The air conditioning in the car was cranked low, and because the space was so confined, it felt even chillier than at home. Xun Ruosu wasn’t as hale and hearty as young Xiao Yan, nor as bundled up as Xue Tong. She coughed lightly a couple of times, her throat already rough and sore.
“Is Sister Xun sick?” Xiao Yan turned out to be surprisingly attentive. “There’s a thin blanket in the back. The boss always sets the temperature this low—I can’t stand it myself sometimes.”
“Thanks.” Xun Ruosu’s voice was hoarse as she pulled the folded blanket over herself. The sudden warmth triggered an immediate shiver.
Xue Tong lifted an eyelid to glance at her. “Crank up the AC a bit. Don’t say I’m mistreating guests.”
“Hey? But boss, it’s so hot out…” Xiao Yan’s head received its third smack. “I wasn’t the sharpest to begin with. Boss, keep that up and you’ll knock all the brains out of me!”
“No need,” Xun Ruosu spoke up at last. “The blanket keeps the chill off.”
Those two always had plenty to say, filling any silence with easy chatter, but now things quieted down again. Xun Ruosu wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and peered out the window. She had lived in the city for years now, even studying abroad at one point. She wasn’t familiar with the scenery in the county’s outskirts, much less the area around the old family estate.
She had caught a chill, sure, but a summer cold was trivial—no doctor required. Xue Tong’s peculiar affliction, however, was almost certainly linked to her identity. Anything touching on “that world” demanded the utmost caution, no matter how minor.
Xun Ruosu and Xue Tong both sat in the back seat, with ample space between them—distant, estranged. Yet Xiao Yan sensed they were mutually accommodating one another.
The drive from the villa to the base of Soaring Firmament Temple wasn’t far—just half an hour. The real challenge was the winding mountain road. Xiao Yan brimmed with youthful vigor at first glance, but he was obedient at heart and terrified of mishaps. He eased off the gas, stretching the trip to another half hour before the mountaintop finally appeared.
Soaring Firmament Temple was thriving. Past three in the afternoon, under the broiling summer sun with not a cloud in sight, the heat enough to give anyone heatstroke—and still, tourists swarmed the place.
She had assumed a temple famed for granting marriage blessings would draw mostly young couples, but plenty of uncles and aunties in their forties, fifties, and beyond milled about too. Probably retirees at loose ends, treating Soaring Firmament Temple as a prime spot to beat the heat, banding together into tour groups.
Xue Tong had called ahead, so the temple’s abbot knew she was coming. He waited early at the rear mountain gate—
Soaring Firmament Temple sprawled across a massive expanse, with four main gates from front to back. Only a small front section opened to tourists, but he was receiving Xue Tong at the secluded back.
The Old Abbot wore a yellow kasaya, his arms bared to reveal pronounced muscle lines. Chanting scriptures alone seemed a poor fit for him, Xun Ruosu mused. He could probably uproot a willow tree single-handedly.
Next to the Old Abbot, Xiao Yan felt like a scrawny weakling.
The Old Abbot carried a black umbrella sized for two. He handed it to Xue Tong as naturally as breathing. “Amitabha. Has benefactor come to the mountain today bearing a lamp vessel?”
Xue Tong made no reply. She simply spread her palm, and the cyan lamp unfurled like a blooming flower bud, its black soulfire still flickering.
“This child shares a deep affinity with the Buddha. Let we who chant the sutras stand as kin for him in the mortal realm,” the Old Abbot said, reverently accepting it with both hands. “Will benefactor visit the buddha hall today too?”
Xue Tong started to refuse, but the Old Abbot pressed on. “One of the ever-burning lamps you dedicated flickered out last night.”
Xun Ruosu was new to these rituals. She knew nothing of Xue Tong’s history or routines, but the Old Abbot’s easy familiarity was plain. This buddha hall must be a regular haunt for Xue Tong, explaining his offhand manner.
At the news of the extinguished ever-burning lamp, Xue Tong’s gaze flickered. Her first impulse wasn’t to ask how it happened or if it had been relit. Instead, she shot a swift glance at Xun Ruosu. “I’ll go see.”
The temple complex was enormous. Plum trees lined the paths, while ginkgos and pines—most around fifty years old—filled the interior grounds. A bamboo grove adjoined the nunnery, and corridors crisscrossed with stone walkways. Without a guide, a visitor might wander two or three hours and still miss the exit.
The sky remained bright, but the hour grew late. Xiao Yan trailed behind, nerves on edge, stealing glances at his phone every few minutes. By four o’clock, they still hadn’t reached the buddha hall. He dropped back and tugged at Xun Ruosu’s sleeve. “Sister Xun, it’s four.”
“Oh.” Her response was tepid.
“…” Xiao Yan fretted and doubled down. “What do you mean ‘oh’? Sister Xun, check out this news—it’s been shoved on my home page for a straight week. You can’t pull a boss move on me; take your own life seriously!”
