Chapter 34

Xue Tong stood rooted to the spot, black qi wafting off her body. Her emotions churned wildly within her, all fixated on Xun Ruosu—that damned woman who always had her tied up in knots. If only she had brought plenty of nails and a hammer when they reunited in the graveyard that day; she would have nailed her alive inside a coffin!

“What are you thinking about?” Xun Ruosu’s voice slipped into her ears, scattering her freshly stirred thoughts once more. Xue Tong let out a sigh. “You… I’m wondering what kind of disaster you are, always dragging me into trouble no matter when or where.”

Xun Ruosu had done nothing to deserve the sudden barrage of criticism, yet she defended herself in a small voice. “This time, it was clearly you who pulled me under. If it weren’t for you…”

But Xue Tong sighed again, and Xun Ruosu’s words trailed off into mutters.

They hadn’t known each other long, but Xue Tong’s audacity and recklessness were unmatched in the world. A woman like her would only sigh over something trivial, like a favorite outfit getting ruined or a hairstyle not suiting the day.

Yet the sound Xue Tong had just made was laced with regret and sorrow. Xun Ruosu didn’t know the reason, but for some inexplicable cause, she wished Xue Tong would return to her usual willful and unrestrained self. She wasn’t suited to sighing—it only made Xun Ruosu unhappy too.

And so, the two of them stood there together, emanating black qi.

“…”

What kind of problem was this?

The “Yuqin,” shrouded in Buddhist light, suddenly felt like the one dispensing salvation from suffering.

“Though I can’t directly open the cage, I have a way.” As Xun Ruosu spoke, she abruptly produced a copper coin and stirred it. The silk strings wrapped around it, emitting a piercing “sizzle.”

Yuqin sensed her intent. Buddhist qi stirred the surrounding blood qi, which surged abruptly toward Xun Ruosu. The kind-faced Bodhisattva chanted, “Amitabha. I had no desire to harm you.”

The Ten Thousand People Pit unleashed a tidal wave of blood qi, twisting into eighteen spiraling spears. Their tips gleamed gold under the Buddhist light as they rained down, grazing Xun Ruosu’s left shoulder and stabbing into the ground. The momentum was tremendous—even from half an inch away, the razor-sharp winds scattered her hair tie and left a bloody gash on her shoulder.

“Did I say you could touch her?” Amid the sky full of bloody rain, Xue Tong stepped forward. “Ten Palaces Wheel-Turning King Xue Tong, acting on the decree of the Heavenly Dao.”

Xun Ruosu whipped her head around. This was the first time she had heard Xue Tong declare her title. The five words “Ten Palaces Wheel-Turning King” struck her mind like iron nails, churning her qi and blood until her head throbbed and threatened to split. Amid the ringing in her ears, sharp and prolonged, voices spoke—

“Hey, Bodhisattva, why is your lotus platform different from everyone else’s?”

“Teacher? Am I supposed to call you Teacher from now on?”

“Bodhisattva, you always sit cross-legged like that—don’t your legs go numb?”

“Bodhisattva, I exorcised quite a few people today. Some really good ones… But even just a handful has me feeling so sad. They say all the world’s karmic obstacles flow toward you—doesn’t that make you sad?”

“Bodhisattva, you always smile so radiantly, but I see tears glistening in your eyes. Who are you crying for?”

“Just call me Teacher, then—Bodhisattva Teacher!”

The speaker was a bit too chatty, piling one sentence atop another so quickly that the end of one was drowned by the start of the next. Xun Ruosu heard it all in a hazy fog, unclear and indistinct—except for the final line, which crashed through her mind like muffled thunder, upending everything.

“Bodhisattva, my love for you grows by the day, impossible to uproot. What am I to do?”

Xun Ruosu thought she had been stunned for a long time, but when she came back to herself, Xue Tong hadn’t even shifted her stance. Threads of scripture twisted and entangled around them, forming a spherical space. Xun Ruosu’s head still ached, but oddly, the word “spectacle” came to mind.

Both Xue Tong and Yuqin cared about putting on a show. Who won or lost didn’t matter—it was all about making it look good. But this beauty hid lethal peril; anyone caught in the crossfire now would be shredded to bits.

These two were weapons of mass destruction in human form… Xun Ruosu’s mind wandered irrelevantly. “This place is pretty good for a fight—no bystanders to accidentally hit except me.”

The copper coin and strings in her hand tightened further. Because it pulled from both ends, Yuqin was forced to exert strength to keep distance from Xue Tong. The thin thread tied to Xun Ruosu’s fingertip had gone entirely unnoticed by her—even if she knew, she couldn’t break free.

This thread was no ordinary item, binding not flesh but obsession itself. Unless it achieved Buddhahood on the spot and let go of its clinging desires, there was no escaping Xun Ruosu’s manipulations.

The Xun Family had always been like this: infamous for poor combat skills, but their support was second to none—people literally beat down their door for it.

The strings twisted tighter and tighter. Xun Ruosu’s strength reached its limit, her face paling once more, but she still gripped the copper coin. Its integrity depended entirely on her; if she let go now, the humble square-hole copper coin would shatter into fragments in an instant.

