Finally, Zhong Li stepped into the circle of bricks and stones as well. Huang Xiaoran, unusually fearful of her, didn’t shake quite as violently in front of Xue Tong as she might have otherwise—but the moment Zhong Li drew near, the little girl began to whimper, even letting out a few low, piercing screams.
Zhong Li was utterly baffled by her reaction.
“She’s not here to hurt you,” Xun Ruosu said soothingly. “Besides, with us here, no one from the Zhong Family can touch you.”
Huang Xiaoran grabbed Xun Ruosu’s sleeve in a tight grip. The knit sweater had large needle holes, and her tug stretched it out long. Xue Tong flicked two fingers against the back of the little girl’s hand, forcing her to let go. Xiao Ran squeezed her eyes shut and resigned herself to fate.
Inside the circle, she had to “get along lovingly” with the Zhong Family bloodline, but if she stepped out, she’d face heavenly thunder. Huang Xiaoran wasn’t stupid—enduring her fear was better than courting death.
Rumbles echoed faintly from the sky. It was a clear day, with thin clouds. The fire had been extinguished, but dust still rose in plumes, turning the mist a hazy gray. Summer weather was fickle, though—one minute rain, the next sunshine. No one stirred at the thunder; some even hoped for a downpour to douse the fire’s ashes completely.
Following instructions, Zhong Li took hold of the fierce ghost’s hand. The brick circle was just a meter in diameter, so the two had to squat side by side. Each treated the other like a ferocious beast, not daring so much as a glance. They clasped hands, but kept their bodies at the maximum safe distance. Had the circle been a bit larger, they could have minimized contact to the barest brush of fingertips.
The heavenly thunder seemed to dawdle, searching for the perfect angle to strike. This bought Xun Ruosu and Xue Tong a quarter-hour’s reprieve. Neither spoke; one went about her tasks while the other kept a sharp watch.
Xun Ruosu stowed the remaining Band-Aids in her cloth pouch and took out several yellow talismans. Leaning on the room’s last rickety eight-immortal table, she began inscribing them. Then she tied five copper coins together with red thread in a plum blossom shape.
“Here, take this.” Xun Ruosu handed one “plum blossom” to Xue Tong. “It wards off disasters and resolves troubles. If your phone breaks, you can still use it to communicate.”
Xue Tong pinched it between two fingers and examined the little trinket. She was about to toss it back when Xun Ruosu added, “Consider it me not trusting you to stay out of trouble.”
“…”
Xue Tong tucked the coin string neatly into her pocket.
“What made you suddenly go soft?” Xue Tong narrowed her eyes, searching Xun Ruosu’s open face for any hint of scheming.
“Go soft?” Xun Ruosu shot back. “I’ve always been good to you. Are you just slow on the uptake?”
Anyone else might have noticed by now. Xun Ruosu never yielded in words, but from their first meeting, she’d peeled an orange and meticulously removed the white pith. At Soaring Firmament Temple, worried about damage to Xue Tong’s body, she’d drawn talismans to exorcise ghosts. Even freezing half to death, she’d never complained or quit. She knew Xue Tong didn’t mind spending merits, yet she haggled over every drop of blood…
Even now, after Xue Tong’s finger got cut earlier, she’d prepared alcohol and Band-Aids in advance to prevent a repeat.
But this was Xun Ruosu. To Xue Tong, it all felt like she was just a central air conditioner, diligently warming the masses with impartial compassion.
Xun Ruosu strung together two more “five-petal plum blossom copper coins” and handed one each to Zhong Li and Huang Xiaoran. Xue Tong thought, See? She’s just saving all sentient beings! The protective talisman in her pocket suddenly lost its appeal.
The heavenly thunder finally settled on its path. Two bolts struck straight down on the roof first. Zhong Li jolted, clutching her head with one hand and trying to shrink into an ostrich. She smelled scorched air in her nostrils. The roof, overgrown with moss for years, now resembled a green-shelled turtle with flames sprouting from its dome. Zhong Li suspected the third bolt was headed straight for her.
Xun Ruosu chose that exact moment to speak. In the lull between thunderclaps, the room had fallen deathly silent—her voice startled Zhong Li anew. The young woman muttered under her breath, “Fuck.”
“I’ll go out and see how much longer it can hold.” Xun Ruosu headed for the door.
Heavenly thunder wouldn’t strike endlessly, or it’d kill people before the ghost. As Xue Tong had explained, heavenly thunder came in various forms for tribulations or executions. For fierce ghosts, there were eighteen bolts: nine by day, nine by night, peaking at noon and midnight.
Survive that span, and Huang Xiaoran wouldn’t be taken by heaven. But she’d still need exorcism—that was why they’d kept Zhong Li.
If the Zhong Family was truly to blame, the sins would trace back through the bloodline to the culprits. Only then could Huang Xiaoran truly be freed.
“I’ll go with you.” Xue Tong hurried after her.
The heavenly thunder kept coming. After two misses, it would surely recalibrate its power for the next round. The Heavenly Dao was a formidable boss, clever enough to spar wits with Xue Tong. Having thwarted its first attempt, who knew if it might lash out at Xun Ruosu in spiteful fury.
