The conversation meandered off-topic, and in the end, both of them simply let it go.
Such a sudden flash of memory didn’t trouble Xun Ruosu much. The Xun Family had a peculiar trait—laid-back genes, as it were. Anything that couldn’t be figured out after one sleepless night would simply be set aside by morning. It was the legendary “just sleep it off.”
Since running into Xue Tong, her life had spiraled out of her control anyway. She might as well prepare for every possible leak. Time wouldn’t turn back, so there was no choice but to press forward.
“Let’s take the stairs,” Xue Tong suggested. “It’s inconvenient running into someone we know in a crowded spot.”
At the very least, Xun Ruosu’s sudden blindness would be hard to explain.
Since they were only on the second floor, the stairs were actually more convenient. Before long, they had left the hospital building.
Streetlights glowed outside, and across from the hospital stood a bustling commercial complex. This was Clear Canal County’s seat, after all—its development rivaled that of second-tier cities, with plenty of prosperity to show for it. The glaring lights only deepened Xun Ruosu’s earlier suspicions.
A massive shadow cloaked the entire hospital. People came and went with no apparent oddities, yet subtle differences emerged in small spots like the corridor windows.
Xun Ruosu had originally planned to check on Miao Xuanxuan. While Xun Family divination required a medium, these eyes of hers were blessed by the Heavenly Dao. Even without casting lots, a single glance could reveal fortune or misfortune—and Miao Xuanxuan carried a grave omen upon him.
They circled around the outside and returned to the main building around eight or nine in the evening. Aunt Fang, fearing the two wouldn’t eat and would starve themselves to death—mainly worried about Xun Ruosu—had specially ordered takeout. The night-shift nurse had delivered it straight to the second-floor office.
The place was usable enough during the day, but at night, few dared approach. The delivery sat casually on the coffee table, and the little nurse bolted the moment she dropped it off. She ran right into Xue Tong on the stairs.
After a brief exchange, Xue Tong sent the wide-eyed, panicked nurse on her way. The hospital staff fell into two camps: those who believed in the supernatural and those who didn’t. This nurse clearly belonged to the former; even using the bathroom at night required company. For her to muster the courage to bring food up here was impressive.
Unknowingly, Xue Tong had racked up yet another favor.
“…Once this is settled, I’ll just slap a blessing on the whole hospital,” Xue Tong thought glumly. “Why does everyone here insist on lending a hand? The debts aren’t huge, but they’re everywhere.”
As they spoke, Xun Ruosu stood quietly in the shadows the entire time, playing mute to avoid drawing attention. Otherwise, someone would surely drag her off to get her eyes checked.
Their brief stairwell encounter confirmed that Miao Xuanxuan was fine. He’d been careful since the surgery, and the incision was healing nicely. Today, his mother had even consulted the doctor, who said there were no issues—he could be discharged in a day or two and rest at home. With a child’s recovery speed, he’d be back in school in no time.
But Miao Xuanxuan’s stomach ulcer showed no sign of improvement, despite the medicine and his compliance with treatment. The attending physician chalked it up to psychological factors, but Zhao Ping insisted the boy was too young for real illness—just picky eating, laziness, and spoiling from being overcoddled at home. Once he rested up and started school, it’d sort itself out.
“Let’s head back and eat first,” Xue Tong said. “Your cold hasn’t cleared up, you had an IV today, and you need good food to rebuild your strength. Besides, the meal’s getting cold. With the copper coin you gave him, even if something goes wrong with Xuanxuan, it won’t threaten his life.”
Half-crippled as she was, Xun Ruosu could only let Xue Tong take charge. She’d always handled everything herself before. Even on nights when her vision faltered, she’d never relied on anyone. Now Xue Tong was tugging her along, signaling things like, “The nurse just greeted you—I didn’t say anything,” or “You nearly stepped on her foot; looked like new shoes. She glared, so I glared back…”
In short, a bunch of childish nonsense.
Aunt Fang had ordered four dishes and a soup: two meat, two veggie, and black chicken broth. The summer heat had delayed it a bit, but it was still warm. Xun Ruosu ate without issue, while Xue Tong picked at her food. She could go years without eating and be fine, so Xun Ruosu didn’t bother with her.
“You really like oranges that much?” Xun Ruosu asked after draining the last of her soup. The floor was littered with three or four whole peels, and Xue Tong had the medical record card open in front of her, peeling a fifth.
“Eh, average,” Xue Tong replied, glancing at the orange peels blanketing the table. “Good for killing time when bored.”
She didn’t need sleep or food. Sometimes Xun Ruosu wondered if even blinking was superfluous for her. Xue Tong lacked any human desires, yet she’d somehow cultivated this quirky personality—like a real person.
“What’s up?” Xue Tong looked up to ask.
