This world is utterly insane, saturated everywhere with the pursuit of money and women. The wealthy live in opulent "villas" while they are alive, driving Ferraris, indulging in endless dining and pleasure, spending vast sums of cash daily, with alluring and sensual women draped over their arms; upon death, they spend fortunes—five figures or more—hiring geomancers to assess their resting place before purchasing an entire mountain to construct a palace-like tomb for their meager ashes.

The pitiful poor must beg everywhere, scorned and mocked in life, only to have their bones scattered to the wind in death because they cannot afford a burial plot.

The grand corrupt official of the Qing Dynasty, Heshen, is the most obvious example. The world knows he was rolling in wealth. After the Emperor ordered his death by strangulation, his descendants buried his body beneath seven pine trees in Jizhou. Though the funeral was hasty, they managed to invite the most famous ritual master of the time, Zhou Huan, to preside over the rites. Renowned calligraphers and painters created memorial couplets and accompanying artwork for the burial.

However, Heshen was extremely calculating; his dying wish was to drag several famous individuals down with him in death, to serve as proof of his former glorious status.

Zhou Huan was one of those forced to accompany him. When buried, Zhou Huan's limbs were bound by ropes, and he was interred alive within Heshen's tomb. His soul, filled with immense hatred, journeyed to the underworld...

In the Judge's ledger, Zhou Huan's past deeds were recorded as exceptionally virtuous. Thus, upon seeing Zhou Huan brought in by the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guards, the Judge immediately rendered his verdict, his tone remarkably gentle: "Zhou Huan, you died unjustly. I grant you immediate reincarnation!"

Zhou Huan was not surprised by this, but he needed to vent his grievance to the Judge: "Honorable Judge, Heshen had me buried alive with him. My heart aches with suffering. How can I extinguish this resentment?"

"Fear not," the Judge replied. "Heshen has already repented. I shall arrange for him to be placed by your side in the next life to assist you. Go now, hurry and reincarnate, or you risk suffering!" At this moment, the Judge presented the underworld's most famous farewell drink—Meng Po's Soup—to Zhou Huan, adding instructions: "After drinking this soup, you will forget everything that happened before your death. Perhaps you will remember your name, perhaps you will not..."

The Judge’s endless, rambling words truly disgusted Zhou Huan. He was eager to leave this dreary place. He took the farewell drink from the Judge’s hand and downed it in one gulp. Finally, accompanied by Ox-Head and Horse-Face, he jumped off the Bridge of Helplessness...

The eighteenth day of the fourth lunar month in 2008, at the temple fair of Baoguang Temple on Yuanbaoshan. This area had long been crowded with small vendors, worshippers, and sightseers.

Along the asphalt road leading up the mountain, people thronged in lines, shoulder-to-shoulder. Those selling sutras, telling fortunes, and hawking CDs—the fairgoers had clogged the mountain path until barely enough space remained for a single cart.

Two disheveled, raggedly dressed, skeletal beggars were soliciting alms in the crowd. One was named Lin Dongzi; he was dark-skinned, and as soon as he started, he managed to collect a few coins. The other was Zhou Huan; though slightly more robust than Lin Dongzi, he appeared relatively fair-skinned. He managed to receive a steamed white bun. He carefully placed the bun into his tin bowl, but his expression was somber, as if weighed down by heavy thoughts, perpetually pondering.

Suddenly, a withered, soot-black hand snatched the white bun from Zhou Huan’s bowl before he could secure it. Zhou Huan focused his gaze and saw an even more ragged old beggar frantically devouring his bun, grinning widely at Zhou Huan as he ate.

Zhou Huan was already starving, and the old beggar stealing his food ignited a surge of anger: "You old bastard, stealing my bun! See if I don't teach you a lesson!" Saying this, Zhou Huan raised his hand to snatch it back, but he couldn't bring himself to strike the old man.

The old beggar paid him no mind, dodging whatever minor grabs Zhou Huan attempted, solely focused on quickly finishing the white bun. In a moment, he devoured it entirely, then grinned foolishly at Zhou Huan, saying, "Heh heh heh, I ate your food. What are you going to do about it?" He then puffed out his chest, hands on his hips, looking at Zhou Huan as if mocking him.

