Chapter 37

Xue Tong had noticed it too. But one couldn’t exactly say the jade statue’s eyes were “moving.” It was merely that the rainbow light within them had shifted askew, as if the gaze had turned from its original angle toward another direction.

This sort of change was entirely normal. What was abnormal was how frequently the rainbow light veered off course. The jade statue’s gaze remained fixed on Zhang Yingniang, even after she had finished her work, tucked her headscarf into her basket, and muttered to herself, “Time to fetch more spring water.”

She picked up a thick branch from the ground—this was one of the tools she had used to climb the mountain back then. Leaning on her crutch, Zhang Yingniang began rummaging through the corpses once more. She examined them with painstaking care. For those too decayed to identify, she would check for birthmarks or scraps of clothing.

“It’s been the third month,” Xue Tong said, pointing at the statue whose gaze had softened. “The third month since it was buried in the soil.”

The Ten Thousand People Pit had accumulated even more corpses. At first, ox carts had come rumbling in, and those delivering the bodies had seen Zhang Yingniang. Some urged her to leave, while others brought her food. Later, they began hurling the dead from the heights above, and the path into the pit saw only Zhang Yingniang coming and going.

From the conversations between those corpse-haulers and Zhang Yingniang, Xun Ruosu and Xue Tong learned that she wasn’t searching for just one person, but an entire family. Her relatives had fled the disaster to this place, only to be separated in a flash during a torrential downpour at the city gates. She had a young granddaughter who had been ill when they parted—running a high fever, possibly stricken with plague.

Even when she left the pit, Zhang Yingniang never strayed far. A mountain spring lay nearby, and she would only go there when she needed water to drink or to wash her clothes.

And it was in this third month that the jade Bodhisattva statue suddenly went mad. Not only did it stop suppressing the malicious ghosts, but it itself descended into frenzy.

Xun Ruosu lowered her eyes. Aside from the statue’s mobile gaze, the blood flowing toward it had dulled to a murky black, carving out new paths as it was flushed away. Unseen karmic obstacles had taken root, intertwining into a colossal mass.

Zhang Yingniang remained the sole island of calm in this depression. No matter what transpired, nothing could shake her steadfast heart.

Sometimes at night, when malicious ghosts emerged in the Ten Thousand People Pit, she would spot them and simply ask, “Are you some lost child from around here? Have you seen a family of three—a father and mother with a girl about ten years old? That’s my granddaughter. I had children late in life and only got this little one in my old age.”

The elderly were prone to rambling. Sometimes she would recount the story of her granddaughter weaving her flower garlands four or five times over, then shakily hold out her hand to indicate the height. “She was only this tall, with big eyes. If you see her, tell her Grandma’s waiting—no matter if she’s alive or a ghost, Grandma just wants to see her one more time.”

Come dawn, Zhang Yingniang would resume her search, hobbling through the corpse piles on her crutch.

On the very last day of the third month, the sunlight was splendid, filtering through the treetops to bathe the Bodhisattva statue’s crown. The Putuo flower branch had grown robust by then, trembling as it pushed forth buds.

Winter had arrived, bringing a sharp drop in temperature. The mountain air turned bitterly cold. As Zhang Yingniang sifted through a pile of corpses to the east, her body suddenly went rigid and still.

Nestled among the bodies was a family of three. Zhang Yingniang recognized her son, her daughter-in-law, and the little girl crushed at the bottom. The child had been dead for some time; parts of her had already skeletonized. A cheap red rope dangled from her wrist, woven in an unusual pattern with a white shell pendant.

The pendant was engraved with the character “Miao”—probably the girl’s name, or perhaps simply a wish for “new life like budding grass.” Seeing that red cord and pendant, Zhang Yingniang finally knew she had found her.

No grief or anguish crossed her face. Instead, she merely let out a soft sigh. Half-crouching beside the girl’s body, she murmured, “Grandma’s finally found you… Take it slow on the road ahead. Wait for this old lady.”

Her voice grew fainter and fainter. The last breath sustaining this woman past seventy slipped away. Zhang Yingniang slowly closed her eyes. Her three souls and seven po departed her body—only for the roots of the Putuo flower on the ground to lash out the next instant, ensnaring her soul tight.

“…”

What should have been a peaceful passing for the old woman left her heart unburdened—a soul the Underworld cherished. Yet it was intercepted alive. No wonder the souls dispatched those years were riffraff from chaotic times and beasts in human skin. When it came to rewards and punishments, it infuriated the guardian of the First Hall to no end, prompting them to threaten quitting more than once.

Zhang Yingniang had no idea what was happening. The flower tendrils bore her up before the jade Bodhisattva statue, where that dull, hollow voice—neither male nor female—resounded once more. “Are you leaving?”

The old woman proved worldly-wise, unstartled by the spectacle. She quickly gathered her wits. “Since I’ve let go, why stay? Are you the local earth god?”

The statue seemed to chew on the title “local earth god” for a moment before rumbling in reply. “No. I am a stone statue crafted to suppress malicious ghosts.”

“You’re this Bodhisattva right before my eyes?” Zhang Yingniang pressed her palms together in respectful greeting. “Bodhisattva, you’ve had it hard.”

Xue Tong: “…”

Xun Ruosu: “…”

The jade Bodhisattva statue: “…No, no hardship.”

