Bringing My Rival Back to Life (Accidentally) - Chapter 7
The message from Yin-Yang Messenger successfully made Zhu Xiao forget that he had originally planned to take a taxi.
He stood still, frowning at the phone screen.
Zhu Xiao: [Wu Jiu?]
[It’s me.]
The reply came arrogantly from the other side: [What do you think? Aren’t you moved?]
Zhu Xiao turned his head and looked around; the cemetery was still desolate and empty.
Zhu Xiao didn’t know what Wu Jiu was thinking, using this rogue software to send messages. However, Wu Jiu’s appearance did confirm his suspicion—Wu Jiu was indeed not dead.
He sneered and typed in the box: [Not pretending to be dead anymore?]
Wu Jiu’s grand entrance did not receive the applause he had expected. Being in the underworld, he couldn’t confront Zhu Xiao, so he could only express his frustration by tapping three dots.
Wu Jiu: [Pretending? I’m really a ghost!]
Wu Jiu hadn’t intended to be so blunt because he knew Zhu Xiao was somewhat superstitious about such things. He had seen Zhu Xiao, on more than one occasion, expressionlessly say “good fortune” after someone sneezed.
If Zhu Xiao got scared and fainted, that would be troublesome. He couldn’t rush over to help immediately. After sending the message, Wu Jiu regretted it immediately.
He considered adding a weak “haha, just kidding, got scared, didn’t you?” to ease the tension.
However, Zhu Xiao’s reply made him angry again: [Coward or miser?]
…It turned out he had worried for nothing. Zhu Xiao didn’t believe him at all.
Wu Jiu: [If you don’t believe me, you can burn something at my grave and I’ll tell you what I received.]
Zhu Xiao refused to fall for his trick: [No way.]
Wu Jiu: [Haha, coward.]
Zhu Xiao: [?]
Fine.
Zhu Xiao turned back to the cemetery. The butler Bai was no longer there.
He walked to Wu Jiu’s grave, found some paper and a pen, wrote a line of words, and then threw the paper into the incinerator to burn it.
The content was as concise as ever:
——Wu Jiu, you are an idiot.
“…” Below, Wu Jiu looked at this all-too-familiar sentence. He couldn’t count how many times Zhu Xiao had called him an idiot. “Your vocabulary is really poor… can’t you come up with something else?”
Zhu Xiao asked: [What did I write?]
Wu Jiu kept silent, not really wanting to reply.
But then he thought of the scene where Zhu Xiao had shed tears—never mind, Zhu Xiao was just taking verbal advantage. Despite being so tough-talking, hadn’t he cried like a poor little thing that day?
After comforting himself with this kind of mental victory, Wu Jiu replied with a sense of humiliation: […You called me an idiot.]
Zhu Xiao looked around; there was no one around, and there were no cameras either. Wu Jiu could see the message only if he was really a ghost.
Zhu Xiao’s expression changed slightly. Could it be that Wu Jiu was telling the truth?
He decisively tore off another piece of paper, wrote a line “You are not six feet tall,” and quickly threw it into the incinerator.
Zhu Xiao: [What about this time?]
This time, Wu Jiu replied very quickly: [How many times have I told you I am 188.88 cm tall!]
Wu Jiu: [Do you believe me now? If you do, burn a photo of yourself.]
Ignoring the latter part of his sentence, Zhu Xiao felt a bit complicated: [Are you really dead?]
Wu Jiu: [If by death you mean the dissolution of my physical body in the human world, then yes.]
Zhu Xiao: [You can’t come back to life?]
Wu Jiu: [Not for now.]
Zhu Xiao fell silent.
For some reason, Wu Jiu paused on his end and inexplicably switched to a comforting tone: [It’s okay. It’s not bad down here. There are fewer people, it’s not crowded, and it’s cool in the summer. And I can still talk to you, can’t I?]
Wu Jiu added another sentence, pretending not to care, but it was a bit forced.
Unfortunately, Zhu Xiao still selectively ignored it.
Zhu Xiao: [Are you comforting me?]
Zhu Xiao asked in confusion: [Why?]
How strange that a dead person was comforting a living one.
Wu Jiu: […]
Wu Jiu: [I’m just being redundant.]
