Xue Tong had just clambered out of the Xun Family ancestor’s coffin, but Xun Ruosu knew full well that her old ancestor had long since crumbled to ashes. Even if the ancestor really did crawl out of that coffin, she wouldn’t be decked out in the season’s latest haute couture gown.
From Xue Tong’s complaining tone, it was clear she was very familiar with the Xun Family—yet not one of their own.
Ten minutes later, Xun Ruosu still found herself being dragged upright by this overly familiar woman. Xue Tong’s grip was too strong; Xun Ruosu put up a token struggle before letting herself be maneuvered.
Now the two of them sat side by side on the coffin lid, chatting idly. Xue Tong said, “I’m no ghost. I’m way above their league. My name’s on the roster at Yama’s Palace, and I’m in charge of handling reincarnation for the mortal world. Otherwise, your family ancestor never would’ve crossed paths with me.”
Xun Ruosu didn’t feel much like talking. This was the second sleepless night in a row for her.
In contrast to Xun Ruosu’s silence, Xue Tong brimmed with energy. She was a classic night owl—the deeper into the night, the more vigorous she became. “That Xun Jian really is no good,” she went on. “Who knows what tricks she pulled on me. It seems like she set it up so that when the last Xun Family member was on the brink of death, I’d automatically end up in her coffin.”
Xun Jian was Xun Ruosu’s ancestor, the origin of the Xun Family bloodline. The genealogy overflowed with flowery praise for her—you could fill three baskets if you scraped it all together. But she’d lived before the age of cameras, and the few surviving paintings in the family were more impressionistic than realistic. Trace back a few generations following those portraits, and you’d get monkeys with necks stretched to the sky.
As Xue Tong spoke, she shook out the delicate fresh blades of grass clinging to her clothes. She tugged open her collar and leaned in, thrusting her collarbone right under Xun Ruosu’s nose. “Your Xun Family must have poor eyesight. Can you make out this mark clearly? If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got one too.”
A mark resembling Sanskrit script was branded onto Xue Tong’s collarbone. She seemed utterly oblivious to the concept of personal space. To let Xun Ruosu see it clearly, her breath nearly brushed the other woman’s face. Xun Ruosu had no choice but to brace her left hand against the coffin lid, lean her neck back slightly, and try to nudge Xue Tong out of her comfort zone.
Even if this big shot who had popped up out of nowhere truly had ties to her ancestor, Xun Ruosu wanted no part of it. She wasn’t someone with a particularly strong survival instinct. She’d seen plenty of souls obsessively clinging to the mortal world’s passions and desires, and none of them met a good end.
Xue Tong’s breath carried the scent of alcohol, and with her outfit and makeup, she looked like she’d just stepped off the dance floor at some high-society ball. Xun Ruosu took everything she said with a grain of salt. Unable to resist her, though, she simply scooted toward the edge of the coffin, putting herself beyond Xue Tong’s reach.
The moment she spotted the mark beneath Xue Tong’s collarbone, a sense of foreboding washed over Xun Ruosu.
It was the Sanskrit character for “return,” but Sanskrit didn’t convey meaning with the precision of Chinese characters. This “return” evoked more the idea of “clouds in the blue sky, water in the vase”—all things reverting to their original state.
Her ancestor surely hadn’t wanted the Xun Family line to end with her generation. Pulling strings like this in secret meant she was banking on something.
Xue Tong pressed a finger to her collarbone. The Sanskrit mark was half-concealed, leaving only the blood-red head and tail visible. Xun Ruosu hissed in pain. The corresponding spot on her own body burned as if seared by a hot iron—a sharp, bone-deep ache that lasted only an instant.
“…”
When Xun Ruosu had climbed out of the coffin, she’d realized she hadn’t actually died of old age. If she’d been a soul, her pale, serene corpse should have been lying there. For some reason, she was still alive.
And now it seemed that reason had everything to do with this woman calling herself Xue Tong.
“Does it hurt?” Xue Tong asked with a smile. “That’s why Xun Jian refused to enter reincarnation no matter what. She used her soul to create this seal, binding the Xun Family’s final descendant to me. I’m not human, so technically, neither are you now. You’re my half-body… My job is guiding souls into reincarnation, and you’ll be shouldering half the workload. If there’s any slacking off, whatever punishment I get, you’ll feel it just as keenly.”
Xun Ruosu stared at her, wide-eyed. “Untie it, then. I don’t want to live.”
“If I could untie it, would I have crawled out of a dead person’s grave at three in the morning?” Xue Tong reached out, hooked a finger around the clasp at Xun Ruosu’s neck, and pulled her close. “You’re Xun Family blood. By rights, only you can undo it.”
Xun Ruosu: “…”
If only she’d known her half-baked skills would leave her in this half-alive limbo. Back then, she should have holed up in the old manor and pored over every book in those three rooms.
Xun Ruosu was like a soft, utterly uninteresting lump of cotton. No matter if Xue Tong flirted or threatened, she sat primly on the coffin lid, her gaze steady and impassive. Even Xue Tong’s effusive familiarity found no purchase.
