The extra little girl in the room was clearly beyond Xue Tong’s expectations. Their first meeting left Xue Tong momentarily stunned.
By the time Xun Ruosu was this age, Xue Tong had already been secretly watching over her from the shadows—a woman whose affections ran profoundly deep. Unable to have what she desired, she had painted an idealized portrait of Xun Ruosu in her heart. One could say this: even if the seven- or eight-year-old Xun Ruosu looked in the mirror eight hundred times a day, it wouldn’t match the depth of Xue Tong’s impression of her.
With just one glance, Xue Tong not only recognized the identity of this tender young girl but could even pinpoint her similarities and differences with Xun Ruosu.
The flood of information hit her like a tidal wave.
Xue Tong had thought that learning today about her heart splitting in two back then—with Xun Ruosu as only one half—would already require some time to process. Yet here was the other half, thrust right in front of her.
Only with both of them standing there together could Xue Tong finally tear away the beautifying filter she had long placed over her memories of the Old Teacher.
Those who loved too deeply saw all things in the world as equals, and Xue Tong was merely one drop in the ocean. The Old Teacher’s gaze had never been as focused on her alone as Xun Ruosu’s was now. Instead, it was like that of the little girl before her— no matter what she did, those who received her grace always felt themselves blending into the crowd, lost in insignificance, even ashamed in her presence.
Before, Xue Tong hadn’t been able to distinguish between these two people or the two vastly different emotions they evoked. But now, laid out side by side, she could see them crystal clear.
For Xun Ruosu, it was an equal love—or perhaps calling it love was premature; it was an all-consuming fondness. A fondness for bantering with her, for the steady rhythm of her breathing in sleep, for how she always meticulously removed the white pith from oranges and peeled the skin from apples.
For the teacher, it was the naive dependence and admiration of youth, a willful desire to stand out amid the masses, a mad obsession that clung to destroying her cultivation.
The latter wasn’t love at all—not equal, just pure possessiveness, like a petulant child demanding candy.
Just as Xue Tong reached out to touch the little girl, Xun Ruosu and she suddenly merged. The four walls of the dorm rocketed backward, the bed, lamp, and wardrobe dissolving into smoke. The light around them turned a deep crimson, the cramped space expanding into a vast, flat expanse, free of raging storms.
This was Contemplation Cliff, a chasm hundreds of meters deep carved into the earth. The person before her wore Xun Ruosu’s face but held the little girl’s heart—seeming cold yet brimming with emotion.
“Old Teacher…” Xue Tong murmured softly.
“Since I’ve appeared in this form, it means I’m already in the cycle of reincarnation, on the verge of completing my merits,” the “Xun Ruosu” said with a smile as she gazed at Xue Tong. “It’s been a long time.”
The same smile, but Xun Ruosu’s own was always gentle and subtle, while this one carried a sense of distance.
Tracing it back to the source, Xue Tong’s own habit of smiling had been picked up from the Old Teacher. Over the years, it had become ingrained—even before meeting Xun Ruosu, her face would unconsciously curve into a smile when angry or lost in thought.
Only after meeting Xun Ruosu did she occasionally let her lips pull into a scowl, her face twisting in irritation after being rebuffed.
The wails of ghosts always echoed from Contemplation Cliff, but not all souls passed through Xue Tong’s exorcism. A few often lingered below, though never for long. The Hall Masters stationed in the Underworld kept up with the times, armed with certificates in neurology and psychology. They took turns lecturing, and even a fly that couldn’t understand human speech could be reformed.
Xue Tong felt nothing she said right now would fit. She pondered for a moment, then called out again, “Old Teacher.”
“You’re far more mature than in my memories,” “Xun Ruosu” remarked. “No longer that unreasonable little girl from back then. You flipped out at everyone around you just to become Tenth Hall Lord, even wrote a silly poem and stuck it on the back of the roadside pavilion to mock him. And you shaved every hair off Di Ting’s body—it’s awfully vain, you know, and started avoiding you ever since.”
She fed and pampered the Wuchang pair well, but all it earned her was a hole dug in a good mood or them running off in a bad one. In the end, Xue Tong was just paying off her debts.
“And me,” “Xun Ruosu” sighed. “You drew hundreds of turtles and plastered my place so thoroughly there wasn’t even room to step.”
Time brought change, and with it came nostalgia for those wild youthful days.
Xue Tong’s rebellious phase had been a long one—from a lisping toddler to a full-fledged girl, the entire Underworld had lived under her “torment.” But aside from falling for the Old Teacher, the rest were harmless pranks.
Her love had once been unrequited, yet Xue Tong’s obsessive, extreme nature hadn’t turned her into a great demon lord.
“Xun Ruosu” stepped closer, her fingertip gently brushing under Xue Tong’s eye. Crimson lines spread rapidly, encasing Xue Tong entirely. “Why put yourself through this?”
For centuries, her desires unfulfilled, karmic obstacles had piled up in Xue Tong’s heart. To keep from losing her reason and becoming a scourge worse than any fierce ghost, she had built this cage for herself.
She smiled faintly. “I was afraid you’d be hurt.”
“One flower wilts, one blade of grass dies, and even my Old Teacher would grieve. If I stirred up a storm of blood and carnage, how heartbroken would you be?”
