I genuinely couldn't figure out what the Judge before me was asking. So after he asked me, I was instantly stunned, freezing for a long moment, unsure how to answer.

At this moment, the volatile Judge clapped his wooden gavel again, his voice growing louder, proclaiming, "Hoo hoo hoo hoo?" In reality, the clothes worn by these ghost bailiffs and the Judge differed quite a bit from the costumes in Chinese historical dramas; they were all dressed in traditional Japanese attire, so what they were saying was likely Japanese too, which made me even more at a loss for how to respond. Seeing that I still remained silent, the Judge waved his hand, motioning for several bailiffs to approach.

When I saw them brandishing their Shawei rods, ready to strike again, I instantly flipped, standing up and yelling at the bailiffs, "Stop!" Surprisingly, the bailiffs actually obeyed me, halting their advance completely. I cleared my throat and cursed at the Judge, "Can't you just speak clearly?

If you're going to interrogate a prisoner, then interrogate properly, alright!" The Judge, seeing such disrespect, appeared furious. He slammed the table, attempting to rise from his seat.

Just then, several squeaking sounds erupted from beneath his feet, and a horde of rats came scurrying out, squealing wildly. I looked down and saw that the flesh on his leg had been completely gnawed away by the vermin, exposing a section of pitch-black bone.

With his leg chewed up like that, the Judge certainly couldn't stand; he struggled several times but ultimately slumped back down weakly. Though he couldn't stand, he clearly wasn't about to let me off the hook.

With a great sweep of his hand, the ghost bailiffs raised their rods again and advanced toward me. The bailiff leading the charge swung his rod down, aiming for me.

I thought to myself, you rotten-fleshed dead things, where are you going to keep your faces after I beat you! So, I lost my temper, raised my hand, snatched the rod from the bailiff’s grip, and yanked with all my might.

The rod tore free from his hand, and at the same time, I stumbled him forward, causing him to lurch toward me. There was no way I was letting his rotting flesh crash into me!

So, I swung the rod and batted him aside. Unexpectedly, I put too much force into that swing.

When he hit the ground, his head bounced off like a rubber ball, rolling away. The faint remnant of consciousness within the bailiff vanished instantly the moment his head separated from his neck.

"Did I just kill someone? No, I killed a ghost?" A wave of panic washed over me.

But at that moment, I had no time to think further; I saw the other dozen or so ghost bailiffs charging forward as well. Since I’ve already made this mess, today I’m going to cause chaos in the Underworld just like the Great Sage Sun back in the day.

Swinging the Shawei rod, I knocked down every charging bailiff, tossed the weapon aside, and rushed straight toward the Judge. The large ghostly figures outside the court hall showed almost no reaction to my rampage, watching me like stunned wooden figures.

It was the troop of monkeys that panicked, shrieking and scattering in all directions, occasionally letting out threatening roars at me. I was thoroughly enraged now, thinking that if any monkey dared to approach, I’d strip its fur clean first.

With that thought, I reached the Judge’s front. I spoke loudly, "Sir, I know this is all an act.

I intended to play along; since I’m in the Underworld, I’ll submit to judgment. But since you tried to mess with me, damn it, if you want a fight, don't blame me for being impolite." I grabbed the pale-faced Judge, hauling his entire body up from his seat, and threw him to the ground.

Then I snatched up the Book of Life and Death from the table, only to find it completely blank. This confirmed my suspicion: the guy was just trying to mess with me earlier.

The thought ignited a fresh surge of anger. I thought, you frauds—not quite monsters, not quite ghosts, yet so weak, pretending to be divine in this place, you must have harmed countless people.

With that realization, I ripped the Book of Life and Death in half and kicked over the ink stand. Several fat rats scurried out from underneath, each carrying a piece of flesh from the Judge's leg, squeaking.

It was then that I saw a string of rusted bronze keys fall onto the stone floor. The keys were of an ancient design, clearly very old, resembling the kind of prison keys shown in dramas.

Could these be the keys to the Underworld’s cells? After considering this, I surveyed my surroundings and noticed two dark wooden doors behind the Judge’s chair, one on each side.

They were dim inside, with faint flickers of light suggesting a fire somewhere. I knew then that this was likely the passage leading down to the dungeon.

Looking at the dead and injured bailiffs, and noting that the Ox-Head and Horse-Face who captured me remained motionless, I picked up the keys and headed into the underground passage. The walls of this tunnel were lit by rows of pale blue everlasting lamps.

Legend said these wicks were made from the oil of deep-sea Merfolk, capable of burning for centuries. However, the illumination from this lamp oil was incredibly dim, offering little difference from complete blackness.

