Black and White Impermanence went astonishingly still.
Eathan blinked twice. “Since when…”
“The White Tiger’s personal seal,” White Impermanence murmured, taking the top scroll with the tips of two fingers as if it might bite. Silver light flickered over his eyes as he scanned the contents.
Black Impermanence checked another copy. “Cross?referencing… yes. The Spires has stamped this. Commander Meng herself.” His expression twisted in something like sympathy. “You have a very ambitious file.”
Chewie smirked, despite being confused herself. “We know.”
White Impermanence shuffled the forms back into order, brush scratching swiftly as he filled in an additional line. “Very well,” he said. “In light of prior authorization, we may waive annexes Phi?14 and parts of Gamma.”
He pushed the towering stack of parchment toward Eathan anyway.
“Names,” he said. “Dates of mortal expiration. Primary cause of demise. Karmic status checks. Unfinished regrets. Preferred reincarnation queue.”
The stack went slightly taller than Eathan’s head. He accepted it and almost staggered under the metaphysical weight.
“Okay,” he said faintly. “Uh. Under ‘unfinished regrets’… do I… list all of them?”
“Yes,” Black Impermanence said.
“And ‘preferred reincarnation queue’… is that like… favourite species?”
“No,” White Impermanence said patiently. “That is your preference for environmental karmic configuration. For example: ‘no war zones,’ ‘less paperwork,’ ‘access to decent coffee.’ Requests are not guaranteed.”
Eathan stared down at the form.
Under [Unfinished Regrets], his brush—he suddenly was holding a brush, because of course he was—scratched out:
– Never got a proper raise.
– Never fixed COZMART’s sign.
– Did not tell Mister White that his coffee is objectively terrible.
– Did not ask him why he was always late.
He hesitated, then added, smaller:
– Didn’t have more time.
Chewie craned her neck to peek.
“Yours?” Eathan asked, noticing her gaze.
The twelve-year-old took her own sheet with a grunt. Her brush strokes were quick and confident.
– Should have punched Quine Long earlier.
– Should have punched Jade Court earlier.
– Allowed Southern front to fall for stupid reasons.
– Allowed friends to walk into nightmares alone.
– Number of other items exceeds space.
Black Impermanence glanced over their shoulders, expression unchanged.
“Concise,” he commented. “We appreciate brevity.”
The next thirty minutes (which felt like three years) was punctuated only by the endless rustling of spectral paper. Eathan and Chewie painstakingly navigated questions about life achievements, mortal regrets, unresolved debts, favourite mortal snacks ("Relevance?" Eathan had asked meekly, receiving only a cold glare), and inexplicably, the precise weight of their accumulated spiritual guilt.
At last, Eathan shoved the forms back onto the desk with a shaky exhale.
“There,” he said. “I have never done that much paperwork while technically dead.”
White Impermanence seized their completed stacks, stamping them with excessive force. Two circular badges appeared following his action, materialising in his spectral hands.
“Congratulations,” White Impermanence said, stamping the top page with a seal that glowed. “You are now officially registered deceased and temporarily authorized to walk around about it.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Black Impermanence snapped his abacus closed. The chain linking their ankles rattled. He reached under the desk and produced two thin, rectangular plaques. They gleamed faintly, etched with complex glyphwork.
“Spectral Identification Tokens,” he said, sliding one to each of them. “Do not lose these. They will stabilize your forms inside the Passing properly and allow you to access necessary passages.”
Eathan picked his up and squinted. His name floated across the front in neat Cloud?Jade script:
LIN, EATHAN (Deceased – Temporary Visitor)
Status: Spectral Instance – Anchor?Bound
Expiration: 7 Mortal Days
Restrictions: No interference with standard reincarnation traffic. No unauthorized possession of mortal bodies. No inciting of riots.
The photo (somehow there was a photo) showed him with golden eyes and faint antlers, looking like he’d just realized the camera was a guillotine.
“Why do I look like that,” he whispered in utter horror.
“Token captures your most recent karmic impression,” White Impermanence said. “It will update if you have significant… episodes.”
Chewie held up her own card.
Her picture showed not a twelve?year?old brat with a fishing rod, but a much older version of herself—eyes burning like embers, hair long and rough. Her shoulders padded with armour slick with ichor, Chi You’s presence heavy enough to warp the edges.
She cracked a grin. “Nostalgic.”
“Do proceed immediately to Midnight Avenue to activate your Spiritual ID.” Black Impermanence said as he made one last note in the ledger. "Next!"
As they shuffled onward toward the gateway, Eathan distinctly heard Black Impermanence muttering to his coworker in a voice thick with irritation.
