Chapter 42

Xue Tong’s reservoir of merits was deep enough to let her spend freely without a second thought. Never mind the apartment nearby—even if she bought an entire street, Xun Ruosu would take it in stride.

It wasn’t long after the phone call before Yan Qing brought her over. Outside, the sky had turned overcast, a light drizzle drifting down. Summer sunlight could be fierce, but once the clouds piled up, the surroundings grew dark and somber.

Xue Tong carried an umbrella in hand. The hospital’s air conditioning was cranked low; even with a blanket draped over her, it barely kept the chill at bay. This fell far short of Xun Ruosu’s ideal living conditions.

Xun Ruosu was nestled in her bed, having endured an overnight IV drip. Her hand felt icy and slightly swollen. Truth be told, modern medicine was truly remarkable. A “dead person” like her had managed to shake off a cold just by hanging fluids.

She had originally figured she’d end up buried in the soil, absorbing the essence of sun and moon or something like that.

“Back among the living?” Xue Tong stood at the doorway of the room. Her umbrella had been opened, but the rain was so sparse that with her personality, Yan Qing had probably driven right up to the entrance. Even if she had to walk a few steps, the hem hadn’t gotten wet.

The room was on the small side, tucked at the end of a third-floor hallway around a corner. No windows were open, but the air circulated decently enough. It held just three beds, and Xun Ruosu’s was the outermost one, right by the door.

All three beds were occupied, but this was a transient ward. One patient had a fracture, another had just had an appendectomy, and the third was Xun Ruosu herself, delirious from a fever of over 104 degrees. Aside from the fracture patient—who was mostly self-sufficient now, with family due after work—both she and the kid next to her had someone sitting bedside.

The one chatting idly with Aunt Fang was the child’s mother. The boy looked about eight or nine, elementary school age. The bed felt cavernous for him. He’d endured this illness for who knew how long and had wasted away to skin and bones, his cheekbones prominent, eyes huge, and even at his young age, dark circles shadowed them.

“So this is the boss you mentioned?” The mother in the next bed was the helpful type. She’d just finished peeling an apple and, spotting the visitor, handed it straight over to Xue Tong—while her own child stared longingly from his bed, completely overlooked.

“Oh, right—this is my boss, Xue Tong,” Aunt Fang stepped in as the introducer. “And this is Zhao Ping. She lives in Slanting Village. The boy on the bed is Miao Xuanxuan. He fainted during PE class; diagnosed with chronic appendicitis and a stomach ulcer. It’s been over a week since his surgery.”

“Kids these days are just so delicate,” Zhao Ping sighed. “The doctor said the ulcer came from stress. Stress? At his age, where’s that even from? His grades are just average, and he doesn’t have to worry about family matters.”

Evidently, she and Aunt Fang had gotten deep into conversation— she’d even mentioned where she lived.

Miao Xuanxuan pulled the blanket up to his mouth, hiding half his face. Getting sick wasn’t his fault, yet it filled him with shame.

Taking advantage of the moment while Zhao Ping chatted with Aunt Fang, Xun Ruosu peeled an orange and reached it over. “I tried it already. It’s sweet.”

The little orange was indeed sweet. Xuanxuan murmured a quiet, “Thanks.”

He hadn’t been able to eat much since the surgery. The first few days had been nothing but rice porridge and other liquids, leaving his mouth tasteless. The doctor had only yesterday said he could ease into solids again, sticking to bland foods. So this segment of orange tasted especially refreshing and sweet.

Aunt Fang wanted to give her boss and Xun Ruosu some space, so she took the initiative. “Looks like the hot water’s run out. Want to go refill some together?”

“Sure,” Zhao Ping said, shaking the teapot. “I need more anyway.”

Compared to the wan Xun Ruosu and the silent, intimidating Xue Tong, Zhao Ping clearly preferred chatting with Aunt Fang. After a polite farewell, she ignored the other two. Once their footsteps faded, Xue Tong overheard Zhao Ping whispering, “What does your boss even do, dressed like that… so improperly?”

…

The “improper” outfit in Zhao Ping’s eyes was a deep-sea-blue dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline and triangular cutouts at the waist. If not for the sun-protective jacket thrown over it, it would have been even less “proper.”

Xue Tong had always turned a blind eye to outsiders’ opinions, treating them like so much hot air. Her gaze never left Xun Ruosu—not even missing the little gesture of handing over the orange behind her back.

With two of the talkers gone, the room suddenly felt empty and quiet. Miao Xuanxuan nibbled his orange, shooting cautious glances at Xue Tong. He had always been introverted and sensitive, quick to read moods—and this sister who had popped up out of nowhere made his skin crawl.

Just as he began to shiver, Xun Ruosu peeled another orange and offered it to Xue Tong. “Want some? Give me the apple.”

Zhao Ping had given Xue Tong an apple earlier. Out of politeness—and mostly because Aunt Fang had insisted—she’d accepted it but had no intention of eating. She was still holding it by both ends, as if waiting for a chance to toss it.

One hand washed the other: Xun Ruosu passed the orange, and Xue Tong set the apple down in the dish on the bedside table.

As a patient fresh off her IV, Xun Ruosu began slicing apples for her “ancestor” Xue Tong.

No sooner had she stuck the knife in than Xue Tong started nitpicking. “Cut it smaller. Don’t press so hard with the knife. This apple’s not big to begin with, and if you hit the core, it’ll be sour…”

“Why don’t you do it?” Xun Ruosu cut her off. “You eat your orange. Xuanxuan and I will split it once I’m done.”