This finally infuriated Zhou Huan: "You ate my food and now you’re gloating at me? What’s your meaning?"

Dongzi quickly scurried over, straightened his posture, and pointed his finger right at the old beggar's nose: "You old relic, if you want another bun for my brother, just say so, or see how I deal with you."

"Oh ho, little punk, who’s the one who’s going to get beaten up in a minute?" As soon as the old beggar finished speaking, a BMW X-Series slowly ascended the slope from the temple grounds. Dongzi happened to be blocking the middle of the road. The fairground path was very narrow, lined with vendors on both sides, so one person standing in the middle could halt traffic.

"Beep beep!" After two quick honks, the BMW’s hood neared Dongzi, but Dongzi remained unconcerned, still arguing with the old beggar.

At this moment, three men, all dressed in brand names, wearing sunglasses, and smoking cigarettes that cost tens of dollars each, stepped out of the car. The leader was a short man sporting a thick, broad ring on his finger. He raised his hand and slapped Dongzi hard on the back of the head: "Damn it, didn't you hear me honk? Still blocking the way!"

This slap left Dongzi dizzy and bewildered.

"Get lost! Move over for me! Damn it, I only come here once every eight hundred years to offer incense, and the first thing I see is a bunch of you stinking beggars! I’ll count to three, and you better vanish, or I’ll send you all off to Africa as male prostitutes!" The speaker was Wang Qiang, a notorious local second-generation rich kid infamous for causing trouble, always able to smooth things over with his father's endless money.

The old beggar grinned widely, laughing heartily. He stooped over, shuffling towards Wang Qiang, and said, "Kid, don’t think I don’t know who you are. You should stir up less trouble, lest the fire burns your own body."

"Hmph, old beggar, it’s normal that you know me. Who here doesn’t know Wang Qiang? What, you want to challenge me? With just you?" Wang Qiang, with his stocky, potato-like build, circled the old beggar, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

The old beggar spoke in a loud voice: "Your father is a real estate developer. Your stepmother couldn't bear children. You are the son your father had with his mistress. You have a plum blossom-shaped birthmark on your back." As he spoke, the old beggar leaned close to Wang Qiang's ear and whispered: "You’ve come here to offer incense today because you’ve done some things you shouldn't have, and now you fear retribution, don't you?"

The old beggar’s words left Wang Qiang dumbstruck. Sweat gradually beaded on his forehead, and he stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. He removed his sunglasses and looked at the old beggar with utmost respect. After a long pause, he finally managed to speak: "Uncle, are you perhaps the legendary master? I don’t know you, yet you know so much! If you can find a way to help me avoid this calamity, I will reward you handsomely."

"No need. This is the retribution of cause and effect; you reap what you sow. I cannot help you. Hurry and offer your incense!" Saying this, the old beggar swayed, preparing to leave the spot.

Zhou Huan watched everything unfold. Although the old man had eaten the bun he had begged for, Zhou Huan sensed this beggar must be a person of great wisdom. Perhaps this man could help him with the matters weighing on his mind. So, Zhou Huan caught up to the old beggar: "Uncle, I have a few things I need to ask you."

Wang Qiang was not about to let the old beggar go. Seeing Zhou Huan approach to speak, he reached out and pulled Zhou Huan aside: "Get out of here! Your Master Qiang is here; it’s not your turn to beg the old beggar. Look at you—no money, nothing to offer. If he won't even help me, why would he help you!"

The old beggar turned and glared fiercely at Wang Qiang. That look silenced Wang Qiang instantly, and his two subordinates, naturally timid, had already slipped away.

Seeing Wang Qiang back down, the old beggar gave a slight smile and said, "He has no money, but I might not refuse him. You have money, but I might not help you. Let me tell you again: no one can help you with your affairs. You must face the consequences of your actions!"

Then the old beggar turned back to Zhou Huan and said, "Young man, I know what you need to ask. Meet me under the Buddha statue on the back mountain in half an hour. I will cast a divination for you."

The old beggar walked with a distinct sway, looking from afar as if he were heavily intoxicated. He left the fairgrounds and headed toward the back mountain.