“Nothing. Just toss the peels in the trash when you’re done. You’re taking up half the table.” Xun Ruosu sounded a touch disdainful.
Any third party overhearing this exchange would swear they sounded like an old married couple. Unfortunately, the two were so used to needling each other that they only saw it as the other being annoying—at least, that’s how Xue Tong felt.
She tsked, shoving the medical record card toward Xun Ruosu while sweeping the peels into the bin with one motion.
“His name wasn’t on there when you looked this afternoon,” Xue Tong said. “Flip to the last page.”
Xun Ruosu did, and there it was: Miao Xuanxuan—
Miao Xuanxuan, male, eight years old, gastric ulcer…
His ulcer wasn’t severe and could be managed with meds. He’d been admitted mainly for appendicitis, but the card mentioned only the ulcer—no word on the appendix.
Any doctor writing it up like that would’ve been complained into oblivion.
“There’s a reason it recorded it this way,” Xue Tong said, pointing to a few lines above. “Everything’s got gaps. It only logs what’s tied to this incident.”
In other words, Miao Xuanxuan’s stomach ulcer was connected to the hospital’s weirdness. The appendicitis? Not so much.
“Maybe it’s the cause,” Xun Ruosu said, flipping back a few pages. “His ulcer stems from stress. The ones above are migraines, hypertension, mammary hyperplasia… All similar to Xuanxuan’s—triggered by anxiety, tension, mental strain.”
Mentioning it inevitably brought to mind the soul trapped in this very office.
Suicides didn’t always linger in the world, but everyone hit breaking points. His method had been too extreme, though—unclear if he’d even reincarnate smoothly.
Plus, Xun Ruosu had spotted that snow-white figure in the corridor, drained of blood.
“I’ll go upstairs to check on Xuanxuan. You look into what happened three months ago?” she asked.
“I’ll go with you,” Xue Tong replied. “With how enthusiastic Zhao Ping is, if she spots your blind eyes, it’ll be a hassle.” She tapped her phone. “I’ve already asked the hospital to send over the details. They replied that they need time to compile it.”
“Compile” meant revealing what they could and scrubbing the rest.
Xue Tong always handled these thorny cases solo. Xun Ruosu realized that in the time she’d spent eating, Xue Tong had already laid considerable groundwork. Her presence or absence probably wouldn’t change much—Xue Tong didn’t need backup.
Yet Xun Ruosu knew she served a purpose here. The world ran on karma, inevitably so. Like the buried past in Zhang Yue’s body, the fragile infant spirit at Soaring Firmament Temple, the endless karmic obstacles in that mass grave.
Alone, Xue Tong might manage, but only through brutal, self-destructive means.
“What’re you thinking now?” Xue Tong noticed her zoning out and flicked a hand across her eyelashes.
“How important I really am,” Xun Ruosu said shamelessly. “Probably heaven-sent to protect you.”
“…” Xue Tong stared, stunned by her narcissism.
She’d always been so serious before. What had gotten into her?
Xue Tong didn’t know what had triggered it, but by the time she snapped back, they were already far down the hall. Aunt Fang had been overly thoughtful, packing a telescoping cane in the luggage—perfect for Xun Ruosu to tap around and fake her blindness.
Thank goodness she was “blind” now and slow-moving, or Xue Tong might’ve doubted how they’d reached the third-floor ward entrance so fast.
The supposedly collision-fearing blind girl even turned to urge her on. “Hurry up. If Xuanxuan’s really in trouble, that copper coin might not hold.”
“…” Xue Tong huffed.
Xun Ruosu’s worry wasn’t unfounded. They’d just reached the top of the stairs when they heard hurried footsteps—doctors and nurses rushing about. Snatches of talk drifted over: “Post-op complication again? It’s been a week—how’s an infection cropping up now?” “Asked the parents: the kid only walked around the room, nowhere else. Just fruit and noodles today.”
Any surgery carried risks, but appendectomy was minor, with low odds. A week post-op, the wound should’ve been closing; normal life in ten days or so. Sudden infection now? Highly suspicious.
From the frantic commotion, it sounded grave.
Heads poked out from nearby rooms. Xun Ruosu and Xue Tong didn’t enter Xuanxuan’s but found an inconspicuous corner across the hall. Her “blind” state was handy—others assumed they were heading elsewhere, spooked by the ruckus and held up by her mobility issues, so they ducked nearby to wait it out.
Soon Miao Xuanxuan was wheeled out, bed and all, straight toward the OR again. Zhao Ping trailed behind, crying and wailing. She knew hospitals required quiet, of course, but as a mother, terror gripped her heart. She feared speaking too softly might mean her child’s soul slipped away forever.
