Chapter 51

This voice was very familiar to Xun Ruosu—and even more so to Xue Tong.

Xun Ruosu knew it well because she had heard it just in the past couple of days. In her recollections, her encounters with this person even outnumbered Xue Tong’s, whether it was by the banks of that turbulent river or in the room that had made Xue Tong drowsy. He always popped up out of nowhere.

Xue Tong knew it even better because the voice belonged to King Qin Guang of the First Hall.

The First Hall was responsible for judgment, which directly affected the work assignments of the later halls. Xue Tong dealt with them more often than most. Normally, out of every five souls that passed on, four would be routed to the Tenth Hall. Minor reincarnation issues were handled by worldly families like the Xun or Zhong clans, while major problems fell to the Judges or Wuchang. Only when everyone failed—or when their efforts caused serious fallout—did it land in Xue Tong’s lap.

But the nature of the First Hall’s work differed from the Tenth Hall’s. They didn’t need to venture into the mortal world to mete out rewards and punishments. As soon as someone died, a soul scroll would drift into the hands of First Hall staff. About an inch wide and three inches long, it didn’t look like much, but it contained the entire ledger of the deceased’s merits and misdeeds in life.

By comparison, the Tenth Hall handled fieldwork—running errands—while the First Hall did office work, sorting paperwork.

King Qin Guang was a millennial shut-in who rarely left his domain. Xue Tong froze for a good long moment upon hearing his voice.

“The door isn’t locked,” Xun Ruosu said. “Come on in.”

The hospital door could be turned from either side, so long as it wasn’t bolted shut. With a click, a man in a suit stepped into the light.

He bore a striking resemblance to Xue Tong—about thirty percent, give or take. His features were deep and ethereal, but where Xue Tong was cold, he radiated a gentle warmth. Beneath the suit lay an air of scholarly refinement, like a cool breeze beneath a fan or snow on the eaves.

“Hello,” he introduced himself. “I’m Jiang Changting, a psychologist—and Xue Tong’s big brother.”

Xun Ruosu had some recollection of the name Jiang Changting. Back when she’d hired that fake high monk Yuan Jue from the funeral team, he’d thought she was out of her mind for leaving someone in the wilds. After dropping her off in the boonies, he’d left her a blanket and a business card—not just his own, but another belonging to a nationally certified level-two psychologist named Jiang Changting.

Later, Xun Ruosu had passed that card along to the monks at Soaring Firmament Temple.

“Save the family act,” Xue Tong said without a shred of politeness. “Big brother? We weren’t born from the same womb or egg. What blood ties?”

Jiang Changting wiped at nonexistent tears and launched into a dramatic pantomime: autumn leaves drifting down to scatter across his face, his rebellious little sister shattering his heart.

Xue Tong shuddered, goosebumps erupting all over her skin from his phony gaze.

“Every time I see you, it’s bad news,” she said, shooting Xun Ruosu a glance. “Either reminding me to get my act together or dumping a mission on me. The one exception was when you brought news of an old acquaintance’s death—and even then, you should be grateful I didn’t stuff you into the underworld on the spot. Yet here you are, putting on airs.”

“Don’t you appreciate all the sacrifices your big brother has made for you?” Jiang Changting reached out and pinched Xue Tong’s cheek. His gaze flicked to Xun Ruosu, leaving it unclear who the next words were for. “I must really owe you one… Anyway, down to business.”

Xue Tong’s face said, I knew it.

“You’ve heard about the accident on Provincial Route 302, right? Tanker truck collided with two buses, and nearly ten private cars got caught in the mess besides. The tanker exploded, the road’s ablaze, and the fire’s spread to the fields on both sides. It’ll burn until noon tomorrow, with the wind picking up. Countless dead and injured. I need your help.”

Jiang Changting’s mouth tightened, his initial warmth and levity giving way to a chilling seriousness. “One of the buses was a school bus.”

Clear Canal County placed great emphasis on education, but school buses weren’t widespread. To date, only the county high school had them. The high school boasted solid college admission rates and had been around for sixty years, later expanding to include junior high and elementary sections. That school bus had carried over forty students, ages seven to eighteen. So far, fewer than ten of the lightly injured had been pulled out alive.

The other bus had fared even worse, sheared in half by the tanker truck. Many of the passengers—people in their forties, fifties, and older—had no concept of buckling up properly. Even those who did were careless, failing to adjust the straps or even check them. The bus hadn’t been inspected for seatbelts in ages, and a couple of seats had jammed mechanisms that wouldn’t latch.

When the tanker slammed into it, the initial impact shattered every window. Without seatbelts, flesh and blood flew through the air; nearly a third of the passengers were flung out. Then the tanker plowed the mangled bus into the second one. The colossal force crushed the middle section flat and sent both tumbling into the fields.

It was summer now, and the southern irrigation canals were full to the brim. The tanker had leaked oil right from the start, which flowed along the canals into every corner. The oil slicked the water’s surface; any spark turned it into an inferno. The water did nothing to quench the flames.

