If it relied on the nourishment from this woman on the ground, then what connection did the flower garland and the grudge soul have?
Xun Ruosu pinched her fingers to divine once more, but the result hadn’t changed. The divination signs still indicated that with the flower garland, she could locate the resentful ghost.
“Since the divination signs say so, you might as well give it a try,” Xue Tong said. She was still squatting on the ground, her eyes lifting slightly. There was no sunlight in the abandoned building site, only swirling dust. In those eyes, Xun Ruosu saw two tiny reflections of herself. Her earlobes flushed red along with her cheeks. She lowered her head and murmured softly, “I just feel like this matter isn’t that simple.”
Xun Ruosu’s complexion was always a touch pale, and after catching that cold, she looked even more fragile. She’d run a fever that she’d suppressed with medicine—a cure for the symptoms, not the root cause. From Xue Tong’s angle, Xun Ruosu’s cheeks bore a sickly flush, her ears seemingly ablaze as well. Xue Tong offered an awkward reminder. “If you can’t hold out, take a break… We may have accepted the job, but there’s no rush to finish it right away.”
“I’m fine.” Ever since hugging her downstairs, Xun Ruosu had realized just how much she cared about Xue Tong. Zhong Li had been flitting around her for ages, yet Xun Ruosu hadn’t even noticed what the girl was wearing. But she could spot a tiny mole on Xue Tong’s neck.
That mole was usually hidden by Xue Tong’s chin, visible only when she tilted her head back. And it was a red cinnabar mole at that.
“You…” Xun Ruosu wanted to say, “Don’t look at me like that.” But the words stuck in her throat. She realized it was her own fault. Xue Tong was squatting on the ground—if she didn’t look up, how could they talk?
Changing tack, she said, “In that case, I’ll try using the flower garland to track down the resentful ghost.”
The Xun Family’s elaborate rituals had always fascinated Xue Tong. Back when they’d been involved, she loved watching. Years had passed, generations of the Xun Family turning over quickly, each with their own quirks. They’d invented even more new variations since then.
Xun Ruosu plucked a hyacinth from the flower garland and threaded it onto a red thread. She then pulled out a vermilion brush and dotted two marks on the flower’s center. Holding the petal end downward, she extended the red thread half a meter, then flicked it with a curved finger. The hyacinth fluttered to life like a butterfly taking wing, tugging the red thread northward.
Xue Tong patted the cat on the neck, signaling it to stay put, then followed along. The female ghost on the ground tried to roll over, but a wooden staff wrapped in sutras at both ends jabbed at her head. The Old Monk chanted “Amitabha” and declared, “Benefactor, let This Poor Monk send you on your way.”
“…” For a moment, the female ghost thought she was about to die twice.
Performing an exorcism on a fully formed ghost was no easy task. Yuan Jie might be advanced in years, but he had little experience with such things. Still, neither he nor Zhong Li wanted to interrupt the two women’s budding intimacy. The Old Monk lived a life of purity and asceticism, yet his age was no pretense. Even though nothing overt had happened, he keenly sensed that the air and the breeze had shifted—softened, somehow.
After taking just two steps, Xun Ruosu realized only one person was following her. She paused and glanced back. “Are you two staying here?”
“The planned neighborhood might be expansive, but the abandoned building site covers only a limited area. This Poor Monk took a close look when we entered—only the commercial district looks remotely presentable; the villas haven’t even broken ground. Since the resentful ghost bothers with dramatic poses when it kills, it’s unlikely to flee into some deep forest.” Yuan Jie’s mind worked methodically. He added, “I’ll stay here and exorcise this female ghost. If anything goes wrong, just shout, and I’ll come running.”
Xun Ruosu couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Monks truly embody compassion, volunteering for the work of exorcising a female ghost like that.
On second thought, if even Xue Tong couldn’t handle whatever danger arose, there was no sense dragging others into it. Better to meet one’s end quietly—that would still count as accumulating merits, in hopes of an easier life next time around.
Xue Tong, eyeing the old man and the young girl left behind, voiced her doubt. “Can you two even manage?”
No sooner had she spoken than she asked Xun Ruosu for a copper coin. The freshly minted coin gleamed brightly on both sides. Xue Tong gripped its edge and squeezed hard; the rough, unpolished rim sliced her fingertip, drawing two drops of blood.
“…” Xun Ruosu’s own fingertip twinged in sympathy, blood welling up as well.
Her hands already bore scars from fine threads—three cuts tracing her palm lines, slathered thickly with Yunnan White Flower Oil instead of bandages for convenience. Now old wounds had torn open to greet new ones, the blood seeping onto the red thread.
Xun Ruosu zoned out for a moment. In that instant, she truly felt the bond with Xue Tong. Even the other woman’s pain echoed back to her with crystal clarity.
Xue Tong tossed the bloodstained copper coin to Yuan Jie. Her merits ran so deep that the drops bore faint golden “swastika” seals. The coin thus took on an extraordinary luster, blazing with Buddhist radiance the moment it landed in Yuan Jie’s palm.