She stumbled after him a few steps before nurses blocked her—likely deeming her unstable. Zhao Ping couldn’t run farther anyway. She collapsed against the wall, sobbing uncontrollably. Two nurses tried pulling her up to no avail, circling anxiously. One dashed off for help, the other fetched a blanket from the room—
The AC wasn’t cranked high, but Zhao Ping was drenched in cold sweat. Sitting on the floor like that might land her in a sickbed too.
Suddenly, Zhao Ping seemed to remember something. She hurriedly turned her pockets inside out and clutched the copper coin like a lifeline. Her grip was so tight that veins bulged on the back of her hand, and it trembled faintly.
She tossed the copper coin onto the floor. Then, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes like she was making a wish, she muttered the same words over and over a few times. The little copper coin rolled and rolled before finally coming to a stop right in front of Xun Ruosu.
Xun Ruosu bent down and scooped the copper coin into her palm.
Such a tiny thing—even someone with perfect eyesight might miss it. Yet Xun Ruosu, wearing sunglasses, leaning on her cane, and needing guidance from others, pinched it up without error. Several relatives of patients who had been watching the show, their attention fixed on Zhao Ping, naturally noticed the eerie copper coin as well.
“How come your eyes are fine?” Sure enough, someone voiced the doubt.
“Just an eye condition—not fully blind,” Xue Tong explained on her behalf. “The doctor said she can see moving things, but stationary ones are iffy.”
“…”
Was there really such a disease?
Wasn’t it basically like a frog?
Xun Ruosu knew full well that Xue Tong was ribbing her with this fabricated ailment, but she nodded along cooperatively. “My condition’s pretty weird. Seems tied to the optic nerve, with a genetic element.”
This utter nonsense somehow convinced the relatives around them. Hospitals were hotbeds of bizarre illnesses and freak injuries anyway. The Second People’s Hospital kept its emergency doors wide open, offering a daily parade of jaw-dropping cases. By comparison, Xun Ruosu’s explanation sounded downright reasonable.
“What about that copper coin?” another person asked. “Yours?”
“Nope,” Xun Ruosu lied straight-faced. “Just picked it up ‘cause it looked strange. Want it? Here, take it.”
“Eh… never mind,” the man waved her off hastily. “Better not grab random stuff in hospitals. Who knows if it’s hexed—maybe the finder takes the sickness home. Little miss, you watch yourself too.”
Xun Ruosu carried this innate swindler vibe—a grounded, ethereal poise that wasn’t odd but made her hard to approach. A couple sentences of chit-chat were okay, but anything more left people stumbling over their nerves. The ward fell silent as a result. Xun Ruosu spoke up. “We should head out too.”
People could chat briefly with Xun Ruosu without issue, but Xue Tong was even stranger. She leaned against the wall nearby, her gaze calm and aloof, those almond eyes curved in a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. Beautiful, yes—but lethally so.
She didn’t look like a patient seeking treatment, or even a worried relative. She resembled a death god biding its time for a soul overdue.
Even die-hard materialists prayed for divine aid when illness struck themselves or their loved ones. These two’s presences might only snag second glances on the street, but in a hospital, they commanded real reverence.
The ward stayed deathly quiet long after they left.
Xun Ruosu toyed with the copper coin in her palm for a while, flipping it this way and that. Her hands were nimble and elegant, lacking Xue Tong’s flawless pampering; the pads bore a few soft calluses from years handling the cinnabar brush and copper coins. Yet her fingertips coaxed a dozen different tricks from a single coin, dazzling Xue Tong to the point she could barely keep up.
Xue Tong pressed her palm down atop it. “This worked up?”
“Earlier today, I divined Miao Xuanxuan’s fortune. He’ll pull through this scrape just fine, dangerous as it looks. I bound half his bad luck to this copper coin, so he should stabilize by tomorrow.” The coin lay pinned and cold in her hand.
Xun Ruosu went on. “But when I picked it up just now, a torrent of immense sorrow flooded me. Whoever’s behind this doesn’t seem out to harm Xuanxuan—they want to save him? In that instant, the emotions hit too tangled to unpack.”
This ability had come to her after crawling out of the mass grave. Emotions bound to objects flowed back to her unerringly. Swallowing the karmic obstacles of ten thousand souls exacted a price—empathy this potent was no blessing, but a curse.
Just then, Xue Tong’s phone rang. A low male voice came through. “The materials you requested are all in your office now. Computer’s hooked to the intranet with permissions cleared. You can search some things directly.”
“Got it.” Xue Tong hung up. The caller clearly had more to say, but the dial tone shut him down.
“Let’s head back to the office,” Xue Tong said. “Killing to save someone—this ghost’s got flair.”
The materials had arrived in full, dumped on the desk without sorting. Whoever dropped them off must have flung them haphazardly and bolted; a few sheets had fluttered to the floor.
Luckily, it wasn’t much—just three folders. Otherwise, sorting would’ve been a fresh headache.
