“Yes, she harbored hatred…”
Shen Huanhuan’s expression was especially complicated. “How could she not?”
Shen Xiaoxiao clenched her fists. “I heard from Sister Jiang Yan that Xi Jueyun ultimately took her own life with a sword, so I tried to locate Lingren Village, searching all social media photos posted there last year. I was just taking a chance, but I ended up finding this picture.”
“Could anyone do something like this? How could they treat Xi Jueyun this way?!”
She shouted angrily, “She was clearly a hero!”
“She never asked to be remembered by anyone. She was selfless enough—so what if there was no praise? But how could people slander her like this?!”
“If I were Xi Jueyun, I’d be grinding my teeth to dust,” Shen Xiaoxiao fumed, stomping her foot. “Who wants a tragic love story with an invader? There’s nothing romantic about this story, only undying blood and hatred for the nation!”
Among everyone, Yu Renwan was the one with the deepest bond to Xi Jueyun, and naturally, her feelings ran deeper.
She stared at the photo in disbelief, unable to trust her own eyes.
After a long while, she murmured:
“She stayed in this world for the sake of her innocence.”
“She could have reincarnated. She only returned as a spirit—she could have gone back to the cycle of rebirth.”
At this point, Yu Renwan’s expression suddenly turned sorrowful:
“But now she’s become a lingering spirit. Once the energy field dissipates, she’ll be annihilated no matter what… She…”
“Cangnan Funeral Home did kill many people—many of our colleagues—but I… This wasn’t Xi Jueyun’s fault. Her wanting to stay in the world wasn’t her fault, she just…”
Yu Renwan took a deep breath and said softly, “…she was just polluted.”
Everyone fell silent.
Cangnan Funeral Home was the most unique energy field.
Once you chose to enter, it was a dead end—unless you broke out by force, there was no escape.
It laid the only way out in plain sight, luring all the ordinary people with hope, all the psychics who tried to resolve it, to die within.
There had never been an energy field set up like this.
Its uniqueness led the Supernatural Administration Bureau to misjudge it, thinking only that it was too difficult, that those who entered weren’t smart or strong enough, so they needed to send in even smarter, stronger people.
But that wasn’t the case.
This energy field wasn’t difficult at all. Countless people had already left it alive—they just chose the right option and lost all related memories.
Yet it was also impossibly difficult.
It was the hardest energy field any psychic had ever seen—the graveyard of all psychics.
Jiang Yan had once wondered why Cangnan Funeral Home operated this way, why it was set up as a death trap. Now she finally understood—Xi Jueyun’s greatest lingering desire was “hatred.”
Love and hate are both natural human emotions.
Xi Jueyun wasn’t a deity. She was selfless and loved her compatriots, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be hurt. She loved her family, friends, and descendants; because of that love, their words could wound her the most.
And she was wounded.
Not only was she forgotten by this land, but she was also made the protagonist of a romantic love story.
In the mouths of later generations, she and the invader shared a heart-wrenching romance, willing to die together, seeking only to perish side by side in the chaos of war. Her remains and the invader’s were buried underground, and the day they saw the light again should have been her happiest moment—she could finally be separated from him.
But instead of separation, she was bound to him in an even more painful way.
Xi Jueyun hated those who took photos and added captions at will, so she stayed in the world, hoping for the day her name would be cleared. But that day never came—instead, she was polluted by turbid qi.
From then on, Xi Jueyun’s hatred for one person was corrupted into hatred for everyone.
She hated everyone.
Thus, the energy field she became manifested as a death trap.
—She wanted everyone to die within her domain.
This kind of pure hatred formed an energy field unlike any before. That’s why it was so difficult, so unsolvable; once inside, you entered with your life, using it to play out the reason for your own death.
As for the form of the energy field’s game—immersive role-playing.
That was easy enough to guess, for only immersive reenactment could let everyone truly experience what she and others had gone through.
Xi Jueyun wanted everyone to genuinely empathize.
After thinking it through, Jiang Yan closed her eyes.
Everything was clear now.
All that remained was to follow the trail from this photo, get in touch with the person who posted it, ask what else they had done, then search for the photo’s spread across the internet, clarify the truth, and delete it.
Xi Jueyun’s obsession could be resolved.
Shen Xiaoxiao held her laptop, ready to act the moment Jiang Yan gave the word, but just then Shen Huanhuan suddenly spoke up:
“I remember the wait for reincarnation is about sixty years, seventy at most.”
“And Xi Jueyun has long exceeded that. She should have reincarnated and started a new life by now.”
Jiang Yan looked at Shen Huanhuan.
“You mean?”
Shen Huanhuan spoke softly, “Xi Jueyun probably chose to delay it herself, for many years.”
“At first, she just wanted to see more of the world.”
*
For the next hour, everyone searched for information related to Xi Jueyun.
But the more they searched, the worse their expressions became.
That photo of the two skeletons embracing didn’t just appear in that middle schooler’s pinned post—that was only its origin. Once it spread, the original poster couldn’t control it.
