Chapter 27

Xun Ruosu had faced similar troubles in her childhood. Whenever she was around, wandering souls and wild ghosts would flock to her without regard for time or place, sparing her parents a great deal of effort.

She gradually grew accustomed to it. Once she could protect herself, all she saw were merits delivering themselves right to her door.

The woman’s soul was badly damaged. After Wuchang set her down on the ground and she rolled twice, she couldn’t even crawl to her feet. Xun Ruosu held her thermos cup in both hands and half-squatted at the woman’s side, apparently studying the circle of hyacinth flowers crowning her head.

Xue Tong couldn’t help asking once more, “You… really okay?”

“If she hasn’t died yet, how bad could it be?” Xun Ruosu found the question odd. She looked up at Xue Tong. “You seem to care about me more than before.”

“Before” meant just over a dozen hours ago.

Xue Tong choked for a moment before offering a blatantly unconvincing denial. “No.”

Before long, four people and a cat—that had nearly bitten her soul to pieces—had surrounded the female ghost. She had wanted to struggle a moment ago, but now she could only lie flat on the ground and play dead, desperately hoping these people still had some conscience. Perhaps seeing how helpless she was, they wouldn’t strike too hard.

Xun Ruosu’s cold fingers brushed the flower garland—

Only up close did she notice the layer of iron nails lining its interior, driven into the garland from the hearts of the hyacinths. The sharp points pierced straight into the woman’s brain, their full length impossible to gauge.

She couldn’t tell how long they were, but the number was clear enough. The woman’s head wasn’t large, and the garland bore thirty-six hyacinths—meaning thirty-six nails crammed densely into her skull.

Xun Ruosu lifted the woman’s hair and peered closer. Though numerous, the nails were not thick, only slightly larger than needles. The wounds bore traces of infection and scarring, but nothing too gruesome. Some spots had even fully healed.

In other words, the woman hadn’t died immediately after the nails were driven into her brain. Surely those scars hadn’t formed after she became a ghost—or perhaps someone with sinister arts had patched and stitched her soul together, leaving it in this wretched state.

“Either torture or some cult ritual,” Xun Ruosu said. “Can you tell where it came from?”

She was naturally addressing Xue Tong without naming her. Yuan Jie and Zhong Li, watching from nearby, froze for a moment, unsure whether to chime in or stay silent.

Zhong Li was the type who always liked wrapping things up in group chats and couldn’t stand a conversation falling flat in everyday life. Thus, she dutifully replied, “Can’t tell.”

Only upon hearing Zhong Li’s voice did Xun Ruosu snap back to herself. Subconsciously, she had assumed Xue Tong would respond, forgetting there were three others present. Why should Xue Tong be the one to speak up? Couldn’t she just mull it over silently?

Xue Tong, meanwhile, felt equally stuck. She had just opened her mouth when Zhong Li beat her to it with those four words.

“Can’t tell.”

The phrase created awkwardness for three faces. Only Yuan Jie murmured nearby, “Amitabha, Amitabha.” The poor monk kept his hands—and mouth—to himself.

The standoff dragged on until the cat nudged the woman on the ground, making her even more afraid to move. Xun Ruosu looked up and caught Xue Tong staring at her, her face plainly saying, Ask that question again.

She absolutely refused to pick up after Zhong Li—let alone the scraps. The heavy burden of prompting a response fell squarely on Xun Ruosu’s shoulders. With a sigh, she named her directly. “What do you think, Xue Tong?”

Only then was Xue Tong satisfied. “In Greek myth, there’s a story about hyacinths. The sun god Apollo fell for a beautiful youth. They often played together. One day, while competing in discus throwing, Zephyrus—the god of the west wind, jealous of them—blew the discus off course. It struck the youth Hyacinthus squarely in the forehead, killing him. A bunch of purple hyacinths sprang from his blood.”

Xun Ruosu had heard the tale before, but cults usually fabricated gods that never existed. It was unlikely they’d choose a minor mortal from Greek myth to worship.

Greek mythology overflowed with stories of love and jealousy. Apollo alone had slain countless beautiful youths and maidens. What made this one special?

“In that story, Apollo the sun god represents eternal life, while the youth Hyacinthus symbolizes death in an instant. The ‘屮’ (sprout) glyph we… discovered earlier signifies the sprouting of plants. There seems to be some connection.”

Xue Tong kicked the motionless female ghost. “Judging by your outfit, you didn’t die recently, and you’re not local. Did you come here before or after death?”

The ghost wore a long red dress reminiscent of Republic-era wedding attire, but much simpler—no elaborate embroidery or jewels. She could have worn it out in daylight without issue. Red embroidered shoes adorned her feet.

The female ghost had unbound feet. If born in the Republic era or earlier, her family might have been too poor to bind them, requiring her to work, or her elders might have been progressive, well-educated, and aware that foot-binding was a barbaric custom.

While Xue Tong spoke, Xun Ruosu drew a red rope from the neckline of the female ghost’s dress. At its end dangled a dainty silver lock engraved with the characters “Yuqin.”

Evidently, the female ghost’s name was Yuqin.

