any traces. Give the doctor some money and get the body cremated quickly, so no one finds out.”

“Tamper with Yang Zhan’s drill—he tried to blackmail me, so let him see what’s what.”

“What’s going on? Yang Zhan isn’t dead yet? Didn’t I tell you to handle it? Next time, do it right. After it’s done, as usual, send him straight to cremation. If the family causes trouble, show them who’s boss. Money? What money? Just explain that Yang Zhan took private jobs and died by accident. We have nothing to do with it.”

“Yang Zhan is dead? Good. As for his family, just give them a little cash.”

“………”

“……….”

“I’m telling you: the three million in repair funds from headquarters—you embezzled seven hundred thousand. That alone is enough to ruin you. Don’t try any mutually assured destruction tricks; you’re not up to it. And don’t think I don’t know—you withheld most of the compensation meant for those dead workers. I’m turning a blind eye.”

The tape held over thirty minutes of recordings—mostly Fat Liu instructing how to harm people.

After listening, Qin Yang found an internet café, plugged in a card reader, and browsed the memory card. Most of it was Liu Qishan’s diary, detailing his schemes with Fat Liu, and some financial records from the factory, clearly showing Fat Liu’s embezzlement and payouts to silence others.

He copied all the files, recorded the tape’s contents onto the computer, checked everything for accuracy, and saved it all in a folder. He then sent the folder anonymously to the city public security bureau’s email and to the local newspaper. Once everything was done, he packed up and left.

“Now to wait for tomorrow’s results. I hope they don’t disappoint me. Then I’ll strike again—if I don’t squeeze every drop from him, I refuse to believe, Qin!”