Chapter 1: Bao Zheng Invites the Gentlemen with a Playful Ruse
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Dongyang City, a remote rural square nestled in the southern mountain region.
Though it was already deep into the night, the small square glowed brightly with lights.
In front of a hastily assembled stage, many Eight Immortals tables were arranged.
The tables were laden with plates of chicken, duck, fish, and meat.
On the benches set before each Eight Immortals table, memorial tablets bearing names were placed.
The vast little square was deserted.
Only wisps of smoke curled through the air.
“I am a transmigrator, but why is my fate so bitter?”
Just a few days ago, Yang Xuan had fainted after his head struck a wooden column; when he came to, he realized he was a transmigrator.
Looking back on his twenty-five years, he could only sigh with tears and snot.
An orphan, he had been raised by his grandfather.
His grandfather was the leader of a rural opera troupe in Dongyang City, and had placed high hopes in him; from a young age, Yang Xuan began training in opera performance.
As an opera performer, singing, reciting, acting, and martial moves were fundamental skills—ones that required relentless practice, day and night.
He endured much hardship growing up.
Later, upon entering high school, it was only after his teachers intervened that his grandfather allowed him to attend university.
However, in his second year, his grandfather was hospitalized after a car accident, and Yang Xuan rushed back to see him one last time.
On his deathbed, his grandfather entrusted the opera troupe to him.
Thus, before graduating, Yang Xuan became the leader of a rural opera troupe with over twenty members.
In this era, though traditional opera had been largely eclipsed, in some villages or on special occasions, their troupe still had a market.
For example, rural festivals and temple fairs often invited opera troupes to perform.
Compared to regular office workers, their troupe’s singers earned considerably more each month.
Yet, even with the lucrative business, few young people were interested in opera; the arduous training paled in comparison to singing pop songs.
Unlike certain rural troupes that had lost their traditional flavor—performing karaoke in swimsuits on graves, singing pop hits—Yang Family Troupe maintained the old ways, performing classic pieces, even those racy segments meant to draw attention.
Innovative acts, too, were presented in operatic style.
This was his grandfather’s dying wish: if ever Yang Xuan could no longer keep the troupe alive, he would rather quit than tarnish the legacy.
Uncle Kun, the troupe’s leader, walked over to Yang Xuan.
“Master, it’s almost the third watch.”
Yang Xuan nodded silently.
Soon, he would take the stage to perform the Shadow Opera.
The so-called “Shadow Opera” was a performance for the dead.
Of course, it was a custom.
Tomorrow was the ancestral festival in this village; the Eight Immortals tables before the stage bore memorial tablets of the villagers who had passed away.
Performing the Shadow Opera had its own rituals.
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The performance began at the third watch; the dead were sent off at the fourth.
No words were spoken during the Shadow Opera; before the performance concluded, the performer could not speak to anyone.
Additionally, the Shadow Opera performer had to be a strong male.
Typically, it was a solo act.
These were rules established by the troupe’s predecessors.
Now, in Yang Family Troupe, Yang Xuan was the youngest; the others were either too old.
Uncle Kun walked backstage to an altar, hands clasped around incense that wafted smoke.
“Hua Guang Grandmaster, bless us, Hua Guang Grandmaster, bless us.”
Yang Xuan muttered quietly.
Hua Guang Grandmaster was the troupe’s patron deity.
In the celestial court, he was revered as Hua Guang the Great, the Southern Red Emperor, the god of fire.
Legend had it he was one of Taoism’s four marshals, ranking just below the Three Pure Ones.
“Dang, dang, dang.”
“Dang, dang, dang.”
The front-stage gongs and drums sounded, the suona horn blared.
The time had come.
Dressed in a black python robe, tall boots, and hands resting on a black jade belt, Yang Xuan strode out from backstage, chest held high, stepping confidently to the center of the stage.
Tonight’s opera was titled “Judge Bao Sweeps the Stage.”
The musicians began to play.
Yang Xuan kept time, pacing the stage and striking poses.
Singing, reciting, acting, martial moves.
Opera wasn’t simply singing; singing was just one aspect. Though the audience below was empty, smoke curling, memorial tablets arranged, Yang Xuan felt no fear.
He had performed the Shadow Opera several times; it was nothing unusual.
Ghosts… in this day and age, who still believed in ghosts?
“Yi-yi-ya-ya—”
Yang Xuan halted, waving his hand gently, and began to sing.
“Judge Bao Sweeps the Stage” was a short segment, mostly action.
Yet as he had just opened his throat, a cold wind suddenly swept across him.
He shivered involuntarily.
To his astonishment, the once-empty audience was now packed with people—every table was filled.
They wore garish, bizarre clothing; men and women, old and young, all present.
Seeing this, Yang Xuan was dumbfounded.
This… this… had he encountered his grandfather’s so-called “Summoning the Dead”?
The people suddenly appearing below the stage were all ghosts!
Yang Xuan had barely begun his Shadow Opera, and the night was flooded with a hundred ghosts!
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My god, there really are ghosts in this world!
He struggled to control his emotions, striving to maintain composure.
Because—
According to his grandfather, if the Summoning the Dead occurred during the Shadow Opera, he must pretend nothing happened and continue performing as usual.
If the performance was interrupted, the ghosts in the audience might become displeased, bringing misfortune or even mortal danger to the performer.
But how could Yang Xuan stay calm now?
So many ghosts—was this the end for him?
[Ding, Shadow Opera Master system successfully activated.]
System… Yang Xuan was stunned again.
As the system’s information poured into his mind, he instantly understood what it meant to be a Shadow Opera Master.
When Yang Xuan donned a character’s costume and invoked the divine power, he would act as the god’s emissary in the mortal world, resolving injustices—he became a divine messenger.
His own strength would reflect the power of that character.
In the eyes of ghosts, he would represent that deity.
[Ding, novice reward: detected current character as Judge Bao of the Underworld; divine power of Judge Bao bestowed.]
[Character includes five Underworld soldiers and three Soul Execution Blades.]
[Congratulations, host, you have acquired the Spirit Summoning Technique.]
As the system’s voice echoed, the knowledge flooded Yang Xuan, revealing the purpose of these rewards.
[Congratulations, host, you have acquired the Law-Following Speech Technique.]
After donning the character, he could activate its abilities.
Now, he possessed the divine power of Judge Bao from the Underworld; “the five Underworld soldiers are Zhan Zhao, Wang Chao, Ma Han, Zhang Long, and Zhao Hu.”
The Merit Cultivation Technique allowed Yang Xuan, as a Shadow Opera Master, to patrol the mortal realm, suppressing mischief by ghosts and monsters, thereby gaining merit and strengthening his own body.
The Law-Following Speech Technique empowered his words and singing to intimidate, injure, or even kill ghosts.
The Spirit Summoning Technique, when invoked with the proper incantation, could summon ghosts from the surrounding area to obey his command.
[Task: As the Shadow Opera Master, patrol the mortal world on behalf of the gods. Assemble your own troupe, recruit new members, impart abilities, and make them Shadow Opera Masters. Rewards will be based on the number of recruits.]
Assemble his own troupe… That meant building the opera company, imparting abilities, and making them Shadow Opera Masters.
[Ding, ghost detected. Activate divine power?]
The system prompt snapped Yang Xuan out of his reverie.
‘Activate divine power!’ he thought.
Immediately, he felt a transformation within his body.