Bringing My Rival Back to Life (Accidentally) - Chapter 8

“Wu Jiu is really dead.”

Zhao Zirui was tired of hearing about Wu Jiu doing sit-ups in his coffin.

“Got it. Is he going to come back to life tomorrow?”

“No.” Zhu Xiao’s response was completely different from before. “Wu Jiu is really dead.”

This answer made Zhao Zirui look at him with new eyes, scrutinizing him up and down in surprise.

— No, that’s not right.

Or rather, it was finally right.

Zhu Xiao seemed much more normal today than in the past few days. The gloom that had been on his face was gone, and it felt like a sunny day had finally arrived after a long time.

— This is what someone who has lost their arch-nemesis should look like!

Zhao Zirui pondered for a moment, “What happened to you? Did you suddenly let go of your worries?”

Zhu Xiao asked strangely, “When did I ever have worries?”

Zhao Zirui thought to himself that Zhu Xiao had looked like he was on the brink of death just a few days ago.

After chatting with Zhao Zirui for a while, Zhu Xiao checked the time and said, “I have something to do, so I’ll leave first.”

Zhao Zirui asked, “What do you have to do?”

Since Wu Jiu’s death, Zhu Xiao had been much more relaxed. But today, after sitting here for less than ten minutes, he was already talking about leaving.

Zhu Xiao glanced at a message on Yin-Yang Messenger, put away his phone, and said, “To buy something.”

“Oh, perfect. Let’s go together,” Zhao Zirui also stood up, “I need to buy some things too. We’ve run out of everything at home.”

Zhu Xiao looked at him, hesitated to say something, and his expression was a bit awkward.

“What’s wrong?” Zhao Zirui asked.

Zhu Xiao calmly said, “I’m going to a joss stick shop.”

Zhao Zirui’s eyes widened. He had just stood up but sat back down, even pushing his stool back a few steps, his whole body radiating resistance: “Then I won’t go.”

Zhu Xiao nodded in understanding and left on his own.

Watching his retreating figure, Zhao Zirui muttered, “…How does he make going to a joss stick shop seem like casual shopping?”

According to Wu Jiu, he was a newcomer down there, struggling to get enough to eat or sleep well, living a life like a refugee.

As the saying goes, the deceased should be respected. Since Wu Jiu was already dead, Zhu Xiao didn’t feel like holding grudges about their past.

At Wu Jiu’s strong insistence, Zhu Xiao came to the joss stick shop.

The shop had everything, covering all aspects of daily life, only everything was made of paper.

He picked up some regular incense for tomb visits and bought a lot of paper money and paper gold ingots.

As he walked further in, Zhu Xiao also saw those paper-made figurines, not knowing what they were for.

Uncertain about what Wu Jiu needed, he messaged on Yin-Yang Messenger: [Do you need paper figurines?]

Wu Jiu: [No!]

Wu Jiu: [Don’t put people in my room. In ancient times, only the legitimate wife could do that.]

Zhu Xiao: […]

He quickly withdrew his hand.

Wu Jiu quickly sent a string of words: [And what kind of era is this? I’m a young person influenced by socialism, firmly supporting monogamy. Don’t tarnish me with that stuff.]

[…]

Zhu Xiao already regretted asking that question.

Zhu Xiao replied: [Shut up.]

His gaze shifted to the colorful clothes and he asked: [What about clothes?]

This time, Wu Jiu said with restraint: [You can help me pick out a couple of pieces.]

In Wu Jiu’s memory, Zhu Xiao had a great sense of style, always looking good in whatever he wore. Plus, he was handsome and naturally good-looking, a born clothes hanger that drew people’s attention.

Zhu Xiao’s choices were trustworthy.

Wu Jiu even pretended to ask: [By the way, should I tell you my size?]

Knowing he was likely to bring up the 1.88-meter thing again, Zhu Xiao stopped him at the source: [No need.]

Wu Jiu used the word “pick,” but as Zhu Xiao scanned the overly bright and garish clothes, he couldn’t see any room for selection.

The joss stick shop dealt with the business of the dead and hadn’t evolved to the level of international brands. The clothes here were all typical funeral attire—mainly characterized by their bright colors and unflattering cuts.

After staring for a while, Zhu Xiao reluctantly chose a relatively subdued dark green funeral robe from among the highly saturated colors.

After purchasing the items, Zhu Xiao arrived at Wu Jiu’s grave and lit the incinerator.

He first burned the pile of paper money and gold ingots—his thinking was simple: whether in this world or the next, money was the universal currency. With money, life shouldn’t be too difficult.

And indeed, that was the case.

Wu Jiu had just spent all his savings to advance the development of the Yin-Yang Messenger app and was genuinely a poor ghost, living hand-to-mouth.

Now, thanks to Zhu Xiao, he became the richest ghost in the underworld again.

Zhu Xiao was about to burn more when Wu Jiu sent a message to stop him: [Alright, alright. If you burn any more, there’ll be inflation.]

Wu Jiu had the butler Bai store the money and then eagerly messaged Zhu Xiao: [What about my clothes?]