Observing the damp brickwork and the uneven steps, I knew this place was ancient. Still, it differed significantly from the Hell described in books where vicious spirits are confined; this looked like a very ordinary dungeon.

After descending for about five or six minutes, I began to see simple drawings etched onto the stone walls. Ordinarily, there shouldn't be any pictures in a prison, but the situation here seemed rather abnormal.

I was extremely curious about what kind of illustrations would be found on the walls of a dungeon passage. But when I actually saw them, they only added layers to my confusion.

Specifically, the murals seemed to be telling me a story. The first image showed a group of people gathered around a table, shaking dice—it looked like a group gambling in a den.

Every face was distinct, but the thin middle-aged man at the center of the drawing had a mole on his face, making him easy to remember. The second picture depicted this thin man, the one with the mole, standing dejectedly at the entrance of the gambling hall.

Clearly, this illustrated that the man had lost all his money and was deeply depressed. The third drawing showed a stooped old woman carrying a pole, selling oranges on the street.

The thin man who had just lost everything blocked her path, holding out his hand as if demanding money. I assumed this old woman must be the middle-aged man’s mother, as her eyes conveyed helplessness and despair.

The fourth picture showed the thin man arriving at the gambling hall again, only to be stopped by a tall youth dressed in official robes. The young official looked like he was persuading the thin man to stay away from gambling.

Strangely, this upright-looking official in the drawing had a vicious little imp perched on each shoulder. The thin man seemed highly intimidated by the official and promised not to return to the casino.

The fifth drawing showed that the thin man ultimately couldn't resist temptation, secretly getting up after the moon rose and sneaking off to the gambling hall. The sixth drawing depicted the old woman hanging herself from the rafters in their home, with the thin man kneeling on the ground, wailing in agony.

Seeing this, I had a rough idea of what the story aimed to convey. But the seventh picture was somewhat shocking, as it showed the official—the one with the imps—leading a contingent of soldiers, along with Ox-Head and Horse-Face, to the thin man's house and arresting him.

In this scene, humans and demonic spirits seemed to coexist harmoniously. I even noticed some spirits wearing the uniforms of human bailiffs.

What did this mean? Were humans and the Underworld bailiffs jointly maintaining justice and morality in the world?

Looking at the eighth picture, the thin man was brought to the Underworld. But the ones interrogating him weren't just Judges; the human official was there too.

The man was sentenced to the extreme punishment of being boiled in oil, tortured until he longed for death. After taking in the whole sequence, I fell into deep contemplation, trying hard to decipher the meaning behind the drawings.

I recalled that in Chinese history, there were officials capable of communicating with the spirit world, like Judge Bao who judged the living by day and the dead by night. Or the story of Wei Zheng angrily slaying the Dragon King in a dream for violating heavenly decrees.

These stories seemed to express a form of justice transcending both the human and spirit realms, simultaneously praising incorruptible officials. However, if it was praise, it meant that was merely exaggerated human imagination, not reality.

Yet, the murals here were somehow different, because everyone knows the Underworld doesn't exist, but this place—this is the supposed Underworld, and the scenes of the Underworld depicted in the paintings looked exactly like this setting. Therefore, the things recorded in these murals must be real.

Although the events depicted might be true, this location wasn't the true Underworld. Those Judges and bailiffs, whether they were ghosts or not, were far too weak compared to the legends of Hades, incapable of upholding justice.

And those fake stones, along with all the props clearly meant for a staged performance, indicated that this was some kind of deliberate setup. This arrangement seemed designed to inform the world that a genuine Underworld existed, and if one had an unfilial child like in the murals, they would surely face deserved retribution.

I surmised that the monarch of that era must have conceived this design. The sovereign, using some unknown method, mimicked the legends to construct this Underworld, employing it to intimidate those lacking law or morals, thereby maintaining social order—and also consolidating political power.

Ultimately, the place I was currently in was nothing more than an agency of the government. Regardless of whether the true Underworld existed in the world or not, anyone who had been here certainly believed it did.

What I needed to do now was confirm my theory and then figure out the method by which those ghost bailiffs and Judges, possessing extremely weak spiritual energy, were manufactured. Continuing forward, a question suddenly struck me.

The word "manufactured..." had merely flashed through my mind earlier, but now it seemed to be the crucial key to the entire problem. If the officials back then genuinely had the capability to manufacture Judges and ghost bailiffs, then perhaps the monsters we encountered before were also manufactured?

But what purpose would creating them serve? The more I thought, the more excited I became, because it felt like I was approaching a massive historical truth—perhaps the development of this world was quite different from what I imagined.