Chapter 43

Xue Tong’s lavish and indulgent lifestyle had its perks. Her connections ran deep and wide, so it didn’t take long for her to secure a secluded office in the hospital.

The office was on the second floor, directly below Xun Ruosu’s room. It wasn’t completely abandoned, but hardly anyone ever went inside. Rumor had it that three months ago, a patient with depression had brought a razor blade into the hospital and slit his throat right there in front of the psychiatrist.

That patient was a student at Pingyuan Medical University, intimately familiar with human anatomy. He’d sliced straight through his carotid artery, leading to a horrifying amount of blood. Even after all this time and a thorough cleaning, the office still seemed to carry a faint metallic tang.

Doctors were supposed to be compassionate and fearless in the face of spirits, but pushing open the door to that office—picturing the blood splattered everywhere and the dead man’s resolute, unblinking stare—always sent a lingering chill down the spine.

Xue Tong had peculiar tastes, too. She wouldn’t even glance at a room without some supernatural rumors attached to it.

Xun Ruosu had woken up that morning feeling much better. Performing exorcisms on others earned merits, and those merits could ensure a long life or even windfalls from the heavens. Though she’d kept only a small share for herself, she was Xue Tong’s half-body now, so she’d benefited somewhat regardless. Another day of rest might not make her quite full of vim and vigor, but it wouldn’t leave her with any major issues.

And even if something did go wrong, they were in a hospital. CPR would be a simple matter.

Zhao Ping assumed Xun Ruosu was checking out right away. Though they’d only known each other a short while, she felt a twinge of worry. As she helped Aunt Fang pack their things, she couldn’t help asking, “You’re heading out right after finishing your IV drip? Xun sister’s hand still looks swollen. You could rest a bit longer—no harm in it.”

“No need,” Xun Ruosu said with a smile. She handed over a copper coin. “You gave me an apple, and I don’t have anything to repay you with. Take this coin. It might come in handy.”

Zhao Ping took the coin and examined both sides. She knew nothing about antiques, but this one was clearly newly minted, without even the usual “pass-through treasure” inscription. “Pfft, what would I do with this? Besides, an apple isn’t worth much. If you like them, next time you end up in the hospital… Bah, scratch that—my mouth runs away with me. No next times! Hospitals aren’t good places. Don’t come back often.”

With that, she wiped down two more apples and pressed them into Xun Ruosu’s hands. “Here, take these.”

Xun Ruosu didn’t stand on ceremony. Before leaving, she added one last reminder: “If anything bad happens tonight, just toss the coin away.”

Zhao Ping lingered at the room’s doorway, turning the coin over in her fingers a few more times. “Does this thing really have that much power?” She was traditionally minded and conservative by nature, and Xun Ruosu had a knack for inspiring trust. After a moment’s thought, she pocketed the coin rather than toss it.

Xun Ruosu had been on an IV drip all night and into the afternoon—two more bottles then. The nurse who’d come that afternoon was young, fresh out of school, with an older mentor trailing behind her. Xun Ruosu’s veins weren’t particularly thin, but the girl’s hands must have shaken under Xue Tong’s hawk-like stare. She’d missed twice in a row, leaving the back of Xun Ruosu’s hand badly swollen.

Aunt Fang hadn’t let her lift a finger. Yan Qing and Aunt Fang had carried the luggage downstairs between them. Yan Qing had classes the next day and needed to head back, taking Aunt Fang with him. The suitcase held two days’ worth of clean clothes; Xue Tong and Xun Ruosu could use the staff showers.

On top of that, an employee dorm room had been cleared out nearby for resting whenever they needed.

Xue Tong’s influence opened plenty of doors, but public hospitals came with their restrictions. She didn’t want to make too much of a fuss anyway. An office and a dorm room were more than enough.

Missions had taken Xue Tong camping in remote mountains before, nothing but wilderness for miles. She enjoyed the good life, sure, but she hadn’t gone soft from it.

The office had been prepared ahead of time, but this was Xue Tong’s first time stepping inside. The moment she pushed the door open, a wave of mustiness hit her.

The room belonged to the head of psychiatry. It wasn’t especially large, with a row of bookshelves along one wall. They’d been varnished in natural wood tones and fitted with glass panels to keep out the dust. The top shelves, out of easy reach, held decorative classics—hollow shells with no real content. The lower ones had practical textbooks and references.

Xun Ruosu was half-blind at night, but her eyesight was sharp during the day. She spotted dried flecks of blood on the curled edges of a few book spines right away.

No doubt, when that medical student killed himself, the glass doors on the shelves hadn’t been fully closed. Arterial spray had gone everywhere, speckling books at just the right height.

In front of the shelves sat a massive desk, two and a half meters long and eighty centimeters wide. The room had been tidied meticulously, meant only for emergencies or guests, so the surface held little: a desktop computer, an empty picture frame, an internal line phone, and a thriving pothos plant.