Zhu Xiao unwrapped the dark green robe he had just bought. As he tore open the packaging, he felt his eyes hurt from the ugliness of its appearance.

But there was no other choice, given Wu Jiu’s current situation.

He threw the unattractive robe into the incinerator.

And with great anticipation, Wu Jiu received a grotesquely ugly dark green funeral robe.

When he got the robe, Wu Jiu’s face turned as green as the garment.

What was this? New Chinese underworld style?

Wu Jiu: [Zhu Xiao, did you do this on purpose?]

Wu Jiu: [It’s so ugly that looking at it could cause blindness.]

Although Zhu Xiao also thought it was ugly, he politely reminded Wu Jiu: [Didn’t you used to like this kind of thing?]

A long time ago, Wu Jiu’s taste was just as abstract.

He remembered the first time he saw Wu Jiu, who seemed to have crawled out of some mud pit, wearing a garish and ugly outfit that left a deep impression.

Wu Jiu: [That was a long time ago! Zhu Xiao, you really love to bring up old things.]

Wu Jiu: [You never remember what you should, but you remember what you shouldn’t so clearly.]

Zhu Xiao asked: [What?]

On Wu Jiu’s end, it showed “typing,” but after a long while, nothing was sent.

After waiting for a long time, there was only one sentence: […Nothing.]

Wu Jiu changed the subject: [Forget it. What are you wearing today?]

Zhu Xiao didn’t know what he meant by that: [?]

But he still answered Wu Jiu concisely: [A grey coat.]

Wu Jiu’s expression brightened: [The one I’ve seen before?]

He remembered that outfit; Zhu Xiao looked very good in it. It would be nice to see it again, but Zhu Xiao wouldn’t burn photos for him.

How would Zhu Xiao know if he had seen it or not? Besides, it wasn’t a new coat, and they used to see each other every day when Wu Jiu was alive.

So he replied: [Maybe.]

After beating around the bush, Wu Jiu finally got to the point: [Then I want the one you’re wearing now.]

Zhu Xiao: [I’ve worn it.]

Wu Jiu— the most prestigious King of Hell in the underworld, currently wearing the most expensive clothes in the underworld— lied with a straight face: [So what? I’m barely clothed right now.]

Zhu Xiao: [?]

Wu Jiu continued to fabricate without changing his expression: [Let me remind you, according to the latest statistics from the underworld, ghosts who are barely clothed are more likely to use the “ghost-pressing-bed” method to scare people than those who are properly dressed.]

Zhu Xiao ignored his fabricated threat and thought of a question. With a strange expression, he asked: [Are you saying that since you died, you haven’t worn a single piece of clothing?]

Wu Jiu hadn’t considered that his made-up statement could imply such a possibility.

But that didn’t stop him from complaining indignantly: [Of course! You never burned any for me.]

Zhu Xiao: […]

He imagined the scene, which was a bit too abstract.

So Zhu Xiao decisively unzipped his coat, took it off, and threw it into the incinerator.

A moment later, Wu Jiu had the coat that Zhu Xiao had just worn.

Perhaps because Zhu Xiao had just taken it off, Wu Jiu felt as if he could sense a faint warmth from Zhu Xiao on the garment.

Wu Jiu was stunned and, on impulse, held the coat up and lowered his head.

He smelled a familiar scent—Zhu Xiao’s presence.

Suddenly, Wu Jiu realized what he had just done and looked up alertly.

In a manner that was too obvious, he explained: “I just miss the human world too much.”

Up above, Zhu Xiao, having waited a long time without a response from Wu Jiu, sent a message: [Did you get it?]

Seeing Zhu Xiao’s message, Wu Jiu remembered that the coat was meant to be worn, so he quickly shook it out and put his arms through it.

After putting it on, the coat was a bit short, with the hem barely reaching his waist and the cuffs comically stopping halfway down his forearms.

He hummed and said with a bit of pride, “I told you he’s shorter than me.”

The coat was a bit tight, and he was afraid it might tear, so he took it off after less than a minute and carefully folded it.

Then he replied to Zhu Xiao in a teasing tone: [Zhu Xiao, you’re really short. The coat is too short. I can’t wear it~]

Zhu Xiao: [You should know that it’s not ancient times anymore, and I’m not your wife, right?]

Wu Jiu looked at the last two words of the message and nervously swallowed: […What do you mean?]

Zhu Xiao: [It means I don’t have the obligation to stay a widow and visit your grave for you.]

“…Damn it.” Wu Jiu cursed under his breath.

Then, he suddenly thought of a last resort: [You signed the agreement.]

When Zhu Xiao acted like the King of Hell, he was never reasonable. He coldly typed out a line: [I’ll tear it up. What are you going to do?]

Wu Jiu: […]

No sense of contract at all.

Wu Jiu: [Alright, then what do you want?]

Zhu Xiao directly issued a command: [Repeat that sentence just now.]

Wu Jiu closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

Then, holding his breath and swallowing his pride, he replied: [Zhu Xiao, you’re so nice. Thank you. I really like it.]

Bringing My Rival Back to Life (Accidentally) - Chapter 8

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Hate that cliffhanger, don’t you?

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