“You’re nothing like Xun Jian,” Xue Tong said at last, sighing as she released her grip. “She talked twice as much as you, and her eyes were different. Eyes like yours are made for monastic life…” She shook her head. “Little sister, you haven’t tasted the joys and sorrows of the world yet. Looking past it all doesn’t count as true enlightenment.”
“…”
Xue Tong didn’t need anyone to chime in; she could ramble on for half an hour by herself. No wonder her ancestor had befriended her—must’ve been all that chatter.
In her mind, Xue Tong compared Xun Jian and Xun Ruosu, finding endless faults in the former and ten times as many in the latter. She concluded there wasn’t a single decent soul in the entire Xun Family.
The night breeze was utterly impartial, wafting over these two mutually disdainful “people.” Summer had arrived, so even at night, the temperature didn’t plummet. It was cooler than the daytime, sure—just the difference between thirty-five and twenty-eight degrees—but this wind somehow frosted the grass across the ground.
“Miss… Xue.” Xun Ruosu kept her distance in speech; if ten degrees of formality were called for, she wouldn’t spare a single one less. The name “Xue Tong” hovered on her tongue but didn’t quite emerge.
They’d only just met. They weren’t close enough for first names.
Xun Ruosu continued, “We might not be able to unravel this seal between us anytime soon, but it looks like we’ve got a ghost dropping by.”
The Xun Family’s work had always been straightforward. Besides fortune-telling for cash, the rest was like today—sending off debt ghosts, helping souls with shallow obsessions let go of their attachments. These spirits were usually friendly; “ghost” was just a shorthand. Unless they gathered in hordes, they couldn’t affect the living world much.
Above them were true “ghosts.” They stirred up as they approached, lingering in the mortal realm for various reasons—often violent deaths, uneasy passings. But ghosts didn’t always do harm. Some just wanted one last glimpse of family, or they couldn’t accept that their life was truly over.
Then came malicious ghosts and fierce ghosts. Xun Ruosu had only encountered a malicious one once; those brought a heavy stench of blood. This one merely frosted the grass and plants, so it hadn’t reached malicious ghost level yet.
“I thought this little ghost had some history with you,” Xue Tong said, tucking her long hair behind her ear. “I saw it lurking in the woods when I arrived, clutching a suona.”
That little ghost had been part of the funeral procession, blending in with the debt ghosts—but the paper treasure ingots hadn’t sent it away. It harbored a deeper obsession.
“Come on out.” Xue Tong drew her legs onto the coffin lid. The chill sank toward the ground. Though not human, she could still sense hunger, cold, and heat. This little ghost’s packed some punch—her ankles had turned blue from the frost.
With perfect self-assurance, Xue Tong propped her feet on Xun Ruosu’s knees. “I’m freezing, and you can feel it too. To avoid double the frostbite, I suggest you warm them up for me.”
“…”
This cursed Sanskrit seal came at a steep price. Not only had it cost her ancestor her own soul, but it turned the sole remaining bloodline into someone else’s half-body. If Xue Tong got stabbed, Xun Ruosu would bleed too. If Xun Ruosu got stabbed… well, she wouldn’t die, but she’d suffer every agonizing second.
The ankles peeking from beneath the cheongsam were bare. Stepping on the ground let her feel that gut-wrenching cold drilling through flesh into the bones. Not only enduring her own chill, Xun Ruosu was forced to share Xue Tong’s sensations too. Her feet went numb in moments.
Xun Ruosu lowered her gaze to that slender section of ankle. The rumors were spot on—the Xun Family really did have poor night vision. It didn’t bother them by day, but at night, they saw things from the yin realm: like Xue Tong, or the little ghost now peeking out from behind the cypress tree.
The little ghost was only twelve or thirteen, skinny and stunted, a late bloomer by the look of him—seeming even younger than his years. His upper body was nearly as tall as the suona in his hands.
He wasn’t scary-looking, dressed in a striped short-sleeved shirt and dark blue shorts, a sailor cap perched neatly on his head. Clean and tidy, he could’ve blended into any crowd unnoticed—yet at some point, he’d swiped that suona.
The suona was clearly from the living world, a tool for making a living. Its owner had cherished it; the body gleamed with oil, not a single crack marring its surface.
The little ghost clutched the suona tightly and shuffled up to Xun Ruosu.
The two sisters on the coffin lid—Xue Tong was the one who’d called him out, yet for some reason, the little ghost feared her deep down. She wore that smile the whole time, while Xun Ruosu remained utterly indifferent.
He shrank to Xun Ruosu’s side and timidly tugged at her skirt hem.
“See? Attracting dirty things after all.” Xue Tong curled her legs up, rubbing them against Xun Ruosu’s qipao. “So cold. If you want to shake me off quick, find a way to break this seal. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck together life after life. Even if you try freezing yourself to death, it won’t work.”
Pointing at the little ghost, she added, “Dare come no closer, and I’ll snap your neck.”
“…”
The little ghost paled, nearly vanishing into Xun Ruosu’s shadow. He really was bold as brass.
Just yesterday, Xun Ruosu had been thrilled at last to lie in her coffin for eternal rest. Now a pair of eyes—one big, one small—stared at her like debt collectors. Even with her body full of laid-back indolence, she had to muster a couple of strands to weather this karmic debt from her no-good forebears.