He thrust his phone at her. The screen filled with a gruesome photo, heavily blurred overall. It appeared to show a figure kneeling with hands pressed together in prayer, spine propped by a single reed stalk behind it… Censorship blotted the gore from top to bottom; no details survived.
Xun Ruosu halted, her finger scrolling down—
The news wasn’t quite the week-long saga Xiao Yan claimed; the incident was three days old. Even so, two tour groups had been rattled within that span.
The media played up multiple deaths, but every image fixated on that single kneeling pilgrim’s corpse—screenshots from every angle. Xun Ruosu figured just one victim so far.
“What is it?” Xue Tong noticed the pair hadn’t kept pace and turned.
“Nothing,” Xun Ruosu said, tossing the phone back to Xiao Yan. “Can guests stay overnight on the mountain? I’d like to bunk here tonight. I thought I was a goner before and blew the family fortune; now I need to earn some grub money.”
Xue Tong eyed her suspiciously. “The temple has its own attendants, all handling lot divinations and interpretations. Where do you fit in, setting up a fortune stall?”
Xun Ruosu shaded her eyes with a hand. “Three nighttime divinations, and customers will come.”
“Amitabha. This female benefactor must be your acquaintance?” The Old Abbot had spotted Xun Ruosu earlier but wasn’t one to pry. Today’s visit centered on Xue Tong, not forging new ties, so he had held his tongue.
“Not an acquaintance,” Xue Tong said after a pause. “She’s Xun Family stock—and my biggest headache.”
The Xun Family had seen its share of rises and falls, always middling. Yet only they wielded Sky-Gazing Divination, peeking ahead at what fate held, which spread their renown far and wide. The Old Abbot, long acquainted with Xue Tong and privy to her lamp vessel dealings, had naturally heard tell. He gave Xun Ruosu an extra appraising look. “Why does Benefactor Xun yet live?”
The words carried layers of implication. They first jolted Yan Qing with a shiver. He blinked, thinking, My materialist forebear Marx in the heavens above—is this abbot addled? Sister Xun’s alive and kicking, shadow, footsteps, and all—even sniffs from overactive AC. Asking why she’s still breathing? Isn’t that begging for a thrashing?
Yan Qing’s eyes then traced the Old Abbot’s beefy arms. No wonder the build—he’s a foul-mouthed martial monk, fearless of fists!
In the space of a blink, Yan Qing spun his own tidy rationale.
“Bad luck,” Xun Ruosu sighed. “I met her.”
The “her,” of course, meant Xue Tong.
“Amitabha.” The Old Abbot intoned the chant and went quiet.
The Buddhist path prized serene detachment, free of worldly ties. Departed spirits had their severances tended by him. But Xue Tong and Xun Ruosu dwelt deep in the red dust of mortal life. The Old Abbot shrank from courting needless karmic dust.
The conversation cut off abruptly, as if each had gleaned what they sought—or nothing at all.
“We’ve arrived.” The Old Abbot halted before a buddha hall.
Yan Qing had visited Soaring Firmament Temple before. The front mountain’s Mahavira Hall gleamed in gold and splendor, its Buddha statue towering three or four meters, flanked by 108 golden Arhats. By contrast, this buddha hall looked downright shabby, like a woodshed.
The double doors bore “Imperial Decree” placards on either side—an incongruous touch for a Buddhist sanctum. What were Daoists doing muscling in?
Xue Tong paused at the threshold, not entering right away. Her fingers whisked past her lips; a breeze stirred from nowhere, and the doors swung open of their own accord.
Xun Ruosu and Yan Qing, caught off guard, were nearly blinded by the glow within.
The entire hall brimmed with ever-burning lamps, thousands upon thousands, great and small.
Inside, it appeared far vaster than the exterior suggested—likely several rooms merged into one.
“How many people’s offerings light this place?” Xun Ruosu asked.
“Amitabha. Every lamp here honors but a single soul.” The Old Abbot gathered his kasaya with one hand and drew forth an ever-burning lamp from the depths. “This one went dark.”
Ever-burning lamps were plain oil lamps. Yan Qing, no initiate in such matters, thought practically: fire risk first. He scanned the safety setup.
For all its antiquity, Soaring Firmament Temple boasted solid precautions—extinguishers wall-mounted, hydrant curbside at the door.
Breathing easier, Yan Qing reflected, Wind snuffs them, oil runs dry—you’re using oil lamps! Not LED bulbs with batteries!
Xun Ruosu’s gaze, however, fixed wholly on the ocean of lamp flames…
Ever-burning lamps served the living above all; the farthest recess ought to house a longevity tablet. Yet nothing but lamps filled this hall. Pale walls bore countless mottled shadows, swaying in the breeze like so many karmic obstacles.
