The apocalypse has arrived, and ghosts are running rampant. While everyone else is fleeing for their lives, Ren Ai is hiring.
Beneath the crimson moon, her mobile banking balance dropped to zero, only to be replaced by the words "Underworld Talismans: Unlimited, Yin Soldiers: 1,000,000." Ren Ai, a former financial analyst, discovered that she had become the only "ghost tycoon" in the apocalypse with trillions in assets. Only, her assets were no longer money: they were underworld talismans, yin soldiers, and one eerie employment contract after another.
When the red-clad senior Su Tan asked if the annual salary of a million underworld talismans really came with weekends off, Ren Ai said yes. So Su Tan signed on the spot, transforming in an instant from a terrifying evil ghost into a wisecracking employee. "Boss, I was in Class Three, Grade Twelve when I was alive. Just call me Xiao Su."
Jin An, a former special forces soldier, could see every supernatural rule through his Rule's Eye, but couldn't make out what rules Ren Ai followed. After the ghost general Zhen Nan retreated once and lost all three hundred of his men, he spent thousands of years consumed by guilt, until at last he heard someone say, "You weren't wrong to retreat." The information broker Lao Mao always said when he named his price, "If you don't make it back, who am I supposed to collect from?" And every day, a little girl shaped crumbs of compressed biscuits into osmanthus cakes while waiting for her father to come home.
Taotie devoured existence, and the Black City had waited too long. The moment the masked man removed his mask, at the end of thousands of years of waiting, someone finally called him by the right name.
Ren Ai never chose to become a god. She chose to catch every person who had waited too long.
The crimson moon remained, and the apocalypse was not over. But in one corner of this city, someone had bought a future with trillions of underworld talismans. Not a godly tycoon, but a ghost tycoon. Not a deity, but Ren Ai.
The masked man has been waiting for thousands of years, and under the mask is a face that is three-thirds similar to hers. He wrote thousands of times "Today she will come, and tomorrow she will continue to wait." The last line of ink is still dry - "She is here today, I can't wait any longer."