Chapter 77

The work uniforms in the box came in all sizes. Xun Ruosu selected one that was a bit loose and slipped it on. The clothes were not only vibrantly colored with a sharp, tailored fit but also made from waterproof material, complete with a sunflower-shaped hood.

Xun Ruosu’s skin was already fair and suited bright clothing perfectly. Otherwise, Aunt Fang wouldn’t constantly rummage through the wardrobe she’d stocked for her, pulling out the most childish outfits for Xun Ruosu to wear.

Xue Tong’s gaze lingered on her for a few more moments before she extended a finger and traced along Xun Ruosu’s chin. “Cute.”

“…” Xun Ruosu parted her lips, nearly snapping at that restless finger.

The rain was finally tapering off, the wind dying down as well. Though it stretched on endlessly, it was no longer pelting so hard that she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The thunderclouds still roiled overhead, but it looked like they had another five or six minutes.

Roofs in the south were mostly triangular to aid drainage, but these dormitories had been built years ago without any modern upgrades. They used an outdated drainage setup with a row of flat rooftops. When the heavenly thunder came to strike the people inside, it would have to pass through the roof first. Xue Tong just needed to stand up there and intercept it.

Evidently, there were always ways to take a hit for someone else—it all depended on whether Xue Tong was willing.

“Stay in the corner later,” Xue Tong instructed. Using the rainwater, she traced out an array formation on the rooftop. The rain intensified only within its bounds, forming a pattern visible to the naked eye.

Since the array absorbed water, the downpour thinned elsewhere on the roof. Xun Ruosu pulled up her hood and stayed mostly dry. She’d come up here to watch over Xue Tong, not to get in the way, so she kept clear of the center and settled quietly into a corner.

Xue Tong had endured the seventh heavenly thunder with tremendous difficulty, her wounds far from healed, and now the eighth was bearing down. Even the Tenth Hall Master would feel the pain. Back when their senses had been linked, Xun Ruosu had realized Xue Tong’s suffering was no less than anyone else’s. She was just stubborn as a mule, habitually biting her tongue about it.

Xun Ruosu tucked the cloth pouch—stuffed with rubbing alcohol, gauze, Band-Aids, and anti-inflammatory cold medicine—into her bosom and sat waiting to rush in right after the eighth heavenly thunder passed.

There wasn’t much she could do at the moment, not even share the ordeal with Xue Tong. But being unable to share the hardship came with upsides—at least, if Xue Tong lost consciousness afterward, she could stand guard over her.

“It’s coming,” Xue Tong said in a muffled voice. Her gaze dropped from the heights, pausing on Xun Ruosu for a moment before pulling away.

Thunder boomed from afar, deafening her ears, followed by a brilliant golden bolt of lightning splitting the sky. Xun Ruosu had thought she’d witness the whole thing, but the Xun family’s eyes let her down. Besides their poor night vision, they couldn’t handle intense light either. She caught only a glimpse as the bolt descended before her vision erupted into swirling, dizzying snowflakes.

Xun Ruosu didn’t dare move. She knew being in danger herself would only burden Xue Tong. But the total blindness was miserable all the same. The snowflakes churned for ages until the thunder faded. Still crouched in the corner, Xun Ruosu kept her fingers in the water… where something thick and warm was now trickling through.

Xue Tong had confined the lightning to a limited area, so the non-conductive rainwater couldn’t reach Xun Ruosu. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples fiercely. The snowflakes were a protective mechanism and dissipated quickly. The moment Xun Ruosu’s sight cleared, she beheld a rooftop awash in blood.

Xue Tong seemed pinned firmly in place by some invisible force, not even a finger twitching. With rainwater pooling everywhere, the blood had diluted to a pale pink. Xun Ruosu couldn’t gauge the full extent of her injuries. Her heart, which had been hanging in suspense, finally dropped—right onto a bed of nails. A sharp pain lanced through her. Xun Ruosu drew in two breaths of iron-tanged air and walked calmly to Xue Tong’s side.

“Still alive?” Xun Ruosu asked as she shrugged off the work uniform and draped it over Xue Tong. The other woman’s body was a horrific map of lacerations and cracked skin, but true to form, Xue Tong cared about her image to the bitter end. From the neck up, she was pristine—no scratches whatsoever, just splatters of blood.

Xue Tong lay face-up with her eyes closed, offering no reply. Xun Ruosu’s hands shook as she pulled out a towel. Her face betrayed no abject despair, but her dominant hand lacked strength. The towel trembled and slipped from her grasp, nearly splashing into the water. She had to brace her right wrist with her left to rein in her pointless anxiety.

Xun Ruosu didn’t dare shift her recklessly. It was only after she’d wiped down one arm and cradled it against her chest that Xue Tong, eyes still shut, let out a faint hiss. “Take me back.”

“Okay,” Xun Ruosu murmured softly. Her voice was like cotton soaked in spring rain, laced with the faintest choked sob.

No one in the employee dorms climbed onto the roof for fun, so there was no ladder to be found. They’d ascended using the yellow silk inscribed with scriptures wrapped around Xue Tong; for the descent, Xun Ruosu scattered talisman paper, which soaked up merits from the rooftop’s rainwater.

