Chapter 35

All of Yuqin’s previous actions had been utterly resolute. It knew exactly what it needed to do and what it had to protect. But as the Buddha statue was lifted, exposing the roots and that corpse to everyone’s view, it suddenly lost all its steam.

It ignored Xue Tong and Xun Ruosu, slowly walking over to stand before the old woman. It pressed its palms together, eyes lowered, silent. Even its movements stilled completely, leaving it rooted to the muddy ground like a statue.

Wuchang sniffed at it and nudged it twice, but it showed no reaction whatsoever.

Without its protector, the Ten Thousand People Pit began to stir with all manner of demons and ghosts. Wuchang let out another roar and strode toward Xun Ruosu. Though the distance was only five or six meters, it marched proudly, snapping at and shattering anything that caught its displeasure along the way. The crunching of bones startled even the malicious ghost lying on the ground, idly playing with its fingers.

Yet when Wuchang reached Xun Ruosu, it kicked off with its hind legs and barreled straight into her arms without hesitation. Like a kitten, it rolled around, rubbing its face affectionately against her palm before lifting its head and gazing up at her expectantly.

Considering what it had just eaten, Xun Ruosu had little desire to let it rub its face against hers.

“What’s gotten into it?” Xun Ruosu asked, stroking Wuchang while still sparing a glance for Xue Tong.

Ever since they had entered the Ten Thousand People Pit, Xue Tong had been moping with her brows perpetually furrowed. She wasn’t openly unhappy, but she responded to others curtly, devoid of her usual provocative swagger that loved to poke at people’s sore spots. She had kept things strictly businesslike, a far cry from her normal self.

Though Xun Ruosu had no desire to cross that line and entangle herself further in whatever unclear relationship she had with Xue Tong, seeing Xue Tong like this—as if she had suddenly shut herself off—was impossible to ignore. With a sigh at her own meddlesome nature, Xun Ruosu still found herself paying extra attention to her.

Xue Tong glanced at Yuqin. “Looks like someone hit its off switch.”

“…” Xun Ruosu detected the brush-off once more. Her limited store of enthusiasm had already been spent today; she had nothing left to rebuild any rapport. She simply fell silent, hugging Wuchang as she stepped aside a few paces.

Xue Tong wasn’t deliberately snubbing her. In truth, Yuqin had been right—the karmic obstacles in the Ten Thousand People Pit were too heavy to digest or sever all at once.

Years ago, she had witnessed countless such obstacles surging toward a single person seated upon a lotus throne. That person rarely spoke, and when she did, it was only to say things Xue Tong didn’t want to hear. She seemed half-paralyzed, and Xue Tong seldom saw her stand. The countless details in this pit stirred up old memories, leaving her mood in utter disarray.

Xue Tong muttered dully, “I’ll go find this old woman’s three souls and seven po first.”

Wuchang meowed once in Xun Ruosu’s arms, as if seeking her permission before helping out. Xue Tong’s expression had darkened beyond mere storm clouds; she could have wrung a drizzle from her face right then. She snatched Wuchang up with one hand. “Don’t forget, I’ve raised you all these years.”

Wuchang went limp obediently. It let out a soft meow, rubbing the top of its head against Xue Tong’s palm.

Once its paws touched the ground, Wuchang shot off. Xue Tong, meanwhile, approached the front of the jade statue. “Lend me a strand of your Buddhist qi.”

The carved Bodhisattva statue didn’t stir. Its eyes remained fixed on the distant ground, as if Xue Tong—amid all the commotion—had only now caught its notice as one of the masses.

“Is it that seeing her again makes you feel like everything you’ve done has been meaningless?” Xue Tong was actually trying to connect emotionally with the stone statue. She chuckled. “At first, I thought you reminded me of someone else. Then I realized you remind me of myself… We’re the only ones still trapped in our cages, unable to let go.”

Her words were so vague they sounded like some profound philosophical musing about “where we come from and where we’re going.”

The stone-carved Bodhisattva statue’s gaze didn’t change, but it now brimmed with mockery—mocking Xue Tong for her ignorance.

Yet whether it was the Jade Bodhisattva suppressing the Ten Thousand People Pit or the wrathful deity that slew everywhere it went, neither was skilled at hurling curses. So it opted for silence once more.

Wuchang was no ordinary cat. Amid the millions of tangled roots weaving through the pit, it swiftly singled one out. Its paws scratched at it futilely, so it took it in its mouth and brought one end to Xue Tong, gesturing for her to pull.

At last, the Bodhisattva statue’s gaze shifted ever so slightly, settling on Xue Tong’s hand.

It knew that this pull would tear at sinew, bone, and flesh. Yet it remained utterly still. Yuqin, saturated with Buddhist qi, sat quietly opposite Zhang Yingniang, though it had shifted from standing to sitting.

Xue Tong stood there in a daze for a long moment, lost in thought. A tender sprout emerged from the root at her fingertip, spiraling up around her index finger. Then roots sprouted from the bud, burrowing into her flesh. She winced in pain, her finger twitching slightly, but showed no greater reaction.

Xun Ruosu watched all these trifling details from the side. She had long known there was an uncrossable gulf between her and Xue Tong. Now that gulf had shifted from an abstract concept to a stark, tangible divide, pointedly reminding Xun Ruosu: “You’ve only known her for two days.”