The office got plenty of natural light, and someone must have watered it regularly—the pothos was lush and verdant.

Across from the desk was the guest sofa area. The sofas were new, not long purchased, carrying that distinct fresh furniture scent if you sniffed closely.

With three-point-six-meter ceilings and large windows on the southeast sides, the space should have felt airy and bright. It was four in the afternoon now; the rain had stopped, and the wind had scattered the clouds. It wasn’t exactly clear skies—more like partly cloudy—but the office still felt dim and oppressive.

In broad daylight, Xue Tong flicked on the lights.

A large fixture hung from the center of the ceiling, its glare like a miniature sun. Xun Ruosu tilted her head up to look at it, eyes watering from the brightness. But the light seemed trapped behind an invisible veil, illuminating only a limited area. The desk and most of the sofa area remained shrouded in shadow, and the bookshelves were reduced to mere outlines.

If anything, turning on the lights made the room feel even more somber.

The hospital higher-ups had cooperated partly out of respect for Xue Tong and partly because things had gotten too strange. Clear Canal County Second People’s Hospital was a general facility—places where people lived and died were bound to breed rumors and odd occurrences. Medical folk usually brushed them off, but hardcore materialists dreaded eyewitness events they couldn’t explain. Take this office: the lighting was downright unnatural, baffling a team of top graduates and two electricians.

On top of that, over the past three months, postoperative infection rates had spiked dramatically. Even routine colds and headaches suddenly worsened into pneumonia or meningitis, throwing the on-call staff into exhaustion amid the chaos.

The uptick in odds wasn’t universal—far from it—and individual cases varied wildly. Investigations turned up no causes.

With no other options, they’d reached out to Xue Tong.

Of course, Xue Tong never advertised herself as a “shaman” or “feng shui master.” But the relic often dragged her into gigs that built her reputation, earning her the moniker “savior of the suffering” more or less by accident.

Deep down, Xue Tong wanted to torch the damn thing.

The room’s gloom didn’t hinder reading or working much—just strained the eyes a bit. Xun Ruosu pulled out the medical record card again and pored over it line by line.

The card was detailed enough, but the entries jumped around haphazardly. One section read “Zhao Yaru, sciatic nerve pain.” The next few lines were cursory, then it leaped to “Li Qian, male, eighteen years old, facial swelling…”

Curiously, no record was complete. Some lacked age or gender; others omitted symptoms.

Xun Ruosu tired after only a short while. Her nose was still congested, but better than yesterday—and functional enough to catch a faint orange scent. She looked up to see Xue Tong lounging on the sofa, leg crossed over knee, cradling half a peeled orange as she plucked out the white pith over the trash bin.

“…”

Xun Ruosu suddenly felt like a total sap.

She snapped the record card shut. “This is your job. Shouldn’t you handle it yourself?”

“I am handling it,” Xue Tong replied, perfectly justified. “Once things get bad enough to need me, they won’t stay quiet forever. A little patience, and when trouble brews and leaves traces, I’ll sniff it out.”

“You’re not going to investigate first?”

Xun Ruosu regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. She remembered Soaring Firmament Mountain: she’d been the one chatting with Yuan Jie about the abandoned building site’s history and construction, while Xue Tong—who claimed no need for rest—dozed off nearby.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Xue Tong’s orange slice hovered at her throat, suddenly unappetizing.

“Why did I ever think bringing you along was a good idea?” Xue Tong muttered. She dumped the remaining segments, peel and all, onto the coffee table. “I get so much more freedom on my own.”

With her gripe vented, Xue Tong rose from the sofa. “The relic threads through the whole mess, but it’s rarely useful. You saw that Putuo Flower on Soaring Firmament Mountain—it gave no clues and just led us to mistake it for a hyacinth.”

“If you really want answers, you need to get out and poke around. Not everything’s in the books.”

As she spoke her second sentence, Xun Ruosu leaned back, propping her head in her hand with narrowed eyes. Xue Tong averted her gaze, but by the time her words trailed off, it drifted back to the figure behind the desk—only to be caught red-handed. Xun Ruosu smiled faintly, the dim overhead light crowning her head and casting a soft rainbow gleam in her eyes.

Xue Tong froze for an instant.

The longer she spent with Xun Ruosu, the more addictive the flutters in her chest became. If not for the three or four meters between them, Xue Tong’s fingers might have brushed those eyelids, begging her not to look at her with such intensity.

Xue Tong had her wits about her—or she’d have crumbled years ago. But reason couldn’t withstand deliberate teasing. She knew this crush was hopeless, doomed to go nowhere good, yet how long could she keep reining it in, day after day?

The mood had been fine just moments before, but now it was like a childish spat. Xue Tong’s voice dropped low. “I’ll wait for you outside.” She slammed the office door behind her.

“…” Xun Ruosu sat there, bewildered, as a blasting draft whipped through her face.