This crash would claim hundreds of lives.

And the token Xue Tong had received was tied to it as well.

“I drove here,” Jiang Changting said. “We can head straight over. If I hadn’t come to get you, knowing you, you’d drag your feet until the fire died down tomorrow.”

Xue Tong had no comeback.

They knew each other inside out after all these years. Arguing would only egg on his theatrics.

They switched off the office lights and slipped away without a sound. Only the butterflies Xun Ruosu had left fluttered in the air. Once all the living souls returned to their proper places, the butterflies would vanish on their own.

It was the least she could do to repay the hospital’s kindness that day and lighten the staff’s workload considerably. She’d meant to leave a divination reading as thanks, but the sudden turn of events left no time.

With the hospital in chaos, no one spared a thought for the two extras. Jiang Changting drove nothing like Yan Qing’s steady pace; he rocketed along like the wind. Xun Ruosu considered herself pretty brave, but she still tensed up involuntarily.

At one point, she even wondered if Jiang Changting was trying to kill both her and Xue Tong.

Speed had its advantages, and with Jiang Changting’s preparations, neither cameras nor human eyes caught his flagrant traffic violations—flooring the accelerator all the way. What should have taken two hours, they covered in an hour and a half. They pulled over, and the three of them stood at the heart of the inferno—while Xun Ruosu reflected deeply on her life choices.

Calling it the heart of the fire was a bit of a stretch. The flames had burned outward from the origin point, which was now a charred wasteland of ash. Everything flammable had been devoured, leaving bare ground amid the dying embers. But the thick smoke and searing heat waves were still deadly. Xun Ruosu scanned the scene: blackened corpses and twisted vehicle frames lay exposed amid scattered fire spots.

“It’s been burning for five hours already,” Jiang Changting said.

Five hours of fire, four and a half of firefighting efforts. The air hung humid, yet no rain fell. Once the sun rose, the heat and wind would fan it into a monster.

Countless lonely souls wailed across the wilds as the blaze swept through, threatening even their path to reincarnation.

Freshly formed souls required judgment first, before Xue Tong could intervene. Animals followed instinct; humans had choices, so sins varied in weight. Not every soul earned reincarnation.

Since judgment preceded exorcism, Jiang Changting rarely worked alongside Xue Tong.

By her reckoning, this was a first—even during wartime, amid mountains of casualties, he’d never sought her out.

“So many souls. This isn’t just my problem, is it?” Xue Tong asked. “Who else did you send besides me?”

“A side branch of the Zhong clan,” Jiang Changting replied, recalling something. “Zhong Li’s line—you’ve met her.”

Xue Tong arched a brow. “You spying on me?”

“What, you think I’m bored?” Jiang Changting said. He must have picked up the habit somewhere; for all his refined, jade-like gentlemanly air, he pulled no punches with family. “I judge souls. Nothing under heaven escapes my notice.”

From what Xun Ruosu could piece together of her recovered memories, her students likely included not just Xue Tong, but Jiang Changting too. No surprise they shared the same traits—same teacher and all.

“Leading the young astray.” Xun Ruosu patted her conscience, reflecting solemnly. “Misguiding the next generation.”

Xue Tong had gotten her token about two hours ago, so the Zhong branch would’ve been notified around then too. Zhong Li’s boldness in venturing alone to Soaring Firmament Mountain suggested they lived nearby. Still, for an incident this massive, mustering personnel took time. They’d probably arrive after the fire was out.

Then the entire cleanup would fall to the Zhong family—a time-honored custom. The departments would coordinate, while folks like Jiang Changting, Xue Tong, even Xun Ruosu and Zhong Li operated outside formal enforcement but in cooperative tandem. Like a “special unit”: off the books, but with all the leeway they needed.

Yet Jiang Changting’s urgency in dragging Xue Tong here pointed to something more. Disasters like this were rare nationwide lately, but in their long lives, they’d seen plenty.

He wouldn’t risk mortal eyes—not right when she’d gotten the token—unless he had another agenda.

Xue Tong’s mind had just caught up when, amid the acrid char of the sweeping flames, a thick stench of blood hit.

It was overpowering, like a locust swarm blotting out the sky. In an instant, Xun Ruosu’s vision went red. A torrent of blood poured down, drenching the vast, endless fields before her. Xun Ruosu wasn’t particularly rattled; she’d seen far stranger horrors. Besides, terror preyed on fear of death—and she’d kill to climb back into her own coffin.

The blood pooled for a moment before drying up. Far in the distance, a red silhouette appeared. Xun Ruosu squinted but couldn’t make out its features. It wasn’t large—a child, by the look of it. Most striking was the red scarf around its neck, unmistakable.

“That’s a fierce ghost too,” Xue Tong’s voice suddenly rang out, laced with a hint of amusement. “Unlike Xue Minghui, this one grew up from a malicious ghost. Killing and arson are probably child’s play for it.”

“I’ve seen it.”

Xun Ruosu spoke up. “Five years ago.”