In that instant, the Old Abbot felt as though he’d arrived in the Western Paradise.
“Use this copper coin if you’re truly desperate,” Xue Tong said. She wasn’t the hand-holding type when it came to mentoring, so she left it at that and turned away from Yuan Jie and the others.
It was only by comparison that Xun Ruosu realized just how “amiably” Xue Tong had been treating her.
The hyacinth tethered to the red thread continued flying ahead. Perplexed by its followers’ sudden pause, it tugged backward on the rope. Xun Ruosu said softly, “Don’t rush. We’ll be along in a moment.”
Xue Tong initially thought the words were for her—after all, she was the only other person beside Xun Ruosu. But a glance revealed that Xun Ruosu was soothing the hyacinth. Even though the flower could now fly, it remained an insensate thing. How did this woman have an endless supply of gentleness, even for a flower?
Guided by the hyacinth, they headed north, skirting two buildings to reach a flat expanse that must have been intended as a plaza. Few obstructions surrounded it. In the center sat a sunken, unfinished fountain, its edges lined with benches overrun by ivy-like parasitic vines from years of neglect.
The hyacinth led Xun Ruosu right to the fountain’s rim. From a distance, it looked unremarkable. Up close, however, it was startlingly clean—far too pristine for a debris-strewn abandoned building site like this.
The neighborhood followed a European classical aesthetic, the half-built structures topped with rounded spires. Accordingly, a stone Madonna statue stood at the fountain’s heart—likely some import, hooded in white, with an oval face, serene gaze, and a cinnabar dot between her brows… though time had faded the pigment.
Xun Ruosu stood before the fountain in silence, then ventured hesitantly, “This… it’s a Bodhisattva, isn’t it?”
More precisely, a Child-Granting Guanyin.
Even Xue Tong gaped in astonishment.
No wonder the developers had gone bankrupt if they’d planned a fountain like this.
The Child-Granting Guanyin gazed upon them mildly, as if to ask, Do you want a child?
The hyacinth slipped free from Xun Ruosu’s grasp and fluttered up to perch atop the statue’s head. At that moment, Xun Ruosu glimpsed the statue’s hollow eyes twitch.
A wave of yin coldness swept through the air, accompanied by the slow seepage of a bloody stench. This resentful ghost had already taken lives. Unlike the infant spirit, born from the earth and untouched by true blood, ghosts lacked any moral compass. But once they tasted killing, addiction set in—a primal instinct. Xue Tong even suspected this one devoured souls afterward.
The statue grew indistinct, like two layers of film superimposed. The overlay was solid white yet shrouded in deeper shadows. Its originally serene, compassionate expression filled with those shadows, twisting into a mocking sneer.
Xue Tong had grabbed her umbrella on the way out of the building—the one heavenly thunder had torn a third from. She’d held it more for show; faint light had still filtered overhead on the approach, but now gloom blanketed everything. The summer swelter had vanished the instant they’d passed the archway. Xun Ruosu still wore her jacket.
Xue Tong snapped the umbrella shut and hooked its handle around Xun Ruosu’s waist, drawing her protectively behind.
“…” Xun Ruosu ducked her head. She knew it was just instinct on Xue Tong’s part. Yesterday, she wouldn’t have minded. Today, though, it felt strangely intimate.
The statue finally separated into two. The shadowy figure on the left stood sharper: eyes and brows more defined, the cinnabar dot between them fresh as newly applied. Crowning its head was a flower garland made of hyacinths!
If the garland truly signified some ritual, then the female ghost back in the building wearing one made sense. Perhaps she’d joined a cult in life, sacrificed alive, and clung to her faith even in death, refusing to betray its secrets. Or maybe she’d been enslaved postmortem, the garland a symbol of servitude. But this malicious ghost wore one too… Had it been a living sacrifice? Could it be enslaved as well?
What linked it to the female ghost, then? They shared the same predicament, yet the woman called “Yuqin” hadn’t turned into a resentful ghost. This one had come out swinging for murder and arson from the start.
Owing to its possession of the statue, the malicious ghost towered far larger than a normal person—nearly three meters tall despite being a woman. Benevolent features, skin like polished porcelain: pale yet warm and lustrous. At first glance, it wasn’t frightening at all. Quite the opposite—it radiated a maternal glow.
In a word: it moved exactly like a Child-Granting Guanyin.
Appearances could deceive, however. The blood scent saturating the air was no illusion. Thick and overpowering, even Xun Ruosu’s congested nose picked it up clearly. Suddenly, something felt off. “The blood stench from malicious ghosts is usually stale, laced with rot. But this one smells so… fresh.”
Xun Ruosu recoiled from the word “fresh.” Deep down, she knew what fresh blood portended.
No sooner had she spoken than crimson welled from the fountain’s center, spreading through the cracks. Xun Ruosu edged sideways for a better view—
Behind the towering statue knelt a fresh corpse, posed in pious prostration before it.
The body hadn’t stiffened yet. Maintaining such a rigid posture required effort; a long reed and two shorter ones—half a meter each—propped it up from behind… The news photos had been too blurry to reveal those.
