Tricked 030: “Born of Grace, Like a Curse” Ends

The three of them fell silent, staring at Chen Ranyi’s Weibo.

Shen Huanhuan once seriously considered this:

If an internet mobber, by some twist of fate, chose their own child as a target, would they genuinely regret it?

Would they regret the mobbing itself, or only the fact that the victim was their child?

Shen Huanhuan leaned toward the latter.

As for what Chen Ning herself thought, there was no way to know now, nor did she want to know.

Jiang Yan: “The logical chain for Task Two is complete.”

Shen Huanhuan closed her eyes and sighed lightly.

The evidence was enough; Chen Ning’s psychological journey could now be pieced together—

After Chen Ranyi died, Chen Ning, while sorting her daughter’s belongings and logging into her online accounts, discovered another side of her daughter and realized she herself was the one who had driven her to death. But she didn’t blame herself—instead, she cast blame on Zhu Xinyun’s harmonious family, the very friend who had given her advice.

She stubbornly believed that if not for Zhu Xinyun’s suggestions, she wouldn’t have vented online, wouldn’t have joined in the mobbing, that Chen Ranyi wouldn’t have discovered her own mother was her chief troll, wouldn’t have dwelled on every cruel comment, and, in despair, wouldn’t have committed suicide by poison.

So Chen Ning resented Zhu Xinyun; she wanted Zhu Xinyun to suffer as she had, and under certain circumstances, met a psychic and gave Zhu Xinyun a curse through occult means.

Afterwards, Chen Ning’s actions triggered a chain of events, indirectly causing the deaths of Zuo Nianchen and He Shuyu.

Jiang Yan was curious: “If Chen Ning hadn’t killed herself, how would your bureau have punished her?”

Shen Huanhuan: “The bureau has detailed regulations. In attempted murder cases, all fortune is stripped away, and you lose everything; but in Chen Ning’s case… she harmed and killed too many, she’d likely be sent to the Interrogation Room, tortured by evil ghosts for ten years. Since the bureau’s founding, no one has survived those ten years.”

Jiang Yan got it: “But now that she’s entered reincarnation, can your bureau still bring her back?”

Shen Huanhuan answered instinctively: “Chen Ning only died half a year ago. She’s entered the cycle but hasn’t yet reincarnated. The bureau has formidable people who can summon spirits back by their birth date, then lock them down…” Then she paused, realizing, and shook her head, “But now it’s not possible. Chen Ning’s been dispersed by Lin Xinjui—there’s no spirit left to recall.”

Jiang Yan propped her chin and smiled: “Not necessarily.”

“Don’t go back tonight.”

Shen Huanhuan was puzzled: “Why not?”

“Tonight, Lin Xinjui will probably attempt to disperse Chen Ranyi. You’ll need to stop it—after all, didn’t the competition materials recommend helping supernatural entities reincarnate?”

*

Actually, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

From Wang Zhihua’s quote, “Mom, I don’t want to be a dentist. That’s your wish,” Jiang Yan already understood the phenomena in the block building.

Chen Ranyi lived bearing Chen Ning’s will, denying her own desires, never free to chart her own life—her individuality was broken, crushed into Chen Ning’s personality.

In that process, Chen Ranyi tried to break out, to show her vibrant real self, but that was the part Chen Ning most despised—and crushed again.

Chen Ning was a mountain on her daughter’s back. As long as she kept hurting her “for her own good,” Chen Ranyi could never become herself.

That’s why, after death, Chen Ranyi wore Chen Ning’s face.

Three months ago, Lin Xinjui had seen a Chen Ranyi who bore her mother’s visage. When he attacked her, he burned a talisman with Chen Ning’s birth info—it only gravely wounded Chen Ranyi, not destroyed her.

Shen Xiaoxiao once mocked the Supernatural Administration Bureau’s energy detectors, saying they couldn’t track extremely weak spiritual fluctuations—only once a spirit had lingered for months and grown stronger.

So after being injured, Chen Ranyi’s spirit was too weak to be detected, hence everyone assumed Lin Xinjui had destroyed Chen Ning’s ghost.

In the three months since, Chen Ranyi’s spirit absorbed worldly miasma, recovered energy, and appeared on the meters again.

