Xue Tong watched quietly for a moment, but she really didn’t want to handle it herself. The woman who had been utterly silent just now, pretending Xun Ruosu was invisible air, now retreated two steps to the side. This put Xun Ruosu in front and her trailing behind.
After spending these past days together, Xun Ruosu had developed a keen sense for Xue Tong’s moods. The moment she saw that “what a lovely day” expression on her face, she knew exactly what was going through her mind.
Xun Ruosu herself could hardly be called a workaholic. Her entire yearly output didn’t even match what Xue Tong had accomplished in two months. Yet as time wore on, Xun Ruosu found herself proactively taking on little miscellaneous tasks.
She sighed inwardly. If someone had told the Xun Ruosu of a year ago that she would one day love her work, she would have laughed them out of the room.
Her coat pocket held everything she needed: five sheets of talisman paper, a cinnabar brush, and a handful of copper coins—she hadn’t bothered to count the exact number.
Yuan Jie had sent them over through a contact that very morning, in five large crates no less. Xun Ruosu had kept what she needed and sent the rest back with Yan Qing.
The talisman paper was still warm from her pocket and somewhat crumpled, but Xun Ruosu didn’t mind. She smoothed out the middle with two fingers, poured a cup of water and set it nearby. The brush tip had a plastic cap, which she removed; the first use required water to get the ink flowing. With quick strokes, she finished two yellow talismans and affixed them to the foreheads of the two patients.
The runes were something Xun Ruosu had improvised on the spot. Peering into people’s dreams was hardly ethical—none of the ancient sages had such peculiar habits—so later generations had to innovate.
Two utterly different dreamscapes suddenly pulled Xun Ruosu in. Fortunately, she was the heartless sort. While others thrashed and screamed in their nightmares, desperately fighting to survive, she strolled through them as casually as if she were browsing a supermarket. Moments later, she reached her conclusion. “Pretty twisted.”
She pointed at the patient nearer the balcony. “This one has self-harm tendencies. Even in his dreams, he’s suspending a beam from his head or stabbing himself with an awl—but the noose is looped way too low, right around his neck, and he’s swapped the awl for a kitchen knife. Beyond that, he’s made multiple suicide attempts.”
As she spoke, Xun Ruosu threw back the blanket and pulled out one of the man’s arms. Sure enough, several scars marred his wrist, though none were deep. He’d still held back at the crucial moment.
“And this one,” she continued, nodding toward the middle-aged man on the inner bed, “has an emotional expression disorder. It’s not exactly a textbook psychological condition—just severe introversion at worst.”
With that, Xun Ruosu curled her fingers for an impromptu divination. “Hoary Hair Gives Rise to Wind and Rain, Life Full of Partings.”
The result was an odd one. It didn’t match either of the two men on the beds at all. Divinations weren’t meant to repeat on the same matter, and without access to more varied methods like physiognomy or the eight characters, Xun Ruosu’s current single approach couldn’t verify accuracy or yield broader insights.
Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the room. Xun Ruosu hastily peeled off the yellow talismans, stuffed them back in her pocket, and waited. The door handle turned with a soft click. Several family members peered in, their faces a mix of joy and sorrow.
Modern medicine was advanced, and Xue Tong’s earlier predictions had held true. Of the four comatose patients, some families would need convincing to let go, while others had good odds of waking.
The sudden appearance of two unfamiliar faces in the room did raise eyebrows, but the quick-thinking nurse had followed the relatives. “Dr. Xue, you must have the wrong room… In such a rush to get back? You haven’t even changed out of your clothes.”
The hospital was busy, and the relatives were wholly focused on their loved ones. They found it odd but didn’t press the issue.
Once out in the corridor, Xun Ruosu offered Ye Lei a quiet thank-you at the corner. Ye Lei smiled with pursed lips. “Thanks are just words… I’m heading out. You two be careful. Hospitals are full of all sorts—chaos is inevitable.”
With her warning delivered, Ye Lei added, “I’ll get back to work, then.”
Xun Ruosu watched her vanish down the hall. In her eyes, Ye Lei was little more than a faint silhouette, on the verge of being swallowed by the shadows. Xun Ruosu let out a soft sigh. “What a good girl. I’ll give her a divination tomorrow.”
Tonight promised to be anything but peaceful, and Xun Ruosu didn’t dare divine further. She might need her strength later.
“Xun Saint Mother, your saintly glow is blinding me!” Xue Tong leaned against the wall, arms crossed in mock disgust. “Don’t you ever charge for those readings? What a spendthrift.”
“One person’s enough to fill their own belly, let alone when I’ve got a rich patron looking after me. What’s wrong with gifting a few extras to someone cute?”
Xun Ruosu chuckled lightly. “Besides, Ye Lei just covered for us. I don’t mind owing favors, but you do—and you’ll want to repay her someday, right?”
“…”
So this is for my sake?
Xue Tong wanted to ask but couldn’t bring herself to.
Instead, she reached out and poked Xun Ruosu’s dimple. “Got some good news lately? You didn’t smile this much when we first met.”
“I’m turning as black as the company I keep,” Xun Ruosu replied, momentarily dazed. “And without the daily grind weighing on me, my mood’s naturally better.”