This life’s Xun Ruosu was sharp-tongued, short-lived, frail, and insincere from top to bottom—always grating on Xue Tong’s nerves. But if she died and started over, Xue Tong wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to approach her again, let alone stand by her side so boldly day after day.
To lose something regained would only double the pain.
The barrier protecting the fierce ghost encircled the little tiled house, leaving about two meters of space to move. Xun Ruosu stood at the doorway, gazing upward. Her face grew grim—the heavenly thunder’s power far exceeded expectations.
Even with the barrier, a palm-sized scorch mark blackened the struck spot on the roof. It was built of cement, bricks, and wood, topped with tiles—now shattered. A few more bolts of similar force, and the roof would cave in, leaving Huang Xiaoran wide open for a direct hit.
“I thought your setup could withstand at least nine bolts,” Xun Ruosu remarked with a sigh. “It’s looking like it’ll give way soon.”
Xue Tong glared at her feigned nonchalance, irritation flaring. Yet her tone stayed breezy. “That’s heavenly thunder. If you’re so capable, step out and tank it yourself.”
“Someone as kind-hearted as me can’t be a lightning rod—or draw it,” Xun Ruosu replied. “When the next bolt comes, I plan to toss something up to block it. Otherwise, we won’t make nine.”
Xue Tong stared at her for a long moment, then reached out to feel Xun Ruosu’s forehead. “Did that last fever fry your brain? It’s heavenly thunder—guided by karma and retribution. If your coins and talismans could stop it, every fierce ghost under heaven could hijack a fortune-teller for immortality.”
“…I know.” Xun Ruosu really took two copper coins in hand.
From the look of it, Xue Tong’s words hadn’t deterred her—they’d only fired her up.
She wasn’t the “compassionate Bodhisattva” Xue Tong imagined. Truth be told, Xun Ruosu was a bit reckless, with a habit of courting danger. She wasn’t particularly afraid of death. Deep down, she admitted she was a little mad.
Xue Tong laughed in exasperation. “Like hell you do. That coin’s yours once you throw it. One strike from heavenly thunder, and it’ll trace it back to you—eight generations up and down. Any misdeed or filthy act in them all, and it’ll smite you.”
“So, Xue Tong—have I ever done anything underhanded or vile?” Xun Ruosu met her gaze calmly, a faint smile in her eyes. “Heavenly thunder might fell anyone else, but it can’t touch me.”
Xue Tong deflected that look and asked just one question. “I know your memories are back. So, Xun Ruosu—do you remember how you entered reincarnation?”
Wait—did entering reincarnation have two versions?
Xun Ruosu frowned. In her recollection, her reincarnation had been gentle: a verbal farewell to Jiang Changting by a heavenly river, then straight into the process. But Xue Tong’s words suggested she’d been struck by thunder?
They stared each other down for a good while. Xue Tong saw no fakery in her blank expression and hesitated before asking, “What’s with that face?”
“Just a fleeting curiosity. Nothing more.” Xun Ruosu tilted her head toward the gathering thunder net. “Let me try. Who knows what we might discover? I have a feeling.”
Xue Tong wanted to say she’d probably end up collecting her corpse before any discovery, but her eyes darkened. She fell silent again, staring at Xun Ruosu—not in challenge now, but probing for cracks. How much had she remembered? How many secrets could she not speak aloud?
A heart pure and guiltless, loving all under heaven—even thunder meant to smite fierce ghosts would turn to gentle golden rain upon a saint’s shoulders. Yet the one in Xue Tong’s memories had taken thunder willingly, letting it pierce from crown to toe, entering reincarnation thereafter.
Having tasted heavenly thunder’s torment, where did Xun Ruosu’s confidence come from that it wouldn’t kill her?
Suddenly, the heavenly thunder reached full charge and unleashed its third bolt—right at the shattered tile spot, precise as before. Xun Ruosu was quick; she always claimed poor eyesight, but the instant the lightning gathered, her copper coin flew out, perfectly positioned below.
The coin was no treasure—just cheap junk that couldn’t withstand static. Yet the thunder cleaved it like butter into two jagged halves. One “bang”ed into the roof in a shower of sparks; the other skewed the coin straight toward Xun Ruosu’s throat.
Xue Tong snatched the coin into her palm. The heavenly thunder thrashed unwillingly, slashing dozens of fine cuts along her palm lines. Xun Ruosu, too, was pursued to her source—her ears rang with the clang of metal on metal.
In that instant, it felt as if her soul detached. Memories surged anew. Xun Ruosu found herself atop a grayish-green boulder, some two or three meters high. Written on it—whether in paint or blood—from top to bottom, it bore the words “Reflection Stone.”
The stone wasn’t wide; standing on it felt like teetering on an abyss’s edge—a momentary lapse would send one tumbling. Yet she seemed familiar with it. Eyes closed, Xun Ruosu knew a cliff lay ahead—not some verdant mortal peak, but the crimson chasm where Xue Tong had once screamed, “I hate you.”