Wu Jiu frantically long-pressed the sentence he had just sent, but the Yin-Yang Messenger app was a shoddy project made in three days. It hadn’t even developed features for photos and voice messages, let alone the advanced function of “recall.”
Wu Jiu awkwardly changed the subject to cover his embarrassment: [So, can you burn a photo of yourself for me?]
Zhu Xiao finally paid attention to the sentence Wu Jiu had repeated several times and asked: [Why do you want my photo?]
Wu Jiu would never admit that he wanted it to reminisce—no, to draw inspiration from it. He replied mysteriously with two words: [For protection.]
So Zhu Xiao also replied to him with two words: [No way.]
“…Not even a photo, what a miser.”
Wu Jiu stared at his painting, feeling frustrated. He couldn’t seem to draw it well without the right inspiration.
But there are always more solutions than difficulties. Wu Jiu quickly came up with an idea.
He called over the butler Bai and said seriously, “I want to install a camera at my grave.”
The butler whispered, “Young master, is that really appropriate?”
“What’s wrong with installing a camera at my own grave? What if someone digs it up? There are many tomb robbers these days.”
The butler forced a smile and nodded in agreement.
Firstly, this cemetery was Wu Jiu’s territory. Except for Zhu Xiao, not even a fly could get in.
Secondly, while other graves might contain valuable treasures, what did the young master have buried with him? Tomb robbers would think it a waste of time to dig up his grave.
Apart from the urn, Wu Jiu’s grave contained nothing but worthless scraps of paper.
For example, there was his report card where he narrowly beat Zhu Xiao for first place, the newspaper clipping with the headline “Twin Stars,” and a screenshot of the “Outstanding Youth” list he printed himself, with Zhu Xiao’s name right behind his.
If anything, the flour inside the urn was more valuable than anything else.
The butler tactfully said, “Mr. Zhu might not be happy.”
“…Ha, why should I care if he’s unhappy? It’s not the first time I’ve upset him.” However, Wu Jiu’s voice was not as firm as before. “Forget it, let’s not install it for now.”
Under the butler’s knowing gaze, Wu Jiu solemnly stated his reason for changing his mind.
“A camera is too ugly. It doesn’t match my aesthetic.”
Zhu Xiao returned home, still feeling a bit uneasy.
Wu Jiu was actually dead… well, not completely dead, since he could still communicate through the Yin-Yang Messenger app. In that sense, it didn’t seem so bad.
But Wu Jiu was just gone like that?
For some reason, Zhu Xiao felt annoyed and, on impulse, opened the rogue app again.
Zhu Xiao asked bluntly: [How did you die?]
Wu Jiu replied almost instantly: [Sudden death.]
To make the reason more convincing, he added some details: [I had been feeling unwell for a while, as if I was about to die, so I made my will in advance.]
Zhu Xiao frowned and probed further: [What was wrong with you?]
In his memory, Wu Jiu had always been full of energy. Apart from occasional bouts of insanity, he hadn’t seemed unwell anywhere.
Wu Jiu casually made up “headache” and warned him: [Let’s get one thing straight, don’t flatter yourself. My death has nothing to do with you.]
Nothing to do with him?
Indeed, nothing to do with him.
Zhu Xiao asked again: [Then why did you ask me to visit your grave?]
Wu Jiu replied indignantly: [Who else would I ask? My students can’t even write a decent thesis; they’re unreliable. The dean is old and almost in the grave himself. I don’t know the others well.]
Zhu Xiao sent over a few names, all of whom were their classmates or colleagues.
Wu Jiu dismissed each one with “not familiar,” “no impression,” “is there such a person? Did you make them up?”
Zhu Xiao was a bit speechless: [What can your brain remember?]
Wu Jiu did remember one important thing: [You signed an agreement with me to visit my grave.]
And he continued to hold a grudge: [You ate at my grave, showing no respect for the deceased.]
Wu Jiu was almost accusing: [And you even shared food with the butler!]
Thinking about this, Wu Jiu felt bitter inside.
Since returning to the underworld, he had been eating food from the netherworld. Some dishes looked like those from the human world, but they tasted like incense ash.
As the saying goes, it is easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go from luxury to frugality. Having stayed in the human world for so long, he was now very uncomfortable with the change.
