Before Xue Tong could utter another unnecessary word, Xun Ruosu gently lowered her hand. “Be more careful from now on. If you get hurt, I’ll feel the pain too. This mortal body of flesh and blood can’t withstand your recklessness.”
“Heh.”
Xue Tong thought to herself, “I thought this heartless thing had suddenly turned over a new leaf. My mistake for caring.”
Even Xun Ruosu’s beautiful face started to grate on her nerves.
Though the office door was closed and provided decent soundproofing—normal conversation stayed private inside—the bigger noises still filtered through. For instance, tonight had barely begun, and ambulances had already made three runs. The lobby downstairs was chaos: shouts echoing everywhere, and it sounded like fists were flying too, turning the place into a madhouse.
Xun Ruosu’s nose twitched faintly. She caught the metallic tang of blood in the air—thick and fresh. That scent could mask all sorts of things.
“Shall we go take a look?” Xun Ruosu suggested.
“I’ll go check it out,” Xue Tong said with disdain. “What could those eyes of yours possibly see?”
The second floor of the hospital had no lobby. The hallway formed a ring around an open central platform shielded by thick frosted glass. Xue Tong suspected the platform existed solely for second-floor folks to spectate the drama below, since it offered a perfect bird’s-eye view of the entire first-floor lobby.
It looked like a massive car crash. The county hospital was a bit far, but Clear Canal County only had three facilities with emergency services open around the clock, and only the Second People’s Hospital could handle a scene this big. So most of the victims were being rushed here.
Xue Tong had assumed Xun Ruosu’s blind eyes wouldn’t pick up much, but peering down from the platform revealed the truth: the hospital teemed with rampant souls. Living souls and restless spirits swarmed everywhere, even hovering around the uninjured who had come along for the ride—people dazed with fright, their souls circling their bodies, desperate to slip back in.
The whole place was a living hell.
Healing the wounded was the medical staff’s sacred duty. Xun Ruosu wouldn’t pitch in there anyway, but these drifting living souls fell squarely within her expertise. She just needed a quiet spot to shove them back where they belonged. As for Xue Tong, she simply stood on the second-floor landing and murmured, “Quiet down!”
The souls that had been wailing and flailing in confusion moments ago fell instantly obedient. They stood ramrod straight beside their bodies or sat patiently nearby, staring wide-eyed as the doctors worked to revive them.
Order between the yin and yang realms was restored. The hospital buzzed with activity, but now it felt organized.
Among the patients and families watching from the second floor, someone switched their phone to speaker. It was the local radio broadcast:
“A major traffic accident has occurred near Clear Canal County Highway 302. An oil tanker collided with two passenger buses, causing a chain-reaction pileup. The road is now engulfed in flames, with a wide impact zone. Motorists, please avoid the area and drive cautiously.”
Summer break was fast approaching. Some schools and programs had already let out early, and plenty of students were heading home on packed buses. Clear Canal County had no high-speed rail, so buses ran full nearly every time. A crash with an oil tanker didn’t bear thinking about.
Xun Ruosu suspected what they were seeing was just the tip of the iceberg. More casualties would flood in soon enough.
Lurking in the shadows, the malicious ghost—well, one could call it that—had already claimed six lives. Its ambitions ran broader and bloodier. After a disaster like this, with panic gripping every heart, it was the perfect chance to exploit the chaos.
“I’ll head back to the office first… Living souls can’t stay separated from their bodies too long, or it’ll cause permanent psychological trauma. Keep an eye on things here.”
Though Xun Ruosu couldn’t see the crowds, her cane and sunglasses signaled her approach. People made way instinctively, and the office wasn’t far. She found her way back quickly.
Xue Tong knew Xun Ruosu needed seclusion to draw the talismans and return the souls to their bodies. Tonight was chaotic enough; better to handle what troubles they could right away.
Xun Ruosu worked swiftly. She took out three sheets of talisman paper, dotted them with cinnabar, then worried it wasn’t potent enough. With a utility knife, she nicked her fingertip and dripped a few drops of blood onto each.
To her surprise, faint Buddhist qi shimmered in her blood—golden strands veiling the crimson, as if she were someone blessed with profound fortune.
The three talismans ignited in a flash. Their ashes dissolved into invisible butterflies that fluttered outward in all directions. Whenever one encountered a wandering living soul, it brushed their forehead like a kiss, guiding them home.
Xue Tong returned just as quickly. Her mere presence was like a judge’s gavel slamming down—souls quaked at the sight of her, bone-deep fear they couldn’t shake, even fresh dead who didn’t know her name. Any mischievous intent in the hospital withered before it could take root.
The office was frigid beyond reason. Xun Ruosu huddled on the sofa, wrapped in Xue Tong’s overcoat, facing a ghostly white silhouette. The moment Xue Tong pushed the door open, it scattered like it was fleeing for its life.
“…”
Xun Ruosu wanted to assure him that Xue Tong was no threat—that she wouldn’t exorcise him on sight—but the ghost bolted too fast, vanishing before she could speak.