The errand-runner was meticulous: each folder labeled with dates and names. The contents mixed internal hospital archives, eyewitness and family statements, and scraps of police investigation trails.
To pull this off in so little time left Xue Tong pleased.
Sorting them benefited the hospital regardless. No matter who’d gone to such lengths, Xue Tong owed nothing extra.
Xun Ruosu flipped open one page, detailing the suicide victim’s basics—
Guan Yunian, male, twenty-two, long tormented by depression and bipolar disorder. Onset at seventeen; continuous treatment in this hospital’s neurology department under Director Xue Minghui.
His mental state unstable, yet Guan Yunian showed real talent. At nineteen, he turned his symptom journals into a book and snagged the city’s Outstanding Youth Award. Stellar grades got him into Medical University for a psychology major.
Admission was rocky: flare-ups hampered normal socializing. The school wavered until Professor Xue vouched for him, volunteering oversight. They struck a deal, making Guan Yunian both patient and student under Professor Xue.
Xun Ruosu read further. There: “Hospital second floor, Room 08—Director Xue Minghui’s office.”
“And this,” Xue Tong said. She perched on the desk, toes skimming the floor as she opened her folder and slid it toward Xun Ruosu. “Xue Minghui was a national heavyweight in psychiatry and psychology authority. Worked the provincial capital a few years back until disaster gutted him. He semi-retired, quit outright, and took a token gig at Clear Canal County Hospital, mentoring students now and then.”
Records showed five years prior, fire gutted Xue Minghui’s home. Wife and both kids burned alive. Accelerants confirmed arson.
The perp timed it for summer break: son in uni, daughter boarding high school, wife steadily employed. Bundling all three in one blaze screamed obsession.
Police pinned it on a former patient, fifteen years old with antisocial personality disorder. Couldn’t stomach Xue Minghui’s thriving life, so he torched it all to ash.
Treatment history attached. Xue Minghui prison-visited the kid, demanding why spare him. It just puffed the killer’s ego; he shot back, “Living hurts worse than dying, right?”
Experts concurred: unstable psyche, unfit for fixed sentencing; massive societal risk, lifelong treatment and watch required.
Still locked in the provincial mental hospital per the files—no stirring trouble.
“Xue Tong,” Xun Ruosu said, still paging through, “check what happened to Professor Xue after Guan Yunian’s death. Can’t be just an office shuffle, or the hospital wouldn’t compile all this—better to have Professor Xue spill directly.”
The words barely left her mouth when Xun Ruosu recalled Xue Tong’s ancient age and tacked on, “The computer… you know how to use it?”
“I’m old, not demented,” Xue Tong rolled her eyes at her. “Not cut off from the world. Think I can’t handle a computer?”
A quick Baidu turned up that Xue Minghui stroked out from blood pressure spike on day seven post-suicide, mid-vigil. Three months on, comatose. But web scraps were vague gossip; intranet yielded hard facts, room number included.
County hospital’s token director, struck by tragedy on-site, he hung on machines till brain death call in a fourth-floor solo room. Nephew and niece popped in sporadically; bills split—hospital half, his old school the rest.
Body alive, but coma freed his three souls and seven po temporarily. Brain death looming, soul mobility topped theory.
“That snow-white figure in the hallway pointed up before vanishing,” Xun Ruosu said, setting the folder aside. “On second thought, it wanted us upstairs.”
Her eyes ached now. Xun blood dulled only the living at night—people, birds aloft, fish in water. Plants barely fazed; bricks, paper matched daylight. Vision still fatigued, prone to blur.
While Xun Ruosu rested eyes closed, Xue Tong studied her face. Amid the gloom, Xun Ruosu glowed faintly, earlobes rimmed orange.
“Victim or mastermind—this old professor?” Xue Tong’s knuckles twitched, craving a brush at her eye corner. To quash the impulse, she thumped the desk hard. Loud. Xun Ruosu eased her eyes open.
“Mosquito,” Xue Tong said coolly.
“…” Knuckles for a mosquito? Yeah right.
Xun Ruosu let it slide. “They’re quick. Next time, palm-smack—bigger target, better odds.”
She added, “Big noise like that—hurt?”
A beat of silence, then Xue Tong: “Yeah.”
Hiding it was pointless. With their senses linked, Xun Ruosu knew better than anyone whether Xue Tong was in pain or not.
“Hand it over,” Xun Ruosu said, gently pressing on Xue Tong’s reddened knuckles. “It’s nothing serious. A little rub and it’ll be fine—no swelling.”
Xun Ruosu’s fingertips always carried a faint chill to them. Even when she had a fever and her palms burned hot, that warmth never quite reached the tips of her fingers. Right now, that coolness seeped through Xue Tong’s inflamed joints, pressing in a way that left her feeling faintly unsettled.
