452: Iron rooster plucking feathers

"Have the Imperial Kitchen Department organize a large-scale afternoon tea. Ensure there are plenty of snacks, tea, and fruit. Both those on duty and those off duty can partake."

Ling Qi recorded this quickly, then looked up in surprise: "Your Majesty, the total number of ghost messengers exceeds 800,000. This expense..." Her tone held undisguised astonishment; after all, Her Majesty had always been frugal.

"I can afford it."

Shang Wan Ning interrupted her, her tone brooking no argument and leaving no room for discussion: "If they work hard, they should be rewarded. I don't believe in empty promises anymore."

"Very well." Ling Qi said no more and encrypted the order to send to the General Affairs Department.

Xiao Si grumbled while calculating the costs in the System Space: "Three months of salary for 800,000 ghost messengers... Host, your private treasury is going to shrink significantly again."

"It's worth it."

Shang Wan Ning replied with only one word. She turned and walked back to her desk, glancing at the global public opinion still refreshing frantically on the light screen. The arguments, doubts, and expressions of gratitude... in her eyes, they had all become insignificant background noise.

"I will decide the afternoon tea menu myself."

She tapped the air, and a light screen unfolded before her, listing specialties of the Netherworld: "Honey tea made with newly harvested flower of the other shore nectar from the banks of the Wangchuan River; the mild version of the 'Reminiscing Sweetness Soup' that Ling Xi just improved. It will be perfect as a base for the drinks."

"The snacks must be substantial. Prepare plenty of Yin Rice Cakes and Soul Power Crisps. The vermilion fruit trees by the side of the Hell of the Wicked Mirror are ripe; have all the fruit picked."

Ling Qi noted them down one by one and added: "The 'Evil Spirit Cotton Candy' newly developed by the Imperial Kitchen Department has a unique texture and is quite popular among the young ghost messengers. We could add that."

"Approved."

Shang Wan Ning made the final decision decisively: "Make the event lively. Don't be stingy. Let those who have just finished dealing with the soul tide and are exhausted have a chance to relax."

Once the order was issued, the entire logistics system of the Underworld began to operate efficiently.

The fires in the Imperial Kitchen Department did not go out all night. The ghost chefs, dressed in white chef robes, kneaded dough, prepared fillings, and controlled the fires... they were so busy they barely had time to stand still.

Steamer after steamer of Yin Rice Cakes were steamed until hot and steaming, carrying a unique sticky fragrance. Soul Power Crisps tumbled in the frying oil, turning golden and crispy, sizzling when scooped up to drain the oil.

On the banks of the Wangchuan River, ghost servants specialized in gathering carried baskets, carefully picking the freshest flower of the other shore petals to be sent for nectar extraction.

Ling Xi personally brought over a large barrel of the improved Sweetness Soup. The soup was clear and emitted a faint aura of peace, which could soothe the fatigue of soul bodies.

The guard of the Hell of the Wicked Mirror muttered, "I knew you'd be eyeing the fruit here," while efficiently plucking all the red-black vermilion fruit from the trees, filling dozens of large baskets.

The clerk ghost messengers of the General Affairs Department buried their heads in calculating the list, ensuring that not a single one of the 800,000 ghost messengers was missed.

The news spread like wildfire, quickly reaching every department of the Underworld.

At the Bridge of Helplessness, You Lin, who was maintaining order, had just sent off a batch of soul bodies when he heard the ghost messengers on break nearby whispering excitedly: "Have you heard? His Majesty is issuing three months of salary as a hardship bonus!"

"That's not all! The Imperial Kitchen Department is organizing a grand afternoon tea, and there will be plenty of flower of the other shore honey tea!"

You Lin wiped the sweat that didn't exist from his forehead, a smile appearing on his pale face: "Finally, something tangible. I've almost shouted my throat hoarse."

Ming Xuan kept her face straight, but her hand gripping the Soul-Snatching Rope loosened: "As long as there's food, that's fine."

Beside the passage of the Department of Reincarnation, several young ghost messengers couldn't help but swallow their saliva while verifying soul body information: "Vermilion fruit! I tasted a bite last time, and the flavor was incredible."

"The Evil Spirit Cotton Candy is the best. One bite and your soul will feel like it's floating."