Jiang Yan explained all this to the twins.

The livestream was shocked—not just at her words, but at how quickly she’d deduced it.

【Good grief, Lin Xinjui had such an advantage, and only confirmed the answer half an hour ago??】

【Yes, and Lin Xinjui didn’t even touch Task Two—he was only working on Task One…】

【Jiang Yan’s deductions are so practiced, no way this is a novice’s skill level.】

【No wonder Abbot He called her senior. Having a senior like this is so reassuring QAQ】

Jiang Yan finished.

The logic was seamless—the twins had no arguments.

Shen Xiaoxiao anxiously said, “Then let’s quickly find Chen Ranyi’s spirit before Lin Xinjui does. She’s had it so hard—it would be even worse if dispersed!”

She pursed her lips. “Chen Ranyi’s probably at 709, or the school’s art studio?”

A lingering soul goes to its home most, or places it missed during life.

So Chen Ranyi could be at the building, or have left for the art studio.

“I vote art studio!” Shen Xiaoxiao raised her hand. “I was in 709 with Jiang Yan-jie yesterday afternoon and felt fine, so I doubt any spirits are there.”

To be safe, they checked 709 first.

Cheng Guang watched them wander around. “What are you doing?”

Jiang Yan: “Looking at the flat.”

Shen Xiaoxiao confirmed she felt nothing in the flat and shook her head at the others.

Jiang Yan asked Cheng Guang, “Can your wall-phasing bring people with you?”

Cheng Guang replied: “At my current spiritual power, I can manage four rounds, two of which can bring someone along.”

Jiang Yan: “Then come with us.”

Getting into the school, Shen Huanhuan’s police ID would work, but too much hassle—and they’d probably get tailed; too inconvenient.

So they decided to sneak in.

Cheng Guang eagerly donned his jacket, recognizing this was a lifeline for elimination—this round, either he or Zhao Chong would go. An invitation from Jiang Yan’s group was a boon.

He quickly called a ride.

The car came fast; as they settled in, the driver chatted with them. The driver’s daughter attended Anping No.1 as well—he assumed they were parents delivering snacks to boarding students.

“Just stop by the wall,” Shen Huanhuan said. “We came empty-handed—need to buy snacks first.”

“Sure!”

After getting out, Cheng Guang didn’t hold back, picked a blind spot, put a hand on Jiang Yan’s shoulder, and chanted her through the wall into the school.

One trip for in, one for out—two goes used.

Next, Shen Huanhuan. After bringing her in and out, Cheng Guang was spent and sat by the road with Shen Xiaoxiao, kicking at stones.

“Huh?” Shen Xiaoxiao was surprised that Cheng Guang himself came out. “You could’ve gone with them, why not?”

Cheng Guang rubbed his nose: “Didn’t even know what we’re here for, feels too much like freeloading. Have to keep a little dignity.”

…

Inside, Jiang Yan eyed the copy-paste buildings.

She hadn’t planned to come.

She’d already done plenty this round and had tipped off Shen Huanhuan—regardless of Chen Ranyi’s outcome, her advancement was secure. But Shen Xiaoxiao, impressed by her brutal “dog beating”, had quickly stepped aside after getting out of the car. Before Jiang Yan could refuse, Cheng Guang had put his hand on her shoulder.

Now, refusing would risk losing viewer votes, so Jiang Yan remained silent.

Shen Huanhuan wasn’t aware of any of this and scanned the teaching blocks.

“That one, right?” She pointed at the only building painted in rainbow colours.

“Should be.”

Shen Huanhuan thought Jiang Yan’s tone was a bit languid, but she saw her give a gentle smile. “Let’s go?”

That slack feeling was gone.

Shen Huanhuan figured she’d imagined it and walked along.

The building’s doors were open, walls covered in club emblems and maps. The art club was on the fourth floor, in a corner. They hurried up and found the walls lined with oil paintings.

One, in a black frame, was most eye-catching—paper white flowers for mourning stuck all over the frame.

“That’s Chen Ranyi’s painting.”

They were in a hurry and only glanced at it.

It was a painting of butterflies in the art studio.