The photo appeared on many social platforms.
#LoveSuicideIsNotJustAnAncientLegend#
#ThatYearAmidstTheWarTheyEmbracedInTheFlames#
#TouchingStoriesOfTheRepublicEra#
#RepublicEraRomance#
The hashtags were all over the place.
Unethical media cobbled together their own stories with the photo, even inventing new names for the two skeletons, as if they had really lived such lives, as if love was all they could have.
The more Shen Xiaoxiao scrolled, the harder she pressed, her mouse clattering loudly.
When she saw a particular hashtag, she suddenly recalled, “I think I saw this a few months ago, but it seemed pointless, so I clicked ‘not interested’ and never got recommended it again.”
“So annoying, what kind of nonsense is this.”
Near eleven o’clock, Shen Xiaoxiao finally stopped, taking her hand off the mouse and summarizing the information:
“The photo hasn’t spread too widely, but a few public accounts and self-media accounts have posted it. The ones with fewer likes have a few hundred, the most has over four thousand.”
“Altogether, there are nearly seven thousand comments. Most have been completely misled by the hashtags, spinning off into things that never happened.”
“Some people even write fanfiction in the comments…”
Shen Xiaoxiao checked the backend data and continued, “The average age in the comments is pretty young. They don’t know much about that era, and some have unrealistic fantasies. Some even say that if they could time travel, they’d go back to the Republic era for a passionate romance, just like in the photo.”
Shen Huanhuan sighed softly.
She didn’t know what to say, turning her face away.
“The first priority now is to take down all the hashtags and get the clarifications out,” Shen Huanhuan volunteered after a moment. “I’ll handle it.”
“I know some professional entertainment and PR firms. The clarifications will be pinned to the top. I’ll edit the info and send it to the Supernatural Administration Bureau.”
Jiang Yan nodded, “Alright.”
Ten minutes later, Shen Huanhuan finished sending the information to the bureau, and just then, the private detective messaged her.
“That middle schooler has an alt account. I found some stuff in their drafts—it’s really something.”
“No charge this time, just doing a good deed.”
After thanking him, Shen Huanhuan opened the document he sent.
Everyone gathered around to read.
Inside was the middle schooler’s own account, written early last year, two days after they posted the skeleton photo.
“Friends, something big happened to me at the start of this year! I just have to tell you all.”
“It was the holidays at the start of the year, and my dad insisted I go back to his hometown with him. I’d never been to the countryside, so I went. Good thing I did, it was totally worth it!”
“My dad’s village is poor, barely anyone lives there. Dad says it’s because the land is bad—nothing will grow, and the deep soil is kind of black, but not the fertile kind, more like it’s been smoked by thick soot, really ugly.”
“The village chief said that when their ancestors moved here generations ago, it was already like this. Back then, someone even found an old opera costume in a ruined house—super pretty, like an antique, a family heirloom. I was so jealous hearing that. Why couldn’t my great-grandpa have that kind of luck? Sigh!”
“My dad went back to sell the old house—he doesn’t plan to return. But since he grew up there, he was a bit nostalgic, so we stayed in the village for two days. On the third day, we were about to drive off, and guess what happened??”
“—The village chief dug up two skeletons under our house.”
“Exciting, right? I ran right over. My dad thought it was taboo and tried to stop me, but come on, these two skeletons were hugging—obviously a couple, at least from the Republic era, right?”
“Republic era romance never lets me down.”
“How in love must they have been to die still holding each other? Maybe they committed suicide while eloping, or ran away from an arranged marriage?”
“The village chief checked and said they had to report it to the archaeology department to identify the two. But I think that’s pointless—if they couldn’t be together while alive, why should they be studied after death? They might not even get buried together!”
“I had to help them!”
“Hahahaha, I still think this was awesome. While the village chief was looking for the phone number, I scraped a bit of bone from their legs with a small knife and put the ashes in a box together.”
“My dad and the chief were stunned—they’re old-fashioned, so I didn’t bother explaining. My dad dotes on me and didn’t want me to get in trouble, so he stopped the chief from calling anyone. We found a vacant lot and burned the skeletons together.”
“Now their ashes are completely mixed. Maybe they’ll bless me or something, ww.”
“They couldn’t be together in life, but now their bones are one—each has a part of the other. This is a story I’ll brag about for life~”
Probably afraid the authorities would see it, they never posted this, just saved it in drafts.
And the authorities wouldn’t start investigating just because of a random internet photo—there are countless pictures online of skeletons dug up from old homesteads. Usually, they act only after a report.
So things ended up like this.
After reading, Shen Xiaoxiao let out a laugh of disbelief, an empty, bitter sound.
But as soon as she finished, her eyes turned red.
“I hate it.”
“I really hate it.”
“I just want to pin this person to the ground and beat them up,” she said through gritted teeth. “How could they be so awful, not even sparing Xi Jueyun’s ashes?”
Perhaps this was another of Xi Jueyun’s obsessions.
