Lu Minggui looked at her own back, rubbed her waist, and adjusted the wooden hairpin on her head.
After all the bending and stretching that morning, it had become a habit to check whether the pin was loose. But in the next moment, a flash of white light made her dizzy, and she suddenly found herself in a completely white room.
Panicked, she stepped forward.
The room was entirely white, about five zhang (roughly 16 meters) wide, with soft, mist-like walls on both sides—but they were solid, impossible to pass through.
It was the same room she had seen before when Song Dazhi had pushed her down.
There were no lights, yet it wasn’t dark; the space emitted a soft, gentle glow.
Back then, she had thought she had gone to the underworld. Who would have guessed that after opening a door, she would wake up, alive again, back over a year in the past?
Now… what was happening?
Had the past two days of life just been a dream?
Lu Minggui’s heart raced, but she looked down and saw the basket of daylilies still in her hands. Fresh, as if just plucked from the stalks.
The sight calmed her somewhat. Even if these past two days had been a dream, there was nothing to fear.
After all, she had already died once and returned. She had eaten a big bowl of egg soup, been full for every meal—she had won the lottery in life, at least she wasn’t starving!
And starving ghosts, she had heard, are extremely ugly in their next life.
Settling herself, Lu Minggui steadied her mind and walked along the wall, holding the basket of flowers.
Though she didn’t know the exact direction, she remembered that last time there were two doors in this space.
Soon, she came to one of the doors.
She hesitated. There were two doors. One couldn’t be opened, and the other, if pushed, would wake her up. But the two doors looked exactly the same, and she couldn’t remember which was which.
Oh well, she thought. She wasn’t afraid—she had already died once.
She raised her hand and pushed the door forcefully.
Another burst of blinding white light made her squint, but this time, strange voices filled her ears:
“Come see the organic vegetables!”
“Freshly caught crucian carp! Killed today, perfect for soup!”
“Just-cooked sauce duck! Vacuum-packed, lasts a week, perfect for relatives!”
“Black pork! Smells far better than ordinary pork!”
Even stranger sounds continued, one after another:
“Zhifu Bao received 3.5 yuan.”
“WeChat payment 10 yuan.”
…
What… was this?
Lu Minggui opened her eyes slowly. She found herself in a huge building, standing in a corner.
She had never seen a structure this tall.
It was bright inside; she could see the roof adorned with countless glowing orbs.
The floor was not earth—it shone even brighter than the landlord’s home, reflecting shadows clearly.
Rows of stalls stretched before her, neatly arranged and piled high with vegetables—some familiar, many unfamiliar.
Green long beans, red radishes washed spotless, chives, winter melon, cucumbers… so many she couldn’t take it all in.
Even stranger were the vegetables she didn’t recognize: red, green, flat, round—so fresh and tender she didn’t even know the names.
Her heart thumped wildly, nearly leaping out of her chest.
Dizzy, she stepped back.
Where… was this?
It certainly wasn’t the underworld.
She had heard that the underworld had eighteen levels of hell: tongue-pulling, fire, and more—no way it would be a vegetable market.
And the people… they were dressed all sorts of ways.
Some men wore long-sleeved shirts and pants, unlike the traditional robes of city gentlemen.
Women wore skirts or shorts, their arms and legs bare. It was… shocking!
Yet these women walked proudly, while men barely looked at them. Everyone was busy, bustling, lively but peaceful.
Very strange indeed.
Even stranger were their hairstyles.
Most men had very short hair. Women’s hair was varied: long, short, straight, curly, black, blond, red.
Isn’t it said the body and hair are gifts from one’s parents? But here, nobody cared.
Some women’s long hair flowed freely. Why didn’t they tie it up? That was almost like walking around naked!
She looked away, embarrassed, but the people didn’t seem to notice.
The only comforting thing: their expressions were neutral or smiling, some chatting or bargaining. None seemed dangerous.
Not like city ladies and masters, who looked down on villagers, kicking or shouting at them—or sending servants to do so.
No one paid her much attention. Even a glance from time to time carried no scrutiny.
Yet Lu Minggui grew more anxious, stepping back until her back hit a wall. She reached out… but there was no doorknob.
Just a white, icy wall—solid, cold, with no door.
This discovery panicked her further.
She had just come through this way… how could it now be gone?
She touched the wall blindly, only feeling the cold surface.
What… what should I do? Can I not go back?
Her flustered state soon drew attention.
A middle-aged woman at a nearby stall approached, sizing her up.
Hmm… a tanned, rough-skinned auntie. Her outfit was rare indeed: an indigo blue tunic patched at the cuffs, a skirt down to her knees over wide pants also patched at the knees, and worn cloth shoes.
At her age, dressed like this… was she acting in some street play as a beggar?
Couldn’t be a hanfu enthusiast like her daughter, could it?
Thinking of her daughter, Zhu Yufang felt embarrassed to stare further. She had been taught to respect others’ preferences.
Though the woman was fashionable, her taste… was questionable. So many patches!
Lu Minggui, caught in her gaze, felt awkward and afraid, lowering her head.
Zhu Yufang finally spoke loudly:
“Big auntie, what are you doing?”
“Gold and silver coins growing on the wall? Staring and scratching so hard?”
Lu Minggui had to answer, stammering: “I…I want to go back…”
“Go back?” Zhu Yufang understood. “Oh, you mean go out and return home?”
“Yes. It’s normal to get lost if this is your first time here. This is the city’s largest central farmers’ market!”
She pointed to a glowing green arrow on the floor. “Follow this green line, and it leads straight to the main entrance.”
Lu Minggui looked down—sure enough, a glowing green arrow stretched ahead, continuing several meters and pointing far into the distance.
Could this woman be… a kind of underworld guide?