A butterfly perched on a scarlet, trembling heart. The crystalline blue wings drooped, and the wings were full of blurred, twisted human faces. They roared through the painting, stirring a fierce wind.

“I love you so much I let you grow in my soul.”

In the lower right, Chen Ranyi had written:

“You can always be here, because you are my favourite.”

Jiang Yan walked forward a few steps and saw classmates’ notes for Chen Ranyi—post-its thick across the surface.

“Rest in peace.”

“Rest in peace.”

“God must have thought you were too gifted and wanted to meet you.”

“You’re the most talented student I’ve seen.”

“In the next life, I want to see you at an exhibition.”

“In a parallel universe, you must be a great artist.”

…

…

Self-deceptive blessings.

Jiang Yan’s lips curled slightly, but Shen Huanhuan seemed genuinely moved, walking faster and finally breaking into a run.

She pulled Jiang Yan down the fourth-floor hallway. “We have to hurry.”

“We have to make their blessings come true.”

Jiang Yan was swept up in the run; the evening breeze from the windows brushed her face.

At the corridor’s end, Shen Huanhuan flung open the door.

What she saw made her eyes tremble.

At that moment, Chen Ranyi was being pinned by Lin Xinjui—her wrists bound and suspended from the studio ceiling.

*

Seeing them, Lin Xinjui’s expression changed at once—he hadn’t expected anyone else would come here tonight.

“How did you know to come here?!”

After just a moment’s thought, his expression darkened with suspicion, sneering: “You cheated?”

He suspected they’d spied on his stream—otherwise, how could they have found this place only ten minutes apart?

Jiang Yan frowned: “Why cheat?”

“There’s nothing hard about this task—why cheat?”

Livestream: 【…………】

【You might not have killed Lin Xinjui with anger, but you got me.】

Lin Xinjui glared, locking his gaze onto Jiang Yan, as if to find guilt in her eyes, but no matter how grim he looked, all he found was calmness.

But how could that be?

He was ranked in the top 100 overall, but even so, working on Task One had taken some luck.

He’d been to the building before—he’d seen self-righteous coworkers try to help polluted ghosts reincarnate, only to be devoured and lose all five senses, becoming oblivious to the world. Lin Xinjui hadn’t cared to save fools, even if it only cost him a flick of the hand.

He knew exactly the mindset with which he’d shattered Chen Ning’s spirit—breaking her into pieces, scattering them, blood everywhere. The chat had been ecstatic, the energy detector soon stabilized, but the thrill lingered.

Because he knew himself so well, he was certain Chen Ning was dispersed. If energy spiked in the building again, it wasn’t her. Investigating over two days, he found everyone else had reincarnated; the only one who lingered had been Chen Ning.

So with supreme confidence, he deduced he’d gotten the birth info wrong—among the dead connected to Chen Ning was only her daughter. That’s how he found Chen Ranyi.

But all that had taken him two days—how could anyone else do it in the same time?!

He spat harshly: “You trying to fool me? How’d you see my stream?!”

Jiang Yan suddenly laughed: “Oh my.”

“You really didn’t think this was a hard task, did you?”

Though her tone was mild, the content was stinging.

Shen Huanhuan turned toward the window.

She’d already checked—apart from some bruising on Chen Ranyi’s wrists, she was intact. Lin Xinjui must have just caught her and hadn’t had time to hurt her.

While Lin Xinjui was focused on Jiang Yan, she quietly recited a spell, her fingertips flickering with gold, and wrapped a band of pale gold around Chen Ranyi.

Chen Ranyi’s eyelids fluttered open; she looked quietly at Shen Huanhuan, expression calm as if none of this involved her. Soon, she closed her eyes again.

Jiang Yan observed her: “Is this what a miasma-polluted spirit looks like? She doesn’t seem aggressive.”

Shen Huanhuan replied: “Her coming to the studio shows she’s not that far gone—at least she remembers her passion.”

“And it’s odd,” Shen Huanhuan said. “She’s using her own face, not Chen Ning’s.”

Their indifference infuriated Lin Xinjui. He whipped out a talisman. As his strange incantations rose, flames licked up around Chen Ranyi; he chanted ever faster, eyes vicious and merciless.

Chen Ranyi clenched her mouth, struggling not to scream, but the pain of spiritual burning grew unbearable. She bit her lips and writhed.

