I, the screenwriter, have experienced a resurgence of inspiration.

……

"Wow, I didn't expect the story to turn out this way! But why did she save Chen Xi?"

At the street corner railing, Song Mo, with the face of a Russian female ghost, was throwing fish ball skewers into the paper trash can next to him.

The bamboo skewer made a soft "tap" sound as it touched the edge of the trash can.

She clapped her hands, her pale chin slightly raised.

—This persona has thin lips, and when they're pursed, they look somewhat ruthless.

Song Mo watched the entire chase just now.

From Chen Xi deliberately drawing away the Black and White Impermanence, to sneaking into alleys, hiding in tenement buildings, climbing water pipes, the GG card's strange transformation, and finally, the giant object smashing into the crater and people disappearing into thin air...

She didn't miss a single detail.

It was like watching a live 8D show with stunning sound, light, and sound effects.

……

"Give Chen Xi more screen time next time."

Song Mo's tone clearly carried admiration: "Reaching level fourteen in one go should be considered the highest level among domestic players... no, it should be the highest level among human players."

She stroked her chin, already considering whether to wait until the dungeon ended to create a player ranking system.

If there's a ranking system based on skill level, then there must also be rankings based on wealth, items, strength, and so on...

Then we can create some new maps, hehe, and then even more interesting scenarios will follow!

……

……

As Song Mo was pondering this, the vengeful ghost A Zhu stood half a step behind him.

The man wore a bright red blouse with wide sleeves and a curved hem. His long hair was tied up with an ebony hairpin, with a few stray strands hanging down and sticking to his sinister face.

Although they look exactly like Ah Yan, the two ghosts have completely different temperaments.

Just now, while Song Mo was eating fish balls, he stood quietly to the side, holding a half-eaten string of fish balls in his hand.

At the end of the Song Dynasty, he casually remarked, "We can't waste food," and then expressionlessly began to put the fish balls into his mouth one by one.

It was like completing a task.

"Have you finished eating?"

Looking back at him at the end of the Song Dynasty, his tone was relaxed, like a tourist visiting a temple fair.

"Um."

A'Zhu nodded slightly and said in a measured tone, "Replying to your question, sir, I've finished eating."

"What does it taste like?"

At the end of the Song Dynasty, he casually asked a question, his gaze sweeping over the streets that had become bustling again.

The ghosts emerged from every corner again.

Some people set up stalls, while others strolled around the streets, as if the giant object's parade had just been a passing breeze.

The old man selling fish balls also emerged from the curry pot where he had been hiding, wiped the curry soup off his face, and started shouting again.

Song Mo glanced at the skewer of fish balls he had just finished eating, his expression one of disgust: "..."

You should have told me earlier that these fish balls were curry-flavored!

Even if you become a ghost, please still pay attention to food hygiene, okay?!

Watch out, or I'll call the Department of Health and have you arrested, you fishball guy!

……

A'Zhu, oblivious to Song Mo's mood, lowered her head and answered honestly:

"Your Excellency, the food in the underworld is all made from paper mud and grass roots, and has no real taste. It tastes slightly astringent, with a hint of spices, and chews like rotten wood."

He spoke seriously; it didn't sound like he was just complaining.

Song Mo shook his head: "It tastes so bad, but you seem to enjoy it. I thought it would taste like food from the mortal world."

"What adults give is good."

Azhu spoke calmly, as if stating something perfectly normal.

Song Mo really didn't know how to respond to that.

—Ayan has a lively personality, and the two of them can laugh and joke around when they are together, but Azhu is the only one who makes Song Mo always hallucinate that she was the junior screenwriter under his command in his previous life.

"so……"

At the end of the Song Dynasty, leaning against the railing, he gazed thoughtfully at the ghosts on the street:

"The wandering ghosts who have no one to offer sacrifices to cannot eat anything decent. Even in the underworld, the food is all made of paper; it's fake?"

Sometimes she wondered if there really was an underworld.

If not, where did A'Zhu, A'Yan, and the Black and White Impermanence come from?

If there were any, then she wrote so many copies, but never encountered a single immortal.

……

"The adult is right."

Azhu added earnestly:

"The food offered by relatives in the living world can be burned and tasted in the underworld just like it did in life."

Paper servants, furniture, and houses can be burned and still function normally, but weapons and armor are different. They are all made of paper and wax, and melt at the slightest touch, beautiful but useless.

Upon hearing this, Song Mo became intrigued.

"So, according to you, whatever is burned in the mortal world, will also be burned in the underworld?"

