Lin Ye died.
One drink, one life, and that pair of heirloom jade pendants.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a bar. Dozens of screens on the walls were showing scenes of hell on earth, each with a countdown in the upper-right corner.
"Welcome to the Higher-Dimensional Livestream," said the bartender, polishing a glass. "You're already dead. You're staying alive on the lifespan your viewers tip you. When the clock hits zero, you won't even leave ashes behind."
Five hundred higher-dimensional beings sat on the ceiling, watching the show. The four seats in the front row had never turned around, not once, from ancient times to the present.
Lin Ye weighed the scalpel in his hand and smiled.
"Then I'll put on a show for them."