Wang Qiang, seeing that the old beggar refused to help him, and noticing Zhou Huan's distinctly dismissive attitude, resolved firmly to follow Zhou Huan to the Buddha statue on the back mountain in half an hour to hear what the old beggar would say. Furthermore, the trouble weighing on Wang Qiang’s mind was genuinely pressing, keeping him restless and anxious day and night.

Zhou Huan watched the old beggar’s retreating figure, unsure whether he felt joy or excitement, because he desperately wanted answers about his own life, unwilling to spend his days mired among the beggars.

"Brother, let’s head to the back mountain. That old man seems quite capable; didn't you see how he handled that shorty?" Dongzi's comment was largely redundant; Zhou Huan certainly knew the old beggar was formidable—everyone had seen him subdue the short man. Zhou Huan looked at Dongzi with an expression of deep weariness and turned toward the back mountain.

Although Wang Qiang felt a sliver of respect and fear toward the old beggar, he still desperately sought a way from him to resolve his internal turmoil. He truly believed the old beggar possessed the ability. Therefore, he very arrogantly parked his car right in the middle of the road, locked it, and followed Zhou Huan and the others toward the back mountain with his subordinates.

This deep-red BMW X-Series completely blocked the road. No matter how much later vehicles honked, Wang Qiang paid no heed until the constant noise became unbearable.

"Honk, you bastards! Honk your elephant legs! Da Biaozi, drag out those who are honking and beat them!" Wang Qiang remained just as insolent, tossing out a wad of cash before chasing after Zhou Huan in a clumsy run.

There is a stark difference between the rich and the poor. Even though Zhou Huan and his companion were in rags, constantly worried about their next meal, their stamina for climbing the mountain far surpassed Wang Qiang's. Before long, Zhou Huan had left Wang Qiang far behind.

Wang Qiang trailed behind, gasping for breath, on the verge of collapse, yet his foul mouth couldn't stop spewing insults: "You stinking beggars! Wait for me! I can’t keep up with you anymore."

Zhou Huan felt intense disgust for this type of person, and Wang Qiang’s words only drove his hatred deeper into his bones. The louder Wang Qiang shouted, the faster Zhou Huan ran. But Dongzi, at this point, grinned mischievously: "Haha, little potato! Come and chase us! Go ahead and tire yourself out, you son of a bitch!" As he spoke, Dongzi casually picked up a handful of small stones, and as he ran, he pelted Wang Qiang with them. The sting of the slap Wang Qiang had delivered him earlier still faintly ached, and now was the time for revenge.

Wang Qiang couldn't even evade stones; how could he muster the energy to dodge when he could barely run? He could only shield his head and endure Dongzi's barrage of pebbles, yet even then, his mouth spewed incessant curses: "You little street rat, I’ll screw your mother! Wait till I catch you, I’ll smash your balls!"

Hearing Wang Qiang’s words, Zhou Huan felt as if "warm breezes carried dense fragrance, blowing forth the stench of a latrine bucket!" He suddenly stopped, picked up a palm-sized cobblestone from the path, and threw it at Wang Qiang: "Bastard! Shut your damn mouth!"

"Ah!" Zhou Huan's large stone landed squarely on Wang Qiang's instep. Wang Qiang clutched his foot, crouching on the ground, sweat pouring from the pain.

"You two beggars, if I don't skin you alive, my name isn't Wang Qiang! Ouch..."

Zhou Huan glanced at Dongzi, said nothing, bypassed a small grove of trees, and followed the narrow path along the mountainside until they reached the Buddha statue on the back mountain. Dongzi followed close behind.

Beneath the stone Buddha statue, overgrown with moss, lay a long offering table scattered with some fresh offerings, indicating someone had already visited.

In the center of the table sat a small incense burner; three sticks of incense were already half-burned, and beside the burner, two sesame oil lamps burned, their flames casting an air of serenity and peace.

Below the stone Buddha statue was a small fissure, just wide enough for one person to pass through. As Zhou Huan looked around for the old beggar, a worn-out shoe flew out of the crack and struck him squarely on the head.