Her imagination ran wild: "If you cook a bowl of rice in the mortal world, there will be an extra bowl of rice in the underworld, which is equivalent to making a copy out of thin air? The conservation of matter will no longer exist?"

Why would the government bother making weapons like atomic bombs? Why not just make a paper doll and burn it?

"If you want spaceships, aircraft carriers, and warships, just build a life-size replica and burn it over there. The underworld will be armed to the teeth. How much easier!"

She spoke in a whimsical manner, but A'Zhu listened attentively, and only after she finished did she bow slightly to explain:

"What you may not know is that paper-made objects may have the form, but they lack the spirit."

Food, clothing, housing, and servants are all everyday items. When people in the mortal world burn them with good intentions, the deceased can obtain their form and continue their use.

But weapons and firearms are inherently malevolent objects; without the infusion of divine spirit and will, they will only leave empty shells when burned.

"For example, if a yellow ox is burned in the mortal world, it becomes a living ox in the hands of a ghost. It can plow fields and pull carts, but it doesn't need to eat grass or drink water. When its abdomen is cut open, it is empty and has no internal organs. It only has the form but no spirit."

"As for the warships and cannons that you mentioned, that's even more true."

The paper cannon looked quite realistic, but it fell apart as soon as the fuse was lit, and it couldn't fire a single shell.

The paper-made knives and spears look sharp, but they dull at the slightest touch and can't even cut through paper figures.

He spoke clearly and logically, at a moderate pace.

Song Mo stroked her chin thoughtfully: "The form is there, but the spirit is gone..." She repeated it softly, "It's really interesting."

No wonder there's not much food in the underworld.

No wonder these ghosts kept crying out that they were hungry.

Did these settings already exist, or did they only materialize in reality after she wrote them into the script?

Song Mo thought for a moment, then made two faint strokes in the air with his fingertips.

With these words gathered together, she added a few more details to the "Haunted Harbor Building" instance, enriching the overall worldview:

[...Offered in the mortal realm, the remains are burned and their true flavor is obtained in the underworld.]

[...In the underworld, there are ghosts of instability; in the real world, there are living people who serve as messengers of the underworld, commonly known as "life-changing ghosts." They can travel between the realms of the living and the dead, delivering letters and offerings.]

[The dead eat food meant for the dead and receive offerings.]

The moment the words touched the ground, a sudden gust of cold wind swept overhead, swirling up countless wafts of paper money and incense ash—

A small tornado swept up incense ash from nowhere.

……

After observing for a while, Song Mo turned to A Zhu and said, "Let's go and see what else is in this instance."

—Although she wrote the rules of the instance, most of the details were filled in by the world itself.

The flowers and plants by the roadside, the insects in the corners of the walls, the clutter in the subdivided flats, and even the patrol routes of the Black and White Impermanence were not written down by her.

It's more like... this world "grew" out of itself.

This was also one of her purposes in sneaking into the instance—to see what her underworld script would look like when it came to life in the real world.

In the setting of the late Song Dynasty, the underworld is endless, and "Ghost in the Harbor" is just one instance contained within the underworld market.

The Ghost Market is merely a tiny, insignificant part of the underworld.

Of course, players will need to figure this out for themselves.

At the end of the Song Dynasty, he straightened up and walked across the street.

Azhu followed closely behind, but always kept a half-step distance behind.

Not far from where Song Mo walked, he saw a corpse lying by the roadside.

Judging from his clothes, he was probably a player who had accidentally entered the dungeon. He was male, in his thirties, and had a large gash on his stomach, with blood flowing all over the ground. He was already dead.

The body is dead, and the newborn soul has drifted away to who knows where.

It's estimated that when the Black and White Impermanence were patrolling the streets, they couldn't dodge and were hit by the falling rocks.

At the end of the Song Dynasty, he stopped and squatted down to take a look.

Azhu also stopped and stood quietly to the side, waiting for her to speak.

The corpse was melting at a speed visible to the naked eye.

It's not rotting, it's melting.

Like fine snow falling into a furnace, or popsicles getting heated.

The corpse's flesh, bones, and hair gradually turned into dark red blood, slowly seeping into the soil beneath their feet, as if the dungeon had "drunk" it.

In just a few seconds, the complete corpse vanished without a trace.

Only a dark, wet stain and a few tattered clothes remained on the ground.

Immediately afterwards, several black grasses slowly emerged from the damp patches.

Thin stems, black leaves, with pointed, needle-like leaves.

These grasses grew incredibly fast, reaching finger-length in no time, forming a dense, swaying mass in the wind.

Several small black insects, resembling both ants and cockroaches, emerged from the soil and crawled busily across the blades of grass.

