Let Those Pains Drift Away with the Wind
After the supernatural resurgence was interrupted, Jiang Yan enjoyed several exceptionally easy months.
The psychics of the Supernatural Administration Bureau shared in this ease. The turbid qi had been cleared away; even though new turbid qi was generated every moment, its concentration was nowhere near enough to pollute spiritual entities.
The lingering spirits in the human world no longer formed energy fields, nor did their spiritual consciousness become corrupted into malicious ghosts. They all still remembered the obsessions that kept them tethered to the world, and many were quite amenable—if a psychic asked, they would readily share what bound them here.
As a result, the workload for psychics was greatly reduced, and the difficulty of their work plummeted.
They took their time resolving obsessions, sending spirits on to reincarnation. With proper weekends off and a nine-to-five schedule, they had become some of the happiest government employees in the country.
[Today I’m still the liveliest little girl!]
This thread hung high on the forum homepage, with many psychics checking in daily to share which art museum they’d visited, or which trendy café they’d tried.
“I’ve wanted to see this exhibit for half a year—finally got my wish today! [photo][photo]”
“Girls, don’t bother with the 173 bus route’s famous dessert shop. The afternoon tea is bad and expensive. I totally got ripped off…”
“Ran into a celebrity at a trendy café today. She looked so cute trying houttuynia for the first time, determined eyes and trembling hands.”
“I want to try going out too! Looking for an extrovert buddy, preferably someone good at bargaining!”
Jiang Yan lounged on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. When she got thirsty, she simply lifted her hand, and the water cup floated from the coffee table into her grasp.
After finishing her drink, Jiang Yan let go of the cup. The next second, it returned to the far end of the coffee table, but the water inside vanished, reappearing in equal measure in a flowerpot on the balcony.
Having done this, Jiang Yan stared at her hand for a few seconds.
To be honest, she felt her actions just now were a bit showy—but also a lot of fun.
And at home, she had two people who would always cheer her on, no matter what.
Chen Xici was watching a nature documentary. Noticing Jiang Yan’s movements out of the corner of his eye, he turned and said softly, “You seem to be getting more skilled.”
Jiang Yan nodded.
Mu Wang was slicing fruit. He turned his head as well. “Sister, you’re amazing. You can do it in one try now.”
Jiang Yan nodded again.
Yesterday, she’d broken three cups before succeeding. Today, she finally managed to control small-scale spatial retrieval.
Lately, Jiang Yan had been constantly exploring and testing her new abilities.
Spatial annihilation was just one aspect of her power. Her true ability was in the realm of laws—specifically, the Law of Space. Collapsing and erasing parts of space was simply the most destructive application, but it was by no means the only one.
Telekinesis, spatial folding, spatial exchange—these were all