Under normal circumstances, two days—even spent in constant company—were hardly enough to forge a friendship. Time was too short; absent love at first sight, it was hard to form deep bonds so quickly.

But in the two days she had known Xue Tong, something had happened every hour, compelling the two strangers to familiarize themselves rapidly and then binding them with a thread. Even now, Xun Ruosu couldn’t quite define their relationship—strangers, friends, or… something else.

Before Xun Ruosu could sort it out, Xue Tong gripped the vine-like root and yanked. Sucking up her blood, it formed a distinct brownish streak across the surface. Despite her modest effort, the entire vine root lifted free, forming a perfect ring that threaded through every Buddha statue in the Ten Thousand People Pit.

The ground trembled. Piles of corpses tumbled down as the Buddha statues revealed their true forms. Finally, the vine root came to rest in the Jade Bodhisattva’s palm. Xue Tong wrapped the fresh sprout around her wrist and tugged sharply. A crisp crack rang out from the palm. It shattered from the wrist down, fingers plummeting from on high to stab into the earth. At the base of the vine root hung the Closed-Petal Lotus Lamp, swaying unsteadily.

The Closed-Petal Lotus Lamp—an unopened Soul-Guiding Lamp.

Not only Xun Ruosu was stunned; even Xue Tong froze in shock.

Why would this jade statue craft a Soul-Guiding Lamp yet deny release to the trapped souls?

Did it hate Zhang Yingniang? Impossible. If it hated her, there would have been no need to shelter her corpse, let alone fashion a Soul-Guiding Lamp to let her live on peacefully in memory. Stitching her together into an “outer garment” like Yuqin would have been true vengeance.

Unless…

“You made this Soul-Guiding Lamp to carve out a place of purity for yourself, didn’t you?” Xue Tong asked. “The memories inside are connected to you?”

“Yes, connected to me,” came a voice both masculine and feminine, distant and near, echoing through the vast emptiness of the Ten Thousand People Pit. Thick and resonant, it didn’t emerge from Yuqin’s mouth—nor did the jade-carved Bodhisattva suddenly sprout teeth and tongue.

It was as if the entire Ten Thousand People Pit were responding to Xue Tong.

The things buried here had long fused with the earth: roots like veins, sap like blood, soil like flesh. The jade-carved Bodhisattva was its “heart.” Now that heart was dying, and the pit cried out for salvation.

The voice continued, “I beseech the Wheel King to ferry the myriad souls trapped here.”

The Jade Bodhisattva, which had just been clashing with Xue Tong, now embraced death without hesitation—wanting only to close its eyes and expire. It had sealed itself utterly from the outside world; nothing could disturb the meditating Bodhisattva henceforth.

Xue Tong had never encountered a creature so decisive in its whims. She took hold of the Closed-Petal Lotus Lamp, but the thing was uncooperative. Previously just loosely capped, under her touch it twisted inward tightly, the innermost layer spiraling into something like a sharp drill bit rather than a lotus.

Xue Tong pressed her palm to the drill’s tip, about to push down, when Xun Ruosu stopped her. “Your blood is precious… Use this instead.”

A paper crane alighted on Xue Tong’s hand. Docilely, it extended one wing, dotted with blood—the same blood Xun Ruosu had borrowed from her long ago.

Though dried, it was part of Xue Tong. As long as her merits endured, that shed blood would remain eternally potent.

Xue Tong’s eyes flickered. She stole a glance at Xun Ruosu, then silently pierced the paper crane’s wing with the Lotus Lantern’s vessel. The drill’s point aligned perfectly with the blood spot. Drawn by the immense merits, the Soul-Guiding Lamp began to revert to form. Petal after petal unfurled—revealing a heavy-petaled lotus, opulent and grand. The outer layer gleamed blue, the inner veined with purple. Xue Tong’s drop of blood nestled in the heart like a madam waving a handkerchief: “Come on in, sir, have some fun.”

Xun Ruosu broke out in goosebumps.

In this perilous place swarming with wandering souls and fierce ghosts, plunging straight into the lamp vessel would be like cracking open one’s own ribcage to show enemies, “Here’s the heart, here’s the lung—don’t stab the wrong spot.”

Thus Xue Tong boldly thrust her hand under Xun Ruosu’s nose. “Got any more of those ghost-exorcising talismans? Stick one on me.”

“Don’t you always despise them?” Xun Ruosu couldn’t fathom what had gotten into her. “Are you too weak to protect yourself now?”

Xue Tong gritted her teeth. “Forget it.”

Her enthusiasm flared quickly and faded just as fast. Xue Tong called Wuchang over. “Watch the lotus lantern. Anything that approaches gets bitten dead—no mercy.”

Then, raising her voice to the formless Ten Thousand People Pit, she declared, “You can’t afford to offend this cat of mine. If you don’t want rivers of blood and every soul here cut off from reincarnation, leave it be.”

As she spoke, Xun Ruosu finished drawing the ghost-exorcising talisman for her. The cinnabar was still wet, dripping down like blood from a vengeful fierce ghost when held upright. Even Xun Ruosu thought it looked a bit ominous. “It’s fine,” she explained. “My talismans might not be pretty, but they work.”

She placed it in Xue Tong’s palm. “Stick it on.”

Xue Tong: “…”

Was it meant to repel evil spirits with sheer ugliness?