Zhang Yingniang continued, “Could you let me go now?”

“No,” the Bodhisattva statue said, suddenly turning petulant. “I need you.”

“I’m just an old woman with failing eyesight and unsteady limbs. Every day I rely on your protection. What could you possibly need from me?” Zhang Yingniang had clearly caught the oddity in those words, yet she made no struggle. She simply regarded the statue with calm acceptance. “Even if you need me, I must leave. If I delay much longer, I’m afraid I won’t catch up…”

“You’re already too late,” the Bodhisattva statue replied, its once-mild tone turning icy. “After death, unless there’s something to cling to, a soul swiftly enters reincarnation. Since your family didn’t linger in this world, they’ve likely been reborn by now—as a blade of grass, a tree, a flower, or a bird… Anything in the world could be her now. You couldn’t find her even if you tried.”

It didn’t sound like it wanted to keep her so much as it gloated.

Xun Ruosu abruptly pulled Xue Tong back a couple of steps. The ground beneath their feet was corroded by blood, mottled and desolate, overrun with karmic obstacles.

Countless karmic obstacles treated the Bodhisattva statue as their vessel, but now it could hold no more. Xue Tong shook her head. “The Zhu Family’s method worked, but they overlooked two things.”

“This Bodhisattva statue can only contain undigested karmic obstacles. Blocking without dredging isn’t sustainable. Second, with the Bodhisattva statue presiding over the Ten Thousand People Pit, corpses poured in even more fiercely from the surroundings. It might have held for a year or so originally, but three months… It’s already at its limit.”

On the other side, Zhang Yingniang wasn’t pierced by those words. She accepted the statue’s claim with serenity. “Then my little girl must have started a good life long ago.”

Though that wasn’t what the statue meant, it could be interpreted that way.

Zhang Yingniang pondered, her aged voice tinged with a smile. “Even so, I cannot stay. I’m just an ordinary person. My time is up. No need to cling any longer.”

The vines suddenly ripened in a blink—from bloom to wither to fruit. A translucent, gauzy pod engulfed Zhang Yingniang’s three souls and seven po. Golden patterns flowed over it, forging a tiny prison.

“You must stay here forever. I need you!” the Bodhisattva statue declared.

“…”

Xue Tong had always felt this stone statue bore some resemblance to Xun Ruosu—welcoming surging karmic obstacles from all beings, embracing the masses at the cost of its own body. Now the differences emerged.

To satisfy its selfish desires, it imprisoned a soul for centuries or millennia. This was no compassion of the enlightened, but rather… demonic affliction.

When buried, it had been a blank slate—no attachments formed or released, no trials weathered. It claimed only compassion at first. Then, fusing with the pit’s gore, the resentment and hatred of wandering ghosts inevitably tainted it. Even the memories it absorbed were fragmented, painful, laced with profound regret. In a mere three months, it had lived through the conflicted, wretched lives of tens of thousands.

Until Zhang Yingniang appeared. She was a living soul, not a fleeting visitor. Around the statue, she created many complete, fresh memories. They flowed gently like a stream—monotonous routines of sleep, meals, and inspecting corpses. Yet they were intimately tied to the statue. That trickle restored clarity to its near-exhausted spirit.

“If I had to describe it,” Xue Tong concluded, “it’s like a barren island amid a vast sea. Life on the island is harsh and meager, but the waters teem with man-eating sharks that can kill.”

The Bodhisattva statue had long been overtaken by karmic obstacles. It clung to its last shred of compassion to keep Zhang Yingniang—the “island” sustaining its faint awareness. Otherwise, over the years, it wouldn’t have merely killed with purpose for revenge; the fallout would have spread far deeper and wider, ultimately dooming countless lives.

A compromise of utter desperation. This had nothing to do with Zhang Yingniang originally, yet it dragged her into it.

Xun Ruosu let out an almost imperceptible sigh. The surrounding scene shifted abruptly once more.

Vines sprouted from Zhang Yingniang’s soul, forming a lotus lantern. A matching soul-guiding lamp bloomed on the Bodhisattva statue’s chest. Its sixteen secondary arms detached, and from the earth it molded eight Buddha statues of varied forms, each bearing part of its body. They glared in wrathful aspect—not only to suppress the Ten Thousand People Pit, but to suppress it itself.

The two lotus lanterns crumbled to dust and ash, only to reform seconds later at the Bodhisattva statue’s fingertips. It gathered that glow into its palm. Then eternal cold desolation swept back in. Time did not halt. Zhang Yingniang was dead, but the Bodhisattva statue would endure forever. Death lay too distant for it; self-salvation eluded its grasp.

Was this the sin of implicating the innocent, or the compassion of a bodhisattva?

The memories in the lotus lantern reached their end. Silence fell, broken only by the wind. Xun Ruosu raised her eyes. The Ten Thousand People Pit was circular, ringed by ancient trees rising from the rim. Night cloaked it all, save for a frost-pale full moon invading the view with bitter chill.

Xue Tong suddenly stamped her foot, cursing out of nowhere. “I knew it—this Ten Thousand People Pit has festered for so long, and the Heavenly Dao turns a blind eye. But the moment you show up, it suddenly cares… Scheming against me like this? Sooner or later, I’ll turn the tables on it!”