It was a flimsy excuse. The Xun Family might breed spendthrifts, but they weren’t destitute. They had an old house spanning three or four hundred square meters in the county seat and an apartment in the city. They’d never wanted for food, clothing, or shelter—a solidly comfortable life. Xun Ruosu’s “hardships” were lighter than those of many office workers.
Still, in Xue Tong’s eyes, she lived a truly pitiable existence. The family’s century of accumulated merits had dwindled to scraps. The old house hadn’t seen renovations in over a decade, and the damp rains meant books grew moldy if left in the sun for just a month. There was no one like Aunt Fang to tend to daily needs.
The more Xue Tong thought about it, the more miserable it seemed. She clapped a hand on Xun Ruosu’s shoulder. “Poor thing. Stick with me from now on—you won’t go hungry.”
“…”
Xun Ruosu felt a shiver at the maternal affection in her gaze.
Night finally fell. Lights blazed throughout the building. In these long summer days with their late dusks, most staff had clocked out by now, except for the on-duty nurses and doctors. Even patient families rarely lingered; those who didn’t need to bedside-watch headed home after dinner. Only then would the hospital reveal the threats lurking in its depths.
Xun Ruosu pulled the sunglasses from her pocket. There were too many living people here—not like the remote wilds of Soaring Firmament Temple. Her eyes couldn’t make them out anymore. Fortunately, it was a hospital; visitors at least had colds or fevers, so her half-blind state drew little notice.
“Xue Tong,” Xun Ruosu said, pointing toward the small window at the corridor’s end. “Isn’t it awfully dark out there?”
Each floor of the hospital followed the same layout: a long straight corridor lined with opposing room doors on either side. Windows ran along only one wall; the other led to fire doors and emergency stairs.
Right now, the night sky hung like an immovable black curtain, solidly blocking the window. This was only the second floor, and with every light in the hospital shining, not a sliver penetrated from outside.
The hospital had been sealed off. Everyone inside was prey, ripe for the taking.
“I want to check on Xuanxuan—that little boy from the next bed earlier today.” Xun Ruosu groped her way forward. She couldn’t see the living, but inanimate things like concrete walls and stone posed no barrier. Xue Tong suspected she was hamming it up, feigning helplessness to tug at her heartstrings.
Suspicion aside, Xue Tong still offered her arm. Xun Ruosu played the fully blind part to perfection, fumbling about for ages before finally allowing herself to be led slowly forward.
Xue Tong didn’t feel the cold, so she wore only a thin sundress. Her palm was still warm against Xun Ruosu’s wrist—unreal soft. It was enough to scatter Xun Ruosu’s thoughts.
Since emerging from the Ten Thousand People Pit, Xun Ruosu hadn’t recovered much of her memory. Someone had layered multiple seals within her like Russian nesting dolls to prevent just that. Even as waves of karmic obstacles battered her, they’d only shattered the outer layers. Her true heart remained safely encased at the core.
That said, it wasn’t entirely fruitless. Cracks had formed in the seals, and fragments of the past were seeping through bit by bit. Sometimes, when her mind wandered, visions would flicker before her eyes.
Like now. The corridor ahead abruptly vanished, replaced by a raging river with no ferry in sight. Wuchang hunched over, sobbing. Then two voices overlapped in the air.
“You really have to do this?” one asked.
“It’s not that I want to—it’s that I must,” the other replied. “Who knows how long it’ll take. Your burdens will only grow heavier after this.”
“I’ll drag Xue Tong over and give her a beating the moment I get back,” the first voice grumbled with a sigh. “What was she thinking, messing with you of all people?”
“It’s not her fault. My time was up. If not for her, it would have been someone or something else.” The voice sounded like Xun Ruosu’s own, but flatter, more magnanimous. “After I’m gone, don’t tell Xue Tong the truth. The Ten Courts are newly built—reincarnation still needs her.”
“Pah!” the first spat in irritation. “It’s her own mess. Why should I cover for her?”
“Because… I’m asking you to.”
The voices cut off. Xun Ruosu snapped back to reality and stumbled. Xue Tong yanked her upright just in time.
“What is it?” Amid the corridor’s faint noises, Xue Tong could hear Xun Ruosu’s heart pounding like a drum.
She frowned in puzzlement. Everything seemed perfectly calm. Xun Ruosu could barely walk without exhausting herself? Her stamina was abysmal.
The visions faded from Xun Ruosu’s sight, leaving the room lights as smeared halos through her sunglasses. “Nothing much,” she said, having no intention of hiding it from Xue Tong. “But since coming out of the Ten Thousand People Pit, I’ve been recalling bits of the past now and then.”
Xue Tong tensed instantly. “What sort of past? Tell me everything. You…”
“Don’t get so worked up,” Xun Ruosu cut in. “I don’t know what you’re fretting over, but Xue Tong—I’m your half-body. Even if our friendship’s just so-so, you ought to have a little faith in me.”
“…”
Xue Tong leaned in close, meeting her gaze through the sunglasses. “Your credibility’s always been in question around here.”
“Oh?” Xun Ruosu pushed her forehead away. “Then go on and worry yourself sick. With my talents, I could make that happen.”
