Xue Tong swept her gaze around the pit valley a few times but found nothing convenient to use. She turned to Xun Ruosu again. “Could I trouble you for a copper coin? It won’t tire you out, will it, Old Lady?”
“…” Xun Ruosu tossed her a copper coin. “If I’d known you’d be so spendthrift too, I should’ve asked Yuan Jie for more.”
Xue Tong caught the coin between two fingers. Suddenly, a thought struck her, and even her pupils contracted sharply as she looked at Xun Ruosu. “You just called…”
Before she could finish, Yuan Jie’s clear voice rang out from the cage not far away. “Rest assured, Benefactor Xun. If you like them, I’ll prepare two crates for you to take away later.”
“Thanks.” Jokes were just jokes, after all. Xun Ruosu shifted her attention back to Xue Tong. “What did you want to ask?”
Xue Tong shook her head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”
The copper coin hadn’t been treated in any way—just a crude lump of metal. Xue Tong flung it out, and it struck the malicious ghost square on the face with a sharp “ching!” The coin bounced off and rolled to the ground, while the malicious ghost remained utterly unscathed. It looked at her as if she were a simpleton.
It might not have been as strong as Xue Tong—and right now it was trussed up like a dumpling—but it was still a heaven-defying monster. At the very least, you’d need a hammer to bash it. Who was she looking down on with an ordinary copper coin like that?
Yet in the blink of an eye, a crack split open on the malicious ghost’s face. The triangular fissure peeled outward—one piece, two pieces. Soon its entire head crumbled into powder. The thing trapped inside pushed its way out, revealing the face of a young man in his twenties. He had groomed himself neatly and carried a scholarly air about him.
The moment he saw Xue Tong, he nodded in greeting, showing impeccable manners. Only after confirming there was no danger around did he look down and say to the people below, “Seems like we’re in the clear. Shall we head out?”
Even if they hadn’t wanted to emerge, they couldn’t have hidden much longer. That copper coin hadn’t just shattered the malicious ghost’s head—it had wrecked its entire body too. Cracks spiderwebbed across it, scattering white porcelain shards everywhere.
A three-meter statue had somehow contained five people. Souls could merge with one another; without bodies, there were no boundaries to cross. They didn’t need food or drink, so imprisonment could last indefinitely.
Their clothing alone marked them from different eras. Besides the student and entrepreneur who had died just in the past couple of days, the other three consisted of a man with an inch-cut head wearing a long robe, who looked like a Republic-era teacher. The remaining pair, a man and a woman, both wore army-green work clothes; the woman had tied her hair into braids with a red cord, while the man sported an octagonal cap.
After who knew how long in captivity, they had finally seen the light of day.
None of these five had committed any great wrongs; they couldn’t become grudge souls or malicious ghosts. Even the three who had died first had reached a state of detachment from worldly affairs. They only wished to escape this cramped space and had no interest in dwelling on the reasons for their inexplicable deaths. The other two felt some lingering resentment, but with no one left to demand repayment from—and no idea whom to blame—even hatred wouldn’t drive them to pick up the shattered porcelain and smash it again.
As for the Bodhisattva statue—karma had already decreed its fate in the shadows. It truly owed a debt to these innocents, and the Heavenly Dao demanded that all debts be repaid.
After watching them hesitate for a moment, it was the young man who spoke first. “We’re already dead. If we turned into ghosts, we’d only break our parents’ hearts all over again. Better to move on like this, without reopening their wounds.”
The fifty-or-sixty-year-old entrepreneur was none other than Fang Youcai. Despite the age gap, he shared the young man’s sentiments. They were dead, after all—what point was there in making the living suffer for personal grudges?
Suddenly, both of them caught a faint whiff of incense smoke in the air. Xun Ruosu held a yellow talisman pinched between her fingers. It had burned down to the base; with a flick, she let it go, and it turned to a handful of ashes scattered by the wind. “I divined your fortunes for you. No need to worry too much about your families. Life won’t be hard on them after you’re gone.”
“If she says so, then your homes are surely safe and prosperous. Off to reincarnation with you.” Xue Tong waved her hand, and the souls vanished into a shower of starlight.
Unnoticed, night had already fallen.
Xue Tong approached Yuqin next. The patched-up three souls and seven po inside weren’t the originals anymore, but they still retained some core essence.
Back then, the Bodhisattva statue had used it to get close to Xun Ruosu and Xue Tong. To avoid detection, it had suppressed its true nature for a time. The one controlling that set of souls had been Yuqin herself, but she had been under the flower garland’s control, her memories twisted and incomplete. After the garland was removed, the Bodhisattva statue had put on an act of substitution. Now she was like a discarded garment, left here by her former master—eyes vacant, utterly insensate.
A stone statue was an lifeless object, soulless and po-less. Yet in the Ten Thousand People Pit, countless souls passed through, each carrying their life experiences. Upon entering, they all flowed into the jade Bodhisattva.
Tell stories to a parrot every day for a thousand years, and even it would gain some wisdom. Coming from all directions, it could even pick up accents. Besides, the jade Bodhisattva already possessed some innate spirituality. Over time, it had nurtured its own set of three souls and seven po.
The Soul-Guiding Lamp had originated from those souls.
This set of souls was like that of an infant—too immature to act independently. It needed to attach to other things. Even the Soul-Guiding Lamp took the form of a layered lotus flower, rather than two separate lamps.