Her ashes needed freedom too.
After that, they found no new information. Xi Jueyun’s obsessions were tentatively set as two things: her personal reputation, and the purity of her ashes.
Jiang Yan decided to enter the field again.
Even if these obsessions weren’t all of them, it didn’t matter—she could break through the energy field from within once more.
So she entered calmly.
Shen Huanhuan helped her write the rune and taught Jiang Yan how to use it. In truth, the energy field was the embodiment of the lingering spirit, so Jiang Yan could stick the rune anywhere inside, and it would be as if she had placed it on the spirit itself.
Before Jiang Yan entered, the others asked her again, “Are you sure you don’t need us to go in?”
Jiang Yan refused. “No need.”
“If something unexpected happens, I’d have to protect you. I’ll go in alone.”
With that, Jiang Yan walked into the mourning hall, and with her fingertip, she gently scratched a needle-sized hole in the red mist before her—the energy field—letting a single red thread slip through.
In the next second, she vanished before their eyes.
Since Jiang Yan could attack the energy field, she could naturally force her way in. The wound she made was tiny, and the field could heal itself almost instantly.
By the time Jiang Yan entered, the pinprick opening was gone.
Jiang Yan once again stood in the blank space. Before her sat the giant golden Buddha, cross-legged, face full of compassion, one hand reaching forward as if to save all beings.
Or perhaps, it simply wanted someone to pull it up.
Jiang Yan walked toward the Buddha and placed the rune in its palm.
A few seconds later, Jiang Yan suddenly heard a “clang” in her ear.
Then another.
After several bell chimes, the energy field began to tremble. Cracks appeared on the Buddha’s face, golden powder cascading down like a heavy rain.
Jiang Yan’s expression did not change.
She stood still, observing all around. Sure enough, after several minutes of tremors, Xi Jueyun appeared before her, dressed in a red opera costume.
Her expression was indescribably sorrowful.
Even without a word, Jiang Yan could see her deep sadness. After a long time, Xi Jueyun spoke softly:
“I remember now…”
After saying this, Xi Jueyun said nothing more.
She looked at Jiang Yan, as if seeing through her to all the strangers who had died because of her. After a moment, her slender, bony hand brushed her sleeve, as if dusting off the ashes of her soul.
“My rules—if you do wrong, you must be punished.”
“Dissolving is for the best.”
“Only…” she paused, her voice gentle as she asked Jiang Yan, “May I ask you a favor?”
Jiang Yan nodded. “Go ahead.”
Xi Jueyun asked, “If it’s convenient, could you scatter my ashes into the sea?”
The sea would wash away every speck of dust. Then, she would finally be innocent and free.
Jiang Yan lowered her eyes softly.
“I can.”
As soon as she spoke, Xi Jueyun smiled. “Thank you.”
She turned and walked toward the open ground.
Half a minute later, the sky of the energy field began to collapse. Even without Jiang Yan saying anything, Xi Jueyun, regaining her sanity, chose self-destruction. Towering flames erupted at her feet, spreading across the land in seconds. She stood at the heart of the fire, surrounded by the silhouettes of many people.
Among them were Xiao Congye, Liu Shaochun, Fang Xuyu, as well as Lin Xiaotang, Grandma Lü, and Jin Yuebai, Ayan, Chuchu—so many, many people.
Besides them, Jiang Yan also saw a pair of unfamiliar twins, a girl whose figure resembled Xi Jueyun’s, a frail eight-year-old girl, and a sly, squinting, smiling young woman.
Jiang Yan knew who they were.
They had once been her five, but they were never anyone else—they were only themselves.
Now, blazing fire consumed the bones. Amid the flames, Xi Jueyun’s opera costume turned to ash, white garments wrapping her as she faded into smoke.
Fragments of space fell like a sea of stars, candle tears spilling across the ground.
*
The Cangnan Funeral Home energy field was resolved.
The most formidable energy field that had troubled the Supernatural Administration Bureau for half a year finally came to an end. When Jiang Yan stood before the four of them again, she was the first to walk out.
Jiang Yuqing had just left not long ago, so she could easily return to pick them up.
Yu Renwan followed behind Jiang Yan.
No one said a word.
As they stepped out the funeral home’s doors, Yu Renwan suddenly bent down slowly, as if she could no longer bear some heavy weight.
Shen Xiaoxiao thought her stomach hurt and hurried over to ask, “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt??”
“No.”
“I’m not hurt.”
Yu Renwan replied, “I just remembered an opera scene.”
No one here knew opera, but Shen Huanhuan still asked, “Which one?”
“Lord Guan’s Solo Meeting at the Single Blade Banquet.”
Yu Renwan raised her hand. Her wrist trembled, but she forced herself to suppress all emotion. She took a deep breath, imitating the way Xi Jueyun sang, flicking her wrist and letting her sleeve fly:
“The great river flows east, waves upon waves—”
She choked out the next line:
“Zhou Cang, this is not water, but twenty years of a hero’s blood.”