Their brief encounter had let her make out his features, though.
The pale figure was a young man in his early twenties, decent-looking—handsome enough for the street, with slim silver-rimmed glasses. But his eyes drooped with a defeated air, sometimes mimicking Xue Tong’s fake smiles that never reached beyond the corners of his mouth.
Xun Ruosu had seen photos of Guan Yunian. This was him.
Before Xue Tong returned, he’d lingered for three minutes. He hadn’t spoken a word, just jabbed frantically upward. Xun Ruosu had asked, “Do you want us to go to Professor Xue’s room on the fourth floor?”
Guan Yunian nodded, then gestured wildly—pinching his fingers as if divining the future. Xun Ruosu obliged, only for him to shake his head and wave her off frantically. Beyond agitation, she couldn’t read the message.
In the end, she’d said, “Don’t panic… If you can’t speak, you can always write, right?”
Guan Yunian lit up with realization, remembering he was an intellectual.
He’d probably damaged his throat slashing his carotid. Normally, a soul reflected the state at death, but physical wounds didn’t carry over unless the strike targeted the soul itself. Guan Yunian and Xun Ruosu didn’t belong to the same world—Medical University students might know anatomy, but they couldn’t strike their own souls.
Unless his soul was bound by this incident, his obsession too deep to release his voice.
Unfortunately, just as he reached for the cinnabar brush, Xue Tong walked in—and cue the high-speed escape.
“Next time you see him, hit him with an Earth Binding Curse first. It’ll save a ton of hassle,” Xue Tong suggested seriously. “If that doesn’t work, beat him till he can’t move. That’ll make him behave.”
“It’s vicious ideas like yours that send him running,” Xun Ruosu said, patting the sofa beside her. “Come sit. Shall we head up to the fourth floor later? How’s the lobby? Things settled down?”
Xue Tong narrowed her eyes. She not only sat but leaned in close, her nose nearly brushing under Xun Ruosu’s eyes. “You’ve been off ever since we crawled out of the Ten Thousand People Pit. Before, no matter the situation, you’d politely call Yuan Jie ‘Abbot’ because he’s decades your senior in your mind—that’s just manners. But lately, you’ve been calling him by name, just like me.”
This “just like me” wasn’t an accusation of mimicry. Xue Tong dropped titles because Yuan Jie was her junior; she could claim to be his ancestor several times over. Xun Ruosu wasn’t some spoiled brat ignorant of propriety. That shift in address, subtle as it was, hinted at how she now saw her own place in the world.
Had she recovered her memories back in the pit and been playacting ignorance all this time??
“It’s not what you think. I haven’t fully recovered my memories—just fragments surfacing dimly.”
Xun Ruosu tilted her neck back slightly, but Xue Tong wasn’t letting her off. Hands planted on the sofa, she leaned forward, turning face-to-face into looming over her. Any closer, and their lips would’ve brushed.
Xun Ruosu could only smile wryly. She sighed softly. “Do you want me to remember everything, or keep playing the clueless damsel right in front of you?”
“I…” Xue Tong faltered.
“Unfortunately, I can’t control if the memories return,” Xun Ruosu said. “Truth be told, I’d rather forget it all, live out this life hastily, reincarnate as someone new. But things have come to this; I don’t have that luxury anymore. I’ve prepared myself to face it all. But Xue Tong… are you ready?”
“I don’t want you hurting all over again.”
“I won’t hurt,” Xue Tong said, rising from the sofa. “I stopped feeling pain years ago. Don’t worry about me. Whatever’s between us is one-sided at best.”
Xun Ruosu wanted to ask, “Your wish, or mine?” But at this point, she’d said plenty. A few days together couldn’t forge an unbreakable bond, so why pose such an intimate question?
Silence fell over the office, making the clamor outside seem louder. Xue Tong spoke again. “Let’s head upstairs. We can’t help with the lifesaving anyway. Better to clear up the hospital’s hauntings and get some peace sooner.”
“Alright, let’s go.” Xun Ruosu didn’t press. Her small pouch from Soaring Firmament Mountain was still handy. She grabbed talisman paper and copper coins from her suitcase, then—after a moment’s thought—cut a length of red thread and loosely looped it around her pinky finger.
She prepared enough for two, just in case Xue Tong needed some and found herself empty-handed.
The ER lobby was a frenzy, heads spinning in every direction. The inpatient wards upstairs were calmer, though hushed talk of the crash drifted about. Folks said Highway 302 had never seen anything like this. The stretch was smooth, flanked by fields, no slopes or waterways—just opened a year ago, and even fender-benders were rare.
Such a peaceful road, and now this nightmare of an accident.
As they passed the second and third floors en route to the fourth, the chatter thinned. Even the lights grew dimmer, much like in the office: visibility wasn’t impaired, but the glow felt oppressive. Electricians had probably checked; no faults found, no fixes possible.