“Lin Xinjui!” Shen Huanhuan shouted and coiled the rope around Lin Xinjui’s fingers.

The birthdate talisman fell; Shen Huanhuan swooped to grab and tear it.

Lin Xinjui stared murderously. He’d been registered with the bureau for seven years—unlike Shen Huanhuan, who’d trained only two or three.

She dared challenge him?

Within a few breaths, he shrugged off the binding.

Shen Huanhuan had expected it and quickly recited another spell, restraining his hands, then tightly binding both arms.

Half a minute—bound again.

And again.

And again.

Lin Xinjui grew more livid, finally kicking over an easel.

BANG!

The wooden board smashed against the wall, breaking in two.

“Don’t destroy public property,” Shen Huanhuan said, and silently tied his legs too.

Lin Xinjui’s fists clenched, knuckles popping with rage.

Jiang Yan, half amused: “You two going to do this all night?”

Shen Huanhuan answered softly, “The bureau forbids using supernatural means to attack colleagues.”

Jiang Yan: “So what are you doing?”

Shen Huanhuan: “Mm… helping him calm down, I guess…?”

She pressed her lips, cheeks coloring, and stopped talking.

Seeing them locked in a stalemate, Jiang Yan grew irritated: “Then stop with the supernatural. Just fight hand-to-hand, loser leaves.”

Lin Xinjui’s eyes narrowed; his struggle ceased.

“I’m down.”

Shen Huanhuan glanced nervously at Jiang Yan, who sighed. “Forget it, I’ll do it.”

Now it was like two cops, unarmed, agreeing to an informal contest.

Jiang Yan’s tone was exceedingly casual. Shen Huanhuan thought it over, removed the ropes from Lin Xinjui, and gave Jiang Yan space.

Lin Xinjui was clearly goaded; he strode up, swung his right hand in a sharp strike at Jiang Yan’s neck.

His chopping hand sliced the air—but Jiang Yan sidestepped, caught his wrist, and—lightning-quick—shoved him backwards several meters.

Lin Xinjui staggered back in shock.

His face was aghast with anger: “You—”

In that split second, Jiang Yan’s elbow landed lightly on his chest; a wave of nausea surged up his throat—he didn’t even know how he was being beaten so deftly. He glared, snatched up a chair with his right hand, and swung it at Jiang Yan.

Too fast for anyone to see, Jiang Yan slipped aside, propped a hand on the desk, and kicked Lin Xinjui in the face—BANG!!—The chair crashed down, shaking the floor.

She was wearing high heels; if he could use a chair, she didn’t hold back either. Blood gushed from his nose.

He stood stunned, staring at Jiang Yan.

“Still want to fight?” Jiang Yan asked, expressionless.

Lin Xinjui’s eyes slowly moved; after a long moment, the buzzing in his head faded. He wiped the blood, swallowed the metallic taste, and cursed, “Fuck your mother! I’ll kill you!”

“Okay,” Jiang Yan’s lips curled, “so you want to keep fighting.”

Shen Huanhuan was stunned. Last round, she hadn’t seen Jiang Yan drive a knife through Wang Baomin’s heart—this was her first time witnessing Jiang Yan use violence.

Jiang Yan stooped to grab the chair he’d failed to swing at her, and, with no technique, simply swung it down at him.

There was a table behind Lin Xinjui—nowhere to dodge, so he shielded his face with his elbow.

Shadow fell over him; Lin Xinjui squeezed his eyes shut and groped for a pen on the table.

But the expected pain didn’t come; the chair stopped five centimeters from his face.

“Still want to fight?”

Jiang Yan’s calm voice carried over. Lin Xinjui opened his eyes, sweat clouding his vision.

“……..”

At last, he released his grip; a sharp-tipped pencil fell to the floor, shattering its point.

“I don’t hit women.”

Jiang Yan’s smile was ambiguous, about to speak when a rough female voice cut in.

“Even I can see you can’t beat her.”

Jiang Yan raised her eyebrows, looking at the suspended Chen Ranyi.

Her wrists in bonds, Chen Ranyi lowered her head to Lin Xinjui: “Only after losing do you claim you don’t hit women. Pathetic.”