…

Miao Xuanxuan felt like he’d unwittingly drawn aggro.

Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t like apples. You eat it, sis.”

The little citrus segments were no trouble one by one, but Xue Tong ate with exquisite care. She peeled off a section first, meticulously tearing away every trace of the bitter white strings before putting it in her mouth. Xue Tong’s hands were beautiful, but her line of work meant tangling with inhuman things at a moment’s notice, so her nails were kept short and bare—no adornments, just sleek, pale perfection with distinct knuckles.

Among women, Xue Tong was on the taller side, but her frame was delicate, her hands following suit in their refinement. Peeling the orange petals, she looked like a demure lady doing embroidery.

Xun Ruosu’s peripheral vision lingered for a moment. She suddenly recalled their first encounter at the villa, when she’d peeled an ordinary-sized mandarin for Xue Tong as well. Its skin had been thick, the white strings plentiful, and for some inexplicable reason, she’d felt Xue Tong wouldn’t like it messy—so she’d cleaned it thoroughly before feeding it to her.

Where had that odd intuition come from? She hadn’t recovered a shred of her ancient memories back then.

Distracted, her knife slipped. Xun Ruosu hissed as blood slowly welled from the cut on her left index finger.

Miao Xuanxuan winced in sympathy—his incision had been aching nonstop since the anesthesia wore off. “There’s some in the drawer, I think… whoa.”

Xue Tong hooked Xun Ruosu’s index finger. A golden talisman rune contracted like a ring, sealing itself to the wound. The cut, which had just oozed a few drops of blood, healed in an instant. Xun Ruosu chided her in a low voice, “Wasting merits on something this minor? You’re too extravagant.”

In the next bed, aside from Miao Xuanxuan, the fracture patient was asleep. His meds included sedatives and sleep aids; aside from mealtimes, he slumbered most of the day.

Miao Xuanxuan’s eyes went wide, but Xue Tong reached over and patted his head. “Speak a word of this, and I’ll exorcise you.”

The boy had already been a bit afraid of her. When Xue Tong touched his scalp, a bone-chilling cold seeped not just through his hair and skin, but straight into his skull. His mind blanked in an instant; all he could do was nod and tremble.

Xun Ruosu hurriedly tugged Xue Tong back. “He’s just a kid. Hasn’t done anything truly wicked. Don’t scare him.”

“You can head home after this drip finishes. I figured you’d be waiting at the house.” Xun Ruosu skewered apple slices with toothpicks and gestured to the big and little pair. “All set to eat.”

Miao Xuanxuan didn’t dare. Xue Tong held a piece to his lips. “Really spooked? Don’t worry—as long as you keep your mouth shut, I won’t trouble you.”

The boy pouted and took the apple in his mouth.

Xue Tong stretched lazily. “Can’t stay apart from you too long. Even living close, I’ve got to stay vigilant. Besides, work just landed in my lap.”

Her eyes flickered. “Xun Ruosu, you’re a walking disaster. Before I met you, my schedule wasn’t this packed.”

Xun Ruosu didn’t look up. “None of my business. You were just lazy before. Time to pay up.”

…

Miao Xuanxuan felt ever sorrier for himself. He’d thought the pretty sister, with her soft-spoken ways, must be gentle at heart. But now that same pretty sister was softly emphasizing “none of my business.”

Adults’ world was complicated indeed.

Having lost this round of banter, Xue Tong—true to her principle of not squabbling with the sick—retrieved a medical record card from her handbag and handed it to Xun Ruosu.

It bore the words “Clear Canal County Second People’s Hospital” on the front, glossy white and identical to the one Xun Ruosu had gotten the night before. But when she opened this one, it wasn’t the sparse notes of an ordinary patient. Xun Ruosu flipped through; every line was crammed with writing—even the cover hadn’t been spared.

And it didn’t belong to just one person. The same page listed both prostatitis and cervical erosion.

Just then, Aunt Fang and Zhao Ping returned with fresh hot water. Xun Ruosu stuffed the card under her blanket and resumed eating apple slices from the dish as if nothing had happened.

Her own fruits praised, Zhao Ping beamed. She fished two more from her bag and pressed them into Xue Tong’s hands. “Crisp, right? I picked each one myself. Xuanxuan loves the crunchy kind—with a bit of pink, he won’t touch them.”

She turned back, giving Miao Xuanxuan a helpless glance. “You’re so picky. Once you’re discharged, I’m fixing that habit. Who knows, maybe that’s what caused your ulcer.”

“Mom, stop,” Miao Xuanxuan protested softly.

“I’m only saying this for your own good.” Zhao Ping turned back, a touch embarrassed. “I can tell you two aren’t married without kids yet. Once you have one, your focus shifts—you end up nagging more. Don’t take it to heart.”

“It’s fine,” Xun Ruosu said with a faint smile. “I get it.”

With this token in hand—and tied to a public hospital to boot—discharge after the drip wasn’t happening anytime soon. But holing up in the room forever wasn’t viable either. Beds were tight, and discussing business here was awkward.

Zhao Ping wasn’t a bad sort, but she seemed traditional. If talk turned to “corpses,” “malicious ghosts,” “eternal unrest,” or “scattered to the winds” with her next door, she’d probably scare herself sick.