After briefly describing his situation, Wu Jiu said sarcastically: [I’m suffering down here, and you’re having a great time, aren’t you?]
Then he added: [Eating with others at my grave, I won’t let you off even as a ghost.]
He had been holding this sentence in for a day, and now he finally let it out.
Zhu Xiao fell silent for a moment and typed four words: [Speak properly.]
On the other end, Wu Jiu hummed at the phone, “Can’t you understand? Your comprehension skills are really something.”
So he reluctantly “explained.”
Wu Jiu: […What you shared with the butler today, I want too.]
Perhaps because Wu Jiu was indeed suffering down there, Zhu Xiao felt a bit of compassion.
Zhu Xiao went to the supermarket again.
He was picking fruits when Wu Jiu sent a message like a supervisor.
Wu Jiu: [How much did you buy?]
Wu Jiu: [What you get for me can’t be less than what you got for the butler.]
Zhu Xiao had already picked quite a lot, including apples, oranges, bananas, and some other fruits.
He freed up one hand to reply: [Don’t have so many demands.]
Wu Jiu was inexplicably fixated on the quantity: [So, how much is it?]
Zhu Xiao glanced over and casually replied with a number: [Ten pounds.]
There was no response from the other side, and Zhu Xiao ignored it.
After a while, Zhu Xiao’s phone vibrated again. It was another message from Wu Jiu.
Zhu Xiao thought he was going to make another unreasonable request and took out his phone, ready to reply with “enough to last you a week” to shut him up.
But when he opened the chat box, it was an unenthusiastic greeting:
[…Forget it, don’t buy so much. Just get a couple of pieces. With your ant-like strength, you’ll exhaust yourself at my grave and no one will bury you. Besides, I don’t want to see you down here.]
Zhu Xiao: […]
Zhu Xiao ignored him.
Although he didn’t know where Wu Jiu got the misunderstanding, Zhu Xiao still arrived at Wu Jiu’s grave with a heavy bag of fruits.
He sent a message to Wu Jiu: [What should I do?]
Wu Jiu told him the method of offering and added: [When you make the offering, you need to silently recite my name in your heart so that the ghost officials know where to deliver it.]
Zhu Xiao stared at Wu Jiu’s densely inscribed tombstone and precisely located Wu Jiu’s name among the many titles: [Is it necessary? I’m already at your grave.]
Wu Jiu: [Of course it is. Not all ghost officials can read.]
Was it really that backward down there?
But since he had never been a ghost or visited the underworld, he could only trust Wu Jiu.
He followed Wu Jiu’s instructions, placed the fruits he had bought on the offering plate, and inserted the incense.
Then he silently recited Wu Jiu’s name in his heart.
On the other side, Wu Jiu’s table was already filled with fruits—they didn’t need any ghost officials; the fruits had been delivered to his table the moment Zhu Xiao inserted the incense.
A slight curve appeared at the corner of Wu Jiu’s lips as he brought an orange to his eyes and examined it leisurely.
After a while, Zhu Xiao’s murmuring voice reached his ears.
For the first time in many days, Wu Jiu heard Zhu Xiao’s voice.
“Wu Jiu.”
Zhu Xiao’s voice was very pleasant, like the clear and melodious sound of jade colliding, the voice of an elegant and refined gentleman, a tree of jade and orchid.
Wu Jiu rarely heard Zhu Xiao call his name so gently and clearly.
He reached up and rubbed his warming ears, suddenly feeling dissatisfied—“Wu Jiu” was too short. If he had known this day would come, he should have changed his name to something like “Wu Lala Jiu You Zi Qu” instead.
It had no particular meaning, but it was long enough.
Wu Jiu coughed lightly, put on a serious demeanor, and sent another message to Zhu Xiao: [Yes, that’s right. It’s best to silently add “offered to the esteemed Mr. Wu Jiu” for more precise positioning.]
In the Yama’s mansion, Wu Jiu sat upright, waiting for Zhu Xiao’s voice to sound again.
Soon, Zhu Xiao’s voice came through.
It was still as pleasant and melodious, but the content… was not quite what he had imagined.
Though Zhu Xiao was not there, Wu Jiu had the illusion that Zhu Xiao was holding his ear and warning him sternly.
——“Don’t push your luck.”
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Hate that cliffhanger, don’t you?
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