“Bang.” The cage began to stir. The thin strings had dug into it. Xun Ruosu clutched the copper coin in one hand and hooked Xue Tong’s fingertip with the other. “My merits aren’t enough to suppress this evil. Lend me some of your blood!”

Xue Tong’s middle finger stung as it was bitten by sharp teeth, breaking the skin. “Can’t you just bite one spot? Now both my fingers are ruined.”

“Does it hurt?” Xun Ruosu missed the implication in her words. The blood dripped onto the copper coin and rapidly spread along the silk strings. In the crimson space, a tea-rust streak like sunlight cut through. Her paper crane, unlike its owner—restless and playful—had already looped around the area countless times in short order.

Two drops of merit-laden blood dotted its body, overlooked even by Yuqin.

Xue Tong stood with her back to Xun Ruosu, unable to see what she was up to behind her. When all the silk strings snapped open at once, the sky seemed to shatter. Sunlight poured through the cracks, draping the Ten Thousand People Pit’s corners like a spiderweb. Only then did Xue Tong realize everything here was under Xun Ruosu’s control.

A single string from her could tear the space apart.

“Wuchang, once the cage shatters, come out. Zhong Li, you and Yuan Jie stay put inside—no peeking out of curiosity. Wuchang, head straight for the third statue on the left once you’re free, dig it up, and give me a reply.”

Xun Ruosu still held the copper coin, her expression somewhat somber. Where Xue Tong couldn’t see, she fell briefly into vague contemplation.

“Meow.”

Wuchang mewed first—a soft, weak cat cry that startled Yuqin.

It had been locked in combat with Xue Tong moments before. Red drapes cascaded from on high, light and thin, revealing its shadowy silhouette from afar. But the shadows scattered under an unknown light source. Dozens—no, hundreds—of drapes filled the vast space, most now pierced by black scriptures. Yet Xue Tong’s spherical space was also fraying at the edges from the darting shadows.

In the instant one golden light pillar of the cage split open top to bottom, a black shadow burst forth. Fur streamed backward from its body as the drapes filling the Ten Thousand People Pit lunged no longer like phantoms but embraced Wuchang with a god-slaying, Buddha-crushing momentum. Even Xue Tong’s scriptures could only halt it for a moment.

“Wuchang!” Xun Ruosu barked. The small cat-form streaked through the tea-rust strings and landed imposingly before a Buddha statue. Wuchang’s eyes narrowed into half-moons, shedding all trace of its earlier spoiled cuteness. A low growl rumbled in its throat. Its four paws dug into the ground, and the countless wails of wandering souls in the pit fell silent at the sound.

Wuchang slanted a glance at Yuqin. With a swipe of its claws, it rent the red drapes. The meat pads of a great feline pressed down, leaving black-gold lotus prints. Sympathy filled its gaze before it turned, mouth opening to uproot and shatter the buried Buddha statue.

The statue’s base sprouted roots like overgrown plants. Wuchang’s yank made the entire ground of the Ten Thousand People Pit tremble. Clamping the statue’s lower half in its jaws, it tugged hard. Several slender root tendrils snapped, oozing a blood-thick fluid.

At the same time, the person buried beneath the Buddha statue finally saw daylight.

She was an old woman covered in wrinkles, nearing her eighties. Her hair was streaked white, nails and teeth intact—a genuine corpse, yet remarkably fresh despite years of death. Were it not for her advanced age, yellowed skin, and age spots, traces of vital qi might still be visible.

She wore a cyan monk’s robe—or rather, it was simply wrapped around her body. Her face was serene, as if merely asleep. Her palms rested open on her knees, cradling a cluster of flowers resembling hyacinths—but only resembling, not identical.

This was Hu Clan Zhang Yingniang.

She was like a flower seed, slowly grown into a colossal entity in this dark underground.

“Xue Tong, the Buddha statue lacks three souls and seven po. Yuqin is just a patched-up product. Soul-guiding lamps are tricky, but what about this person?” Xun Ruosu was exhausted, hands on her knees as she panted twice.

“She has no soul,” Xue Tong began, then noticed Yuqin subtly relax. She shrugged with a grin. “No soul—because someone hid it away.”

The Buddhist qi on Yuqin had reached a critical point. Its kind brows and gentle eyes threatened to pierce the human mask of emotions. Xun Ruosu worried its state might summon heavenly thunder at any moment. She was about to find a safe spot to shelter; if the “game” wasn’t resolved and the Heavenly Dao intervened crudely, obliterating the pit, she needed time to stuff Zhong Li and Yuan Jie inside.

“When I said ‘acting on the decree of the Heavenly Dao,’ I wasn’t just posturing,” Xue Tong said, reading her thoughts. “Once I intervene, the Heavenly Dao can only watch—unless I stop or die.”

“You can die too?” Xun Ruosu asked, puzzled.

“Perhaps,” Xue Tong fell silent for a moment. “Never tried.”

For some reason, Xun Ruosu recalled the voices echoing in her mind earlier. Hesitant, she asked, “How… did you become the Ten Palaces Wheel-Turning King? Were you born that way?”

Xue Tong sighed again. “Later. Let’s settle this first.”

“…” Xun Ruosu caught the reluctance and evasion in her tone.