"Hurry up and finish this batch, then we'll take turns going to get some."

"Alright! ٩(* ´ ◒ ` * )۶"

Even in the Eighteen Levels of Hell, the Wardens, who had just received new "tenants" and were busy and frazzled, had their ferocious expressions soften somewhat upon hearing the news.

"His Majesty hasn't forgotten this miserable place of ours after all."

The Warden of the Hell of Boiling Oil scooped up a ladle of boiling oil, his wrist steady as he poured it over the soul body undergoing punishment. Amidst the sizzling sound, he chatted casually with his Deputy: "When you go on shift later, take more Yin Cuisine. It's filling."

The soul body twitched twice, a half-choked wail squeezing out of its throat.

The Deputy stood on the other side of the boiling oil cauldron, using an iron fork in his hand to press a newly arrived soul body from Country R into the pot.

His movements were crisp and clean, even revealing a hint of ruthlessness.

The iron fork pressed against the soul body's back, inch by inch pushing it into the boiling oil. The surface of the oil burst into fine bubbles, and the scream was choked back by the boiling oil just as it emerged, leaving only the limbs struggling in vain.

The Warden glanced at him and hung the empty oil ladle back on the hook: "The afternoon tea has the Soul Power Crisps you like. Why not take a couple more?"

The Deputy shook his head, pressing the iron fork half an inch deeper into the oil. He stared at the distorted face in the pot, his voice flat: "No thanks, Boss. I'm full of energy right now. It'll be more satisfying to fry a few more."

"I've wanted to deal with these little beasts like this for a long time."

The Warden picked up a long-handled shovel and turned the half-cooked soul body in the pot to ensure it was heated evenly...

The oily sheen reflected off his composed side profile.

This Deputy was a native of JS Province, Xia Country, born in 1928. He ranked third overall in the Underworld Examination that year, but when filling out his preferences, he specifically chose the Eighteen Levels of Hell.

The Warden was initially puzzled, but later understood after reading his file from before he died: at age nine, his family was destroyed, leaving only his disfigured self and his mentally ill fourteen-year-old older sister.

Some scars cannot be smoothed away by time; they only sink into the bottom of one's heart.

At this moment, steam rose from the boiling oil, and the Deputy's iron fork rose and fell with a precision that was almost mechanical.

Every time a soul body from Country R was put into the pot, he stared intently at the other's face, as if wanting to see every strand of hidden sin within the churning oil foam.

The Warden paced to the Deputy's side and instructed: "Raise the oil temperature by another ten percent. The skin will crisp up faster, while the inside remains tender, making the pain last longer."

The Deputy's movements paused for a moment.

The Warden took the iron fork and demonstrated by cutting diagonally into the soul body's shoulder blade: "Avoid the vital points and follow the gaps between the bones. It hurts, but it won't fall apart, and it will look neat when it comes out of the pot."

The Deputy watched silently for a moment, then took back the iron fork and followed suit.

The scream of the next soul body was indeed elongated, and the intensity of its thrashing in the boiling oil changed as well.

"Thanks, Boss."

"Small matter. Just keep your head about it; don't go overboard. The laws of the Underworld are clear: we are carrying out punishment, not venting anger."

"I understand."

The Deputy replied, his iron fork steadily pressing down on a new soul body. Oil splashed onto the back of his hand, scorching a white mark, but he didn't even blink.

In the Hell of Boiling Oil, the Deputy had already processed seventeen soul bodies by himself. His movements became increasingly proficient; the angle of entry into the pot, the oil temperature, and the timing were all handled with precision.

The Warden occasionally looked up but did not interfere throughout the process.

The eighteenth soul body was sent in, wearing a tattered old-style military uniform, its soul body blurry, its eyes murky.

The Deputy's iron fork paused, then immediately returned to normal, precisely cutting into the soul body's knee bend. With one flick and one push, the soul body entered the pot, splashing oil.

When the scream rang out, he leaned forward, staring intently at the face rolling in the oil foam. The Warden saw his left hand, hidden behind his back, clenched extremely tightly, his knuckles white and turning blue.

Not until the soul body stopped moving completely, floating on the surface of the oil with a layer of charred, crispy shell fried onto it, did he slowly straighten up and unclench his left hand.

Four deep, crescent-shaped blood marks remained on his palm.