It is an insect.

"That's so interesting."

I read it carefully at the end of the Song Dynasty:

"Corpses turn into mud, then feed back into the soil, grass grows in the mud, and insects even appear... Is this some kind of food chain that's formed within the instance itself?"

When she wrote the setting, she only wrote one sentence: "The soil in the underworld is dark brown, nourished by yin energy."

But she didn't write that the corpse would turn into mud, nor did she write that grass and insects could grow in the mud.

This is entirely a product of the world's own evolution.

"Azhu, dig it open and take a look."

Song Mo pointed to the area where black grass grew: "I want to see if there is real soil underneath, or just an empty shell made up of words."

"Yes."

Azhu squatted down in response. A faint red aura emanated from his fingertips, condensing into a thin knife, which he then used to dig into the ground.

The soil was loose, carrying a damp and cold chill.

After digging about a foot deep, Azhu stopped, picked up a little soil, and handed it to Song Mo.

"Please take a look, sir."

At the end of the Song Dynasty, he pinched a little bit and rubbed it between his fingertips.

It's fine, moist, and it's real soil.

It is neither a fictional textual structure nor a paper replica.

It is real, substantial, and textured soil.

"What's below?" Song Mo pressed. "What's below?"

"It's still mud."

Azhumu replied blankly, "Three feet deeper, there's a layer of gravel. Beyond that, I don't know. The yin energy is too heavy, so I dare not dig too deep."

Song Mo stood up and patted the mud off his hands.

She stared at the patch of black grass for a long time.

A real world with ecological cycles and the ability to evolve on its own.

It's not just the cold words she writes; they're alive.

This feeling is amazing.

It's like planting a seed with your own hands, watching it take root, sprout, and eventually grow into a towering tree.

—It even bloomed with flowers that had never been seen before at the end of the Song Dynasty.

"What are you thinking about, sir?" A'Zhu asked softly when she saw her lost in thought.

"It's nothing."

Song Mo smiled and said, "I just think that the script I wrote is really interesting."

Ah Zhu didn't quite understand what "writing a script" meant, but she didn't ask any further questions.

He was used to Song Mo occasionally speaking in languages ​​he couldn't understand.

He remained silent for a while, gazing in the direction where the Black and White Impermanence had disappeared, before mustering his courage to ask again:

"Sir, where are those living people who were taken away by the Black and White Impermanence sent?"

"Send it back, I have enough material already."

Without even looking up, Song Mo was still studying the black grass and casually remarked:

"After all, the underworld is an official organization of the netherworld, and it will not kill living people indiscriminately."

Didn't the Black and White Impermanence say, "Those who trespass into the underworld will be dealt with according to the law"?

The laws of hell?

Actually, the writing about the late Song Dynasty hadn't even started yet—

The outline only states that "Black and White Impermanence patrol the streets, arrest people, and deal with them according to the laws of the underworld."

"So, I have to draft another set of laws for the underworld?"

Thinking about this, screenwriter Song Mo felt like he was going bald.

She desperately wanted to grab the non-existent system by the neck and force it to go and capture a few more officials from the underworld.

System: Are you being polite?

……

……

……

Modern port city.

July in the port city should be hot and humid.

However, thick dark clouds still loomed over Nathan Road in Mong Kok.

The leaden-gray clouds hung low above the skyscrapers, like a dirty cotton wad soaked in water, so dirty it looked like it was about to fall.

Scattered golden paper money drifted down from the clouds, swirling as it landed on the road.

Although the number is much less than a few days ago, it still can't be driven away.

……

The pedestrians on the street seemed used to it, and everyone was in a hurry. They would walk around the paper money when they saw it, and no one dared to pick it up.

"This is weird!"

The uncle selling fruit on the street packed up his stall, covered it with a plastic sheet, muttered something under his breath, and even spat into the air.

"Squeak—!!"

Suddenly, a long screech of brakes sounded from the street corner!

The rubber tires rubbed against the asphalt road, leaving a black mark, accompanied by several muffled thuds... The car in front slammed on the brakes, and the taxis, minibuses, and trucks behind it crashed into it one after another!

Several cars were involved in a chain collision, their front ends crushed, and shards of glass were scattered all over the ground.

"You idiot! Do you even know how to drive?!"

"Someone's running into the street looking to commit suicide!"

"Hey couriers! It's haunted!"

In the very center of the intersection, a young man stood out of nowhere.

He looked to be in his early twenties, dressed in a black training uniform, with a blank expression.

He stood in the middle of the traffic, as if he had just woken up from a dream:

"I...I'm back alive?"

"Where's Captain Chen?!"