I’m Just Delivering Takeout, So Why Are All My Customers Monsters?

To scrape together my younger sister's medical bills, I became the hardest-working delivery rider in the city.

Then one late-night barbecue delivery made me the Underworld's one and only designated courier.

From then on, my customers took a bizarre turn:

“Hello, your waterproof phone case is here. Please climb out of the river and sign for it.”

“Why are you rushing me? You've been dead for hundreds of years. What's a few more minutes? Keep nagging me and I'll give you a bad review!”

“What? You're a century-old Ghost King? Sorry, but as far as I'm concerned, you're just a Black Diamond member. Remember to leave a five-star review, or I'll cut off your blood tofu supply next month!”

Other delivery riders make money. I earn merit and build up my cultivation by delivering food.

When the entire Underworld is waiting for me to serve up dinner, and the gods and demons of the mortal world have to watch their step around me, all I want to say is: “Hello, your Underworld delivery is late, but you're still giving me a good review!”