As Xue Tong asked if she had come here before or after death, Xun Ruosu’s hand trembled slightly while examining the silver lock. She furrowed her brow faintly—

Xun Ruosu rarely smiled, but she always gave off an impression of even temper. Even deliberate offenses didn’t faze her.

Yet when such a person furrowed her brow in seriousness, it was somehow frightening. Zhong Li swallowed hard from nearby and shrank behind the Old Abbot, trying to minimize her presence.

“Xue Tong, I need to speak with you alone.” Xun Ruosu stood abruptly and headed downstairs.

She didn’t glance back, as if certain Xue Tong would follow.

Xue Tong hesitated for a moment, then instructed Wuchang, “Keep an eye on the ghost on the ground,” before hurrying after her.

“Amitabha.” Yuan Jie actually wanted to remind them that the abandoned building site only had its skeleton framed out. The walls dividing rooms were riddled with gaps, let alone any soundproofing. Talking here or downstairs made no difference.

As Xue Tong descended the stairs, she saw Xun Ruosu coughing again. This time, though, she muffled it deep in her throat, making it sound dull and subdued. Even if Xue Tong wanted to express concern, she recognized this as a clear signal to keep her distance—no superfluous questions needed.

“Tch,” Xue Tong thought. “You’re the one in debt first, yet you make it seem like I’m the guilty one.”

Only after her coughing subsided did Xun Ruosu speak. “Yuan Jie mentioned earlier that Soaring Firmament Mountain suddenly has far more wandering souls. And you just asked that female ghost whether she came here before or after death… Souls typically root themselves in places they frequented in life. They rarely head to unfamiliar spots after death—unless driven by some external force.”

“Xue Tong, do you know why Soaring Firmament Mountain has grown so restless?”

“You’re questioning me?” Xue Tong’s eyes curved in a smile. “On what authority?”

Xun Ruosu caught the spark of anger in her words but had no intention of arguing. She sighed softly. “I have no authority. I’m just asking. If you don’t want to answer, then don’t.”

“…Xun Ruosu!” That momentary softening only fueled Xue Tong’s irritation. Instead, the words “I have no authority” ignited her fury. She suddenly grabbed Xun Ruosu’s collar and yanked her forward a staggering step.

Their noses nearly touched. Their gazes collided. Even their breaths tangled together.

In a daze, Xun Ruosu reached out and loosely encircled Xue Tong. Her left hand patted the back of Xue Tong’s head lightly. The silk-soft strands of hair held a bronze hairpin that pricked Xun Ruosu’s palm faintly. Only after Xue Tong calmed did she pull away in realization.

Xue Tong’s body was unexpectedly warm. Xun Ruosu stared at her own palm, baffled by her momentary lapse—just a fleeting madness. She couldn’t bear seeing Xue Tong so aggrieved and sorrowful. She had simply wanted to hold her.

“I’m sorry,” Xun Ruosu said first. “I shouldn’t have overstepped.”

Xue Tong was utterly stunned by the sudden gesture. To call it improper wouldn’t be fair; Xun Ruosu’s actions were measured. Apart from those few pats on the back of her head, even the embrace had a layer of air between them. Instead, Xue Tong’s own yanking forward seemed the more indecent act.

And yet, to say nothing had happened left Xue Tong feeling shortchanged.

She stood rooted in place, hesitating, then gritted out, “I’ll hold this debt against you!”

“…”

An empty threat, utterly harmless.

Feeling truly guilty, Xun Ruosu lowered her eyes and repeated, “I’m sorry… Pretend I never asked that question. Let’s head back.”

“Wait.” Xue Tong still looked reluctant. The pats had loosened her bun. With a decisive tug, she pulled out the copper hairpin, letting her dark hair cascade down. “Everything you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

Xun Ruosu was a debt etched into her heart. Xue Tong had tried keeping her at arm’s length, ignoring her completely. And she had succeeded, for a long time. She had even forgotten such a person existed in the world. When they reunited, Xun Ruosu had seemed like a stranger; those unspeakable feelings from back then had been ground to dust.

But forgetting didn’t withstand scrutiny. Just two days had undone it all. Emotions long buried and nearly discarded surged forth. Xue Tong had always believed living among humans required no true heart—that she could fake her way through everything, acting on whims. She was a deceiver. Yet because of Xun Ruosu, she felt genuine heartache and anger.

Forgetting was not the same as letting go. Even malicious ghosts understood that truth.

Xun Ruosu stared at her for a long moment. “Then I’ll start from the beginning.”

“Xue Tong, have you known me for a long time?”

“Yes.” Xue Tong’s answer came swift and firm.

From their interactions, Xun Ruosu had sensed Xue Tong wasn’t meeting her for the first time, no matter how well she pretended. Xun Ruosu simply hadn’t called her on it.

“How long?”

“Before my name appeared on Yama’s Palace, we’d already crossed paths.” Xue Tong gave a wry smile. “You carved my name there.”

“Then I…” Xun Ruosu began, only for Xue Tong to cut her off. “Don’t overthink it. There’s no name for you on Yama’s Palace. Our paths aren’t the same.”

After a moment of silence, Xun Ruosu asked again, “Are the ghosts gathering on Soaring Firmament Mountain connected to me somehow?”