“I don’t care about the Heavenly Dao or its rules, but those who love me and those I love—they shouldn’t suffer for my mistakes. Even after your reincarnation, I’d still have to look after the brother and sister who raised me… I was willful, but not impulsive. Just like you always said, Teacher—I’m someone who can never have true freedom.”
“Xun Ruosu” fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Do you still hate me?”
“The first shackle was one you placed on me. I never wanted the position of Tenth Hall Lord. Back then, all I wanted was to stay by your side and love you properly, yet you put me there.” Xue Tong pointed to the massive bone bridge spanning Contemplation Cliff and said softly, “I saw it in your eyes—the equality of all beings. Your guidance didn’t make me special; you just didn’t want the Tenth Hall to remain vacant.”
“The flower yearns, but the flowing water is heartless—and then to have my freedom stripped away too. So yes, I hated you.”
A flicker of sorrow crossed “Xun Ruosu’s” face.
This person before her was both the Bodhisattva with her universal compassion and the ordinary Xun Ruosu. Xue Tong couldn’t tell which merciful heart had stirred that expression.
Then Xue Tong shifted tone. “But the heaviest shackle was the one I locked on myself. So when I think about it… the hate isn’t so bad. At least my love for you outweighs it by far.”
Though “Xun Ruosu’s” face had regained its smile, her gaze remained heavy with restraint. She watched Xue Tong quietly, saying nothing. In this illusory space, time seemed frozen—just the two of them, as if until the end of time.
Finally, Xue Tong broke the silence. “Old Teacher, you’re already in reincarnation, and you suddenly brought me here. There must be a reason, right?”
“Xun Ruosu” lowered her eyelids halfway and gave a wry smile. “I’m here to say goodbye.”
Xue Tong seemed to have anticipated this. She let out a sigh but showed no great surprise. “Xun Ruosu” felt a quiet relief and gently patted the top of Xue Tong’s head. “You’ve truly grown up.”
“Old Teacher, from the moment I fell for you, I knew this wouldn’t end well. But thank you… thank you for trying your utmost to find a compromise for me.” Leaning into the touch on her head, Xue Tong crashed into her embrace. The scene around them dissolved in an instant, returning them to the dorm.
Her vision narrowed, white walls just a few meters away. As Xue Tong bid eternal farewell to her teacher, Xun Ruosu regained all her memories. Awakening as from a great dream, she opened her eyes to find Xue Tong in her arms.
The woman in her embrace seemed to be crying, but Xue Tong was proud—too many people around, and that sly troublemaker too—so the Tenth Hall Lord buried her face in Xun Ruosu’s shoulder, soaking a large patch with tears. Xun Ruosu knew pointing it out now would only provoke her ire, so she asked softly, “Shall we step out for a bit?”
“No need,” Xue Tong sniffled, rubbing all her tears dry on Xun Ruosu’s shoulder before mumbling, “Can’t let that sly old fox who schemed against us out of my sight.”
Xun Ruosu’s heart ached too. After all, she wasn’t the lofty moonlight in Xue Tong’s heart—just a shadow. But that shadow came from a meteor, a fragment fallen from the moon itself, born solely for Xue Tong.
These Three Souls and Seven Po had come to settle an emotional debt.
Still, Xun Ruosu reined in her feelings. No matter how sad she was now, it paled beside even a tenth of Xue Tong’s pain. Xue Tong wasn’t just parting with an old friend; she was drawing a line under her own wild youthful self. In her long life, there came a phase of transformation, and Xue Tong had achieved hers through loss.
A while later, Xue Tong straightened up. She turned first to the little girl beside them. “How much time do you have left?”
She meant how long until she reintegrated. Qin Yu’s feelings toward Xue Tong differed from Xun Ruosu’s and from the old her. In her eyes, Xue Tong caught that pretentious enlightenment vibe again—”all beings are equal, and you’re one of them.”
For some inexplicable reason, Xue Tong found it amusing.
Qin Yu thought for a moment. “Sometime in the next few days—I don’t know exactly, but no more than half a month. All sorts of demons and ghosts will come trying to stop it, so I might have to rely on your protection.”
Qin Yu had been born to shoulder great responsibility, unlike Xun Ruosu’s muddled wanderings through reincarnation. As the little girl in reincarnation, she was pure and clear-minded, aware of her identity in every life with the relevant memories. But Xun Ruosu had needed to dissolve her original self’s karmic obstacles, and only now had her memories fully returned.
With her baby-round face still chubby with infant fat, her childish voice calling Xue Tong’s name was enough to stir mischief in the two black-hearted women.
Xue Tong patted the little girl’s head. “You can stick with me if you want—I can’t refuse the Old Teacher’s request. But around outsiders, Old Teacher, don’t call me by my full name; it sounds rude. Call me ‘big sister.'”
“You look so much like me between the brows—calling me ‘Mom’ wouldn’t be a loss for you, would it?” Xun Ruosu said magnanimously.
“…” Qin Yu felt an instant wave of oppression.
The ever-forthright Xun Ruosu added, “We’re blood-related anyway, and I’m twenty-odd years older. Treating me like an elder shouldn’t be taking advantage.”