Xue Tong suddenly realized how inconvenient it was to lack proper tools. But she wasn’t about to follow Xun Ruosu’s example and carry a little bag stuffed with odds and ends everywhere she went. She had no choice but to keep bumming things off others.
Before she could even ask, Xun Ruosu placed two sheets of yellow paper in her palm and set the cinnabar brush on top. “Draw it yourself.”
Truth be told, Xue Tong had never done any delicate work. Her methods were always straightforward and brutal—hang them up, beat them senseless until they submitted. But now Xun Ruosu looked half-dead—not that it was impossible she was exaggerating, but Xue Tong couldn’t very well yank her up and squeeze her for more labor. And Yuqin’s condition wasn’t something a beating could fix.
So Xue Tong’s face soured. She picked up the brush with two fingers, twirled it once, and scrawled a crude “chua” on the yellow paper. Then she grabbed the other sheet and dashed off a rough circle.
“…” And she had the nerve to complain about Xun Ruosu’s drawings being ugly?
Xue Tong didn’t bother checking her work—there wasn’t really a right or wrong to it; an extra stroke or a missing one didn’t matter. She stuffed the paper with the “chua” symbol into the lamp vessel, then snapped off a segment of vine and dry branch from the ground to serve as a wick. The crudely made yellow talisman went straight onto Yuqin’s forehead. The formerly dazed soul suddenly snapped back to awareness.
A profound calm settled over Yuqin, as if waking from a nightmare without its lingering grasp. Even Xue Tong had to let out a soft sigh. These innocent souls dragged into the jade Bodhisattva’s mess were like saviors sent on purpose—from Zhang Yingniang to Fang Youcai, all of them bore compassionate hearts that couldn’t muster much resentment.
Xue Tong crooked her finger and tapped the center of the circle three times. Yuqin murmured a “thank you” and underwent exorcism right there.
As for the Lotus Lantern… Xue Tong still had words for the Bodhisattva statue, but she didn’t want Xun Ruosu to hear them.
Her divine sense slipped into the Lotus Lantern. It was whole now, with two souls standing side by side inside. Zhang Yingniang held no grudge against it. After all these years with her soul in the Buddha statue’s grasp, everything it had felt and known, Zhang Yingniang—as the most recent observer—had seen clearly. There was no one to blame… sympathy had won out instead.
“Your ties run deep. Even rebirth might not sever them,” Xue Tong said unusually apologetically. “Sorry.”
Then her gaze shifted—Zhang Yingniang cradled a tiny infant in her arms. Despite its tender age, it already had a kindly, benevolent face, much like the child often nestled in the Child-Granting Guanyin’s embrace. The sight gave Xue Tong a shiver of discomfort.
“Since you’ve developed your own three souls and seven po, stay put in reincarnation,” Xue Tong said bluntly. “Pay the debts you owe, and you won’t lose out on the accounts extended to you. I came in to ask one thing: when all the karmic obstacles from the Ten Thousand People Pit flowed into her, did she recover her memories?”
The infant blinked its big eyes at Xue Tong and cooed wordlessly—it couldn’t speak yet. Xue Tong reached to pluck a few hairs from its head, only for the baby to grab her finger and leave two faint teeth marks.
“You’ve got some nerve!”
Just as the Tenth Hall Lord seemed poised to thrash a one-year-old, Zhang Yingniang hurriedly separated them, playing peacemaker. “Miss, it’s forgotten all its past lives. Right now, it’s just a pure infant who can’t even talk. Beating it won’t get you the answers you want.”
Finally, seeing Xue Tong pause, she added, “If you’re so desperate to know, why beat around the bush? Just go ask the person you care about directly. Life is short—the real tragedy is failing to cherish it.”
Xue Tong stood there in a daze for a moment. When she came back to herself, the Soul-Guiding Lamp in her hand was already lit.
The Ten Thousand People Pit had existed for ages, buried under layers of earth through changing times. What they saw now was mere illusion, sustained by a power that faded with the Soul-Guiding Lamp. The surrounding scene tore apart like a ripped painting. In a blink, they were back in the original spot.
A wilted Putuo Flower lay on the simple shrine. Yuan Jie and Zhong Li were nearby, and aside from them, the two missing monks from morning leaned against tree trunks, fast asleep—as if they had no idea they’d been hostages.
Night had fallen, but no fool would wander into these eerie, wind-whipped mountains. Even the boldest, unafraid of ghosts, would think twice about snakes, bugs, rats, and ants.
Yet Xun Ruosu climbed to her feet. She signaled the Wuchang to return to normal size and scooped up the cat into her arms—so as not to startle any nonexistent passersby.
Zhong Li was still a bit dazed, her eyes shining with awe. This one was impressive, that one was amazing. Even Yuan Jie, who hadn’t helped at all, earned her admiration. “As expected of the Old Man—he’s seen it all, far calmer than a frog in a well like me.”
Only Xun Ruosu drew her pity—looking sickly and wan. Zhong Li concluded she was either a pretty flower vase or a walking toolbox. Aside from handing over props, she’d done nothing, and it had worn her out like this.
Buoyed by a sudden surge of confidence, Zhong Li thought, “If I carried a cloth bag and assisted here, I’d surely do better than Xun Ruosu.”
