The wind in Wangchuan River is cool all year round, wrapped in mist, and blows through the stacked columns of the Reincarnation Hall.
I have stayed here in silence for many years, without spring and autumn, without day and night. I hold a book of life and death in my hand, and there is never any wave in my eyes.
As the messenger of the Underworld who is in charge of reincarnation and extradition, he is used to seeing separation between life and death, and the souls of the dead coming and going in a hurry, all of which are fleeting, except for one person.
There were brisk footsteps outside the hall, not afraid of the underworld's yin energy, noisy, and familiar roads.
Shen Shen knew who it was without looking up.
Another round of human life has come to an end, and the soul of the deceased, who is full of human fireworks and has complete memories for life after life, has arrived on time.
"Lord Shen Ji ~ I'm back again."
The young man's tone was brisk, and he was a worldly man. He had just gone through a rough life, but his eyebrows were still lively and enthusiastic, like a beam of warm sunshine that crashed into the eternal cold night, and rushed straight into the lifeless hall.
Others who pass by Wangchuan must drink Mengpo soup to break away from the past and forget the past.
He is the only one who has been reincarnated thousands of times, and has been secretly left with memories by this person, over and over again.
Shen Jing's fingertips paused slightly, her dark eyelashes drooped slightly, and her tone was as light as a layer of frost: "Another mess around."
"There is nothing I can do." The dead soul came to his case, leaning against his cold robe as if he was not afraid of the cold, shaking his head with a smile, "Anyway, no matter how many times I reincarnate, I will eventually meet you."
The wind blew past the window lattice, and my heart tightened inexplicably.
Shen Shen looked at the living people in front of her in silence, unable to explain where this eternal indulgence came from.
It seems that from a long time ago, he should have been waiting for this person, waiting for himself.
Demining, attacking and receiving are essentially the same person
Intention: The cold gods are confined in the long night, and the warm souls of the dead keep their appointments year after year. The rules are ruthless, the years are long, spanning hundreds of generations of mortal world, just for you alone, life after life, meeting again and again.