Sixty Years with a Coffin: Now I'm the Empress's Prisoner

A sinister celestial spectacle dominated the sky—a black sun hanging beside a full moon in unnatural harmony. Beneath this eerie phenomenon stretched endless rows of tombs, their formations stretching northward like a towering pagoda. Faint glows of white, dark blue, jade, and violet pulsed among them, the violet light intensifying toward the northern horizon. In the silent necropolis, Henry worked bent double, his calloused hands gripping a hoe as he dug with rhythmic chunk-chunk sounds that echoed through the stillness. Beside him hovered a dark jade-green coffin, its surface embedded with nine swords that pierced the wood like ceremonial seals. In this in-between realm, he served as both Coffin Bearer and Grave Digger—the sole living being in a world of the dead. The Bearer transports wandering souls. The Digger guides the departed to rebirth. These twin lineages of the Tomb-Burial Sect... now survived only through this last remaining heir. "Sixty years of carrying coffins and digging graves... Will this ever end?" Henry murmured to the empty sky. His tall frame straightened, that rebellious streak of white hair dancing across his forehead—the only distinctive feature on his otherwise ordinary face. When the grave pit was ready, Henry raised his palm. The jade coffin lifted slowly. Twin streams of ashen energy unfurled from his hands, steadying the vessel. All traces of casualness vanished from Henry's expression. He bowed deeply, his body descending in perfect unison with the coffin... As the final handful of luminous Spirit Soil settled onto the mound, an obsidian stele materialized without a whisper. Its surface bore the epitaph: "Venerated Ancestor Chen Taixu, Grand Elder of the Profound Heaven Sect. Defender of the Outer Realms for 733 years..." Henry pressed his palms together, forming the Grave Digger's distinctive hand seal as murmured incantations flowed from his lips. A pulse of spiritual light erupted as two ethereal beams split from the jade tombstone—one surged into Henry's dantian, crystallizing into pure True Essence, while the other coalesced into a razor-sharp flying sword humming with energy, materializing soundlessly before the grave. "Sigh... another Great Immortal of the Taiyi Realm... May your journey beyond be peaceful, venerable one." With a murmured lament, Henry flicked his sleeve, stowing the sword in his spatial pouch—this cosmic boon was the Tomb-Burial Sect's ancient due for guiding souls to rest. Turning on his heel, he tossed the gleaming sword over his shoulder without breaking stride. "Clink..." The blade joined a glittering mountain of discarded weapons. Even a cursory scan revealed dozens of superior blades buried beneath. Surrounding them rose miniature peaks of treasures—glowing jade scrolls, intricate formation arrays, and artifacts shimmering with forgotten power, all meticulously sorted yet utterly ignored. The Wraithrealm of Shattered Souls existed in the phantom space between life and death—a desolate plane where spiritual energy lay stagnant and cultivation arts withered. Here, even divine artifacts were less useful than the worn hoe in Henry's calloused hands. Six decades. Twenty thousand and ninety-three coffins borne. Nine thousand nine hundred and seventy-three graves dug. The fruits of his toil could equip an immortal dynasty—lost techniques, celestial weapons, elixirs beyond counting. Yet to Henry, these were as worthless as grave dirt. While such relics could ignite continent-spanning conflicts across the Cultivation World, they held no more value to him than last autumn's leaves. In his first years, he'd curated rare curiosities. Now? He couldn't be bothered to glance at manuals that would make sect elders weep with longing. Yet ask about cultivation realms—those foundational stages every cultivator memorized like scripture—and the gravedigger could recite them flawlessly: Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul, Spirit Severing, Void Refining, Unity, Mahayana, Profound Immortal, Golden Immortal, Taiyi, Great Luo... "Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul, Spirit Transformation, Void Refining, Body Unity, Mahayana, Mystic Immortal, Golden Immortal, Grand Unity, Great Luo..." Truth be told, he likely understood certain cultivation bottlenecks better than orthodox practitioners themselves. As for those cultivation insights and travel journals? He'd pored over them like thrilling cultivation manuals, rereading them endlessly. After sixty years, meticulously categorizing these treasures had become his only distraction from the endless monotony. If not for the Wraithrealm's bizarre rule—"No caskets form for those below Mahayana, no tombs rise for those beneath Mystic Immortal"—his hoard would've dwarfed the current collection. By the heavens! Since transmigrating here, he'd encountered no living soul except his predecessor. As a modern youth with "ideals, morals, culture, and discipline," naturally he yearned to travel, cultivate, perhaps even win a celestial beauty's heart. The Tomb-Burial Sect's Spirit Resonance technique alone let him witness countless legends' final moments like a spectral observer. He'd memorized inheritance vault locations, bone-pits' exact coordinates, and every deadly trap within. "One trip outside, and I'd be digging up treasures till my arms cramp!" he'd lamented to the empty void countless times. This was the Tomb-Burial Sect's ultimate irony: To witness all. To know all. To touch all. Yet wield... nothing. Leaving wasn't an option—or rather, the cost would shatter him. Then came the day when golden light tore through the void, painting a gilded river of light between the black sun and silver moon. "Holy—! A... golden casket?!" Even for a seasoned coffin-bearer like Wang You, this defied all comprehension. The coffins in the Wraithrealm followed an extremely rigid hierarchy. With white, black, blue, and purple as the four tiers, the highest he'd personally witnessed was a blue coffin. Legends spoke of the two grand mausoleums at the northernmost edge—entombing Great Luo sovereigns—being enshrined in purple coffins! If even the pinnacle of the Great Luo Realm merited only purple, what kind of god-tier cultivation would the occupant of this golden coffin possess? Just as Henry gaped in awe, a heaven-spanning titanic palm tore through the void in pursuit of the golden coffin. Its massive surface eclipsed half the crescent moon, its palm lines deep as riverbeds. To the southwest, an azure sword crackled with lightning-veined fury as it sliced through the wind. To the northwest, a massive cyan cauldron split the sky, its surface adorned with exquisitely detailed carvings of birds, fish, insects, and beasts. "Sweet merciful—what in the realms is this? Who dares invade this forbidden land where two Great Luo sovereigns rest?" Henry's jaw literally dropped as he muttered in disbelief. The arrogant palm clenched defiantly, reaching for the golden coffin. Like dominoes falling! The thunderblade shed all restraint, its lethal edge lancing toward the palm with a resonant bell-like tremor that made the entire void realm quake. Before the echoes faded, the titanic cauldron plunged into the fray without hesitation. Every instinct from both his lives screamed this was way above his pay grade. "Run! Unless you wanna die!" Dust kicked up behind him as he booked it toward the nearest cover, snatching his trusty hoe mid-stride—his livelihood and lifeline in this desolate realm. That split-second delay was all it took to trap him.