"First him, now these two. One headache after another—”
He froze, heart skipping a beat. He was about to turn around to prompt further when, behind them, White Impermanence waved an ink-brushed hand.
"Move it along! Next!"
Eathan opened his mouth again, reconsidered the deadly stare, and thought better of it. He quickly grabbed Chewie by the arm, guiding her away from the increasingly menacing bureaucratic spirits.
The side arch spilled them into something that looked suspiciously like a café.
It perched at the edge of a softly glowing plaza, lanterns strung overhead in lazy arcs. Tables floated slightly above the ground, anchored by chains of paper charms. Ghostly waiters in tidy aprons drifted between them, carrying trays of steaming drinks in translucent cups.
A wooden sign hung over the entrance, painted with careful calligraphy:
[CAFé BETWEEN – DEPARTURES & RETURNS] Please keep your regrets off the furniture.
Upon walking in, Eathan was hit with air that smelled of roasted grain and rain on old stone.
Yunmo guided Sera to a corner table. The girl’s movements remained graceful, but the silver in her eyes had softened, dimming to a faint glow.
“Wait here, little one,” Yunmo murmured through her lips. “Sip a few lattes. Avoid trouble. You’ll be safe until they return.”
Sera blinked slowly. Her fingers flexed around the urns, then relaxed as she set them on the table.
“I… feel weird,” she said, her own voice bleeding through for the first time. “Like I’ve already cried and don’t remember it.”
“That is because you did,” Yunmo said. “And because you are very, very brave.”
She brushed Sera’s hair back—an oddly domestic gesture, given the ghostly circumstances—then straightened and looked to Eathan and Chewie.
“I will remain close,” she said. “My reach is limited this far from Chang’e’s jurisdiction, but I can at least smack minor nuisances away from my descendant.”
Eathan scratched the back of his head.
“Thank you,” he said. He meant it.
“You are welcome,” Yunmo replied. “Once your business is done, return precisely here. My descendant’s spiritual resonance will be your beacon back to the Mortal Realm."
She paused, eyes distant for a moment, voice quieter now.
"If, of course, you manage to return."
“We will,” Eathan said.
Yunmo gazed at him for a long second, then smiled. “Try not to attract any unnecessary attention while you’re at it.”
“…That’s the plan,” he said weakly.
Chewie snorted. “We’re very bad at that.”
Yunmo’s form shimmered. The next second, she pulled away from Sera like mist unhooking from skin. Sera exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping as the last of the silver faded from her eyes.
She blinked up at them, confused.
“…Eathan?”
Eathan stepped closer automatically, throat tight. “Hey,” he said, looking everywhere but into her eyes. “Long story. Very long. Please… just rest here for now, okay? We’ll—”
He swallowed.
“We’ll see you again soon.”
Sera studied him for a moment. Whatever envoy blood ran in her veins, it lent her the same steady observational gaze she had in the mortal world.
She nodded once.
“Okay,” she said. Then, very quietly: “Don’t be late.”
Eathan smiled. “I learned from the worst.”
Chewie rolled her eyes and tugged him by the sleeve. Her hand passed through, but the intention registered.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Death’s waiting.”
They stepped back out into the plaza.
The path ahead narrowed again, forming a corridor leading deeper into the Realm of Passing. Their new spectral IDs warmed against their palms, pulsing in sync with the air.
Behind them, through the café window, Sera sat with the urns in front of her. A ghost waiter set a drink on her table—the liquid inside shimmering pale lilac.
Eathan watched as she wrapped her hands around the cup, gazing outwards as if deep in thought. He turned away before he could second?guess everything.
Beyond the gates, Midnight Avenue awaited, an expansive field glowing beneath perpetual twilight.
Eathan exchanged a tense look with Chewie, and drew a deep breath.
“Well, here comes the afterlife.”
They stepped beyond the gates—then froze simultaneously.
“This… is not what the textbooks promised.”
Midnight Avenue—at least the version he’d skimmed in CHN104 handouts—was supposed to be all ancient pagodas and mist.
Instead, Eathan found himself staring at a car-crash of a metropolitan landscape.
The architecture overhead looked like someone had grafted glass?steel skyscrapers onto old courtyard houses. Crystal towers rose in sleek curves, threaded with streams of floating lanterns. Between them, narrow alleyways were pure period drama: sloped roofs, carved eaves, hanging signs in brush?stroked ink advertising “Karmic Accounting,” “Emotional Tax Relief,” and “Spirit Fox Karaoke (First Death Free!).”
Chewie took it all in, hands jammed in her jacket pockets.
“Oh,” she said. “They renovated.”
A ghost in a passing business robe dipped their head politely. “May your karma be smooth,” it intoned.
"..."
Smooth.
Real smooth.
Eathan groaned.