Xun Ruosu’s heartache over Xue Tong’s injuries was genuine, as was her thrifty nature. The instant Xue Tong stirred—proving she was still alive—Xun Ruosu dunked her string of coins in the bloody water. By the time she’d carried her down from the roof, every item in her cloth pouch brimmed with merits, shining with an inner glow.

Half-carrying Xue Tong, she broke into another dorm room. The Tenth Hall Master in such a ragged state wouldn’t want any third pair of eyes on her. Xun Ruosu understood her temperament well and steered clear of anyone familiar.

Summer beds were topped with stiff bamboo mats. Xue Tong’s condition remained precarious. Xun Ruosu steadied her with one arm while awkwardly smoothing out the blanket with the other, tucking her in snugly. Xue Tong, ever the heartless sort, stretched lazily in the soft bedding and murmured, “It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. I didn’t dare touch any of your wounds,” Xun Ruosu said. After a pause, she asked, “I only have medicine for ordinary people. Do you have a better treatment method?”

Xue Tong’s voice stayed low, her eyelids too heavy to lift as she spoke to Xun Ruosu with eyes closed. “No… Do whatever. I won’t die anyway.”

“Don’t get reckless just because you can’t die,” Xun Ruosu replied helplessly. “Sleep for a while. I’ll tend to your wounds first and wake you in two hours.”

Xue Tong murmured a faint assent.

For as long as she could remember, Xue Tong never dreamed. To her, sleep was merely wasted time between closing and opening one’s eyes. She seldom needed it, and even when she did manage it, there was only empty blackness. But this time—whether from the heavenly thunder or the unceasing throb of her wounds—she actually slipped into a dream.

The dreamscape was a chaotic whirl. One moment, she was a fish sprawled on a cutting board as someone pondered where to make the first incision. The next, Xun Ruosu appeared, clad in a purple garment reminiscent of the silk qipao from their first encounter in the graveyard, pitifully wiping away tears.

If she’d been awake, Xue Tong might have handed her a tissue and tossed in a mocking remark for good measure.

But dreams followed their own whims. Xue Tong watched herself stride forward and say coldly, “What’s there to cry about? From the day you met me, you should have known that I’ve ruled over reincarnation for over a millennium and seen every sort of person there is. The only reason I took notice of you is this face of yours, identical to hers, and your connection to her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have given you a second glance.”

Xue Tong couldn’t steer the dream, but her mind stayed sharp enough to think independently. She knew full well this was a dream and began to wonder if she’d been influenced lately by Yan Qing and Aunt Fang’s endless melodramas—the sort with lines like “You love me but I don’t love you, and by the time I do, you no longer care.”

The dream’s Xun Ruosu was more fragile than she’d ever imagined, all teary-eyed and dainty, even shorter than the real one, the picture of birdlike dependence. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears flowing freely, and she bit her lower lip in stubborn silence, gasping for breath without a single sob.

Xue Tong sighed with perfect clarity. “If the real one were even half as adorable, I wouldn’t bicker with her half as much.”

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the pitiful expression vanished from dream-Xun Ruosu’s face. It hardened into cool detachment. She’d been huddled and weeping moments before, but now she slowly turned away. “Xue Tong, I was perfectly fine in the cycle of reincarnation. Why did you have to come and provoke me…”

The words dripped with heartbreak, and Xue Tong found herself nearly questioning her own actions.

Right as she thought, “Hold on—that wasn’t me; it was Xun Jian pulling strings, not me chasing after you,” Xun Ruosu spoke again. “Since your heart holds no place for me, I’ll withdraw mine. Xue Tong, from here on, you walk your sunny path while I cross my single-log bridge. Once reincarnation wipes away all past ties, don’t show up again. I can’t afford to provoke you—I’m afraid of my own pain.”

With that, she shoved open a door and vanished from sight.

Logically, Xue Tong ought to puzzle over where that door had sprung from—nonexistent seconds ago, conjured purely for the dramatic exit and to propel the soap-opera plot forward. But on an emotional level, those words stung her deeply.

Xue Tong wanted to demand: hadn’t Xun Ruosu been the one to provoke her first? With that meticulous gentleness and blunt concern. If Xun Ruosu had even one trait she truly despised, things never would have come this far.

If anyone had a right to feel aggrieved, it was her!

Xue Tong hadn’t stewed on it long when Xun Ruosu’s voice cut through. “Time to get up. You’ve lost too much blood—you need water. I’d love to let you rest longer, but our time is short. We have to figure out how to save you before the ninth thunder hits.”

As she finished speaking, Xun Ruosu’s palm brushed gently over Xue Tong’s eyelashes. The faint itch made her frown and slowly open her eyes.

The body-wide agony was enough to send anyone into shock, but upon waking, Xue Tong realized she’d been tended to impeccably. The worst wounds had been medicated and wrapped in white gauze.

“Where did you get the medicine?” Xue Tong rasped, her throat dry.

Xun Ruosu handed her a cup of water. “I twisted open the anti-inflammatory capsules—the ones meant for swallowing—and smeared them on… It’s not the right way, but you’d been soaking in water for so long, and out here in the sticks, there are no better options. Emergency measures only.”

It took a long moment before Xue Tong, still holding the cup, blew a few bubbles into it. “Thanks.”