Blood rushed to Lin Xinjui’s head; he thrust his hand in his pocket, about to write Chen Ranyi’s birth info on yellow paper.

Shen Huanhuan quickly bound his hands. “Getting offended by a few words and breaking your promise—that’s really pathetic.”

Lin Xinjui glared at her, as if cursing her ancestors—but after a moment, he withdrew his hand empty.

Breaking the game rules live would not benefit him at all.

Before leaving, he glanced back at them.

Jiang Yan: “What?”

Lin Xinjui’s face was bitterly mocking: “You people are so hypocritical.”

“Who caused Song Zheng’s backlash? Wasn’t it her? And you want to let her reincarnate,” Lin Xinjui shot to the heart. “Losing your five senses is as good as death—she’s taken a life. If she lived, it’d be a death sentence, but die, and she’s free from sentencing?”

Shen Huanhuan held firm: “You’re the last person here qualified to blame everything on Chen Ranyi.”

“I watched that livestream. Back then, you could have saved Song Zheng with a hand, but all you did was stand by and chew gum.”

“She will pay for what she did, but you are not her judge.”

The door slammed.

Lin Xinjui used actions for an answer—he slammed the door and strode off.

The ropes on Chen Ranyi’s wrist faded.

Shen Huanhuan loosened the spell, gently lowered her to the floor, but did not remove the ropes wrapped around her.

It was true Chen Ranyi had harmed Song Zheng—Shen Huanhuan planned to take her back to the bureau.

But Chen Ranyi suddenly spoke up.

“Was the man in white last time named Song Zheng?”

Shen Huanhuan was surprised, then nodded: “You remember him?”

“I remember,” Chen Ranyi recounted her last half year. “When I drank the poison and killed myself, seven days later, I was back home. I thought that was just how death worked for everyone—after watching my mom kill herself in the fire, I was scared for days, worried her soul would return and treat me like in life. But she didn’t. After the seventh day, she vanished.”

“Then I guessed I couldn’t reincarnate for some reason. So I waited in my room. As time went on, more and more painful emotions filled me—anger, fuzziness. That’s when two boys showed up—one in white, one in purple. The one in purple is the fierce one from just now.”

“Though my mind was often a mess, I could still talk,” Chen Ranyi said.

“Then why’d you hurt Song Zheng?” Shen Huanhuan was puzzled.

If she’d been clear-headed, why attack Song Zheng?

“Because Song Zheng-ge wanted me to,” Chen Ranyi said.

“When the man in purple first saw me, he tried to burn me, and didn’t let me speak. The one in white—Song Zheng—stopped him, pulled me out of the fire, and asked what my wish was,” Chen Ranyi recalled. “I was in so much pain, couldn’t remember my wish, but still knew who I was, so I whispered to him my name—I was starting to forget my own face.”

“He told me not to tell the man in purple. He said the purple one had the wrong person, so even burned, I wouldn’t die—but it would really hurt.”

“Song Zheng-ge wasn’t as strong as the other one. Right after he spoke to me, he was shoved aside.”

“Afterward, I kept burning for a long time. Song Zheng-ge found me again. He said even though I couldn’t recall my wish, he’d thought of a way.”

“He wanted to make a deal, to lend me his five senses. In return, I had to endure the purple man’s torture, and afterward, hide myself somewhere safe.”

“He said my face was too ugly now—if I didn’t throw it away, I’d never recover it. So I should throw it away, use his five senses to feel the world, go to every place I’d ever loved and slowly search for my own face and my wish.”

“We pinky-swore—I promised to try my best to remember my wish, and after I did, return his senses.”

“Later, I was beaten severely. It took two months to recover my strength; then the negative emotions started flooding in again,” Chen Ranyi clasped her hands over her chest. “But Song Zheng-ge’s five senses glowed within me—every time, I’d regain my clarity. I floated and floated with them, finally to the art studio, where I found my self-portrait,” she pointed at her face, “and then I remembered.”

“Want to see my self-portrait?”

Shen Huanhuan released her restraints, and Chen Ranyi’s semi-transparent form moved to the back of the studio.

She lifted a canvas.

Behind it was a small space, a bunch of white flowers, and a lonely easel.

After Chen Ranyi’s death, Anping No.1 set aside this space to commemorate the girl who had entered with a city-topping score but died unjustly.

Maybe because of her good reputation, no one was afraid; in fact, the space was cared for daily, always with fresh flowers.

Jiang Yan leaned against the canvas, looking at the easel in the center.

Truthfully, Chen Ranyi’s self-portrait was not beautiful.

The picture was a bit dirty, the colors uneven, even brush lines repeatedly covered and revised—not as refined as her butterfly work.

But in the painting, she was smiling in freedom. Jiang Yan thought, she showed perfectly matched canine teeth and laughed so joyfully, her pink gums showed.

Healthy skin, clear eyes, smooth black hair—all faded behind that smile.

Chen Ranyi said, “This was my happiest day.”

Jiang Yan: “The day you placed first in the city?”

Chen Ranyi grinned, showing her canines: “Wrong! It was the day my art teacher praised me—she called me a little oil painting prodigy.”

Shen Huanhuan was moved, opening her mouth to say softly, “Your teacher was right.”

Livestream viewers were moved, too. Lin Xinjui had many followers, most of them fellow psychics harmed by out-of-control ghosts, but none called for a fight today.

Chen Ranyi seemed to have nothing more to say.

She brought out a warm white ball of light and handed it to Shen Huanhuan.

“This is Song Zheng-ge’s five senses. Please return them to him—and tell him, I’ll repay him in my next life.”

Then, she stretched her arms toward Shen Huanhuan, as if preparing for handcuffs, “Take me away.”

Now Shen Huanhuan faltered.

If Song Zheng had given his senses voluntarily, then Chen Ranyi had committed no crime—alive or dead—and should not be taken to the bureau, nor punished.

But she didn’t hesitate long; her phone pinged—someone messaged her.

——“Help her reincarnate. That’s Song Zheng’s wish.”

Shen Huanhuan exhaled.

She showed the message to Chen Ranyi, who stared a long time, “But I borrowed them so long; his days must have been hard.”

“But he doesn’t want you to suffer.”

Chen Ranyi fell silent, eyes rapidly reddening.

Shen Huanhuan said, “Tell us your dying wish—let’s see if we can help fulfill it.”

Chen Ranyi whispered, “If I say my wish, can I reincarnate?”

Shen Huanhuan shook her head, explaining, “You reincarnate once your wish is fulfilled.”

Chen Ranyi: “But if I say it, it’ll be fulfilled.”

“Should I really say it?” she asked Shen Huanhuan. “If I say it now, but later you regret it, it’ll be too late.”

Jiang Yan was curious now: “Try us.”

Chen Ranyi looked at the ceiling, then at the white funeral flower—she thought over her words, and at last spoke slowly, “It really hurt when I died.”

“It hurt so much—my insides spasming with pain.”

She recounted the day she died with studied blandness: “That night I saw the pesticide on the table and thought of my mother’s hurtful words. She always hurt me in the worst possible ways. Even from afar, she’d find me online and wound me again. Suddenly, I thought I might as well die.”

“But as soon as I drank the poison, I regretted it. It was too painful, far too painful. By then, it was too late—no one could save me. I had to die,” tears suddenly welled and flowed, which she wiped away hurriedly, “So, at that moment, I wanted to tell everyone one thing. I want everyone to know how much it hurts to swallow poison. Don’t be stupid like me—suicide over that isn’t worth it. I swear, nothing I’ve suffered in life compares to the pain in that moment.”

“So if you feel down, try to think of yesterday—try to find some memory worth remembering for tomorrow. Maybe you’ll want to live.”

Shen Huanhuan waited, but when Chen Ranyi didn’t continue, she asked, “…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Shen Huanhuan pressed her lips tight.

Chen Ranyi’s dying wish wasn’t to escape her mother’s control, not to have her own life, not to become a painter, nor to see one of her works in an exhibition.

That’s… all?

Shen Huanhuan watched as Chen Ranyi’s outline grew faint, her throat locked with bitterness she swallowed but could not release.

Only when she saw Chen Ranyi vanish from the world did she regain her voice.

Only then did she dare be sure—

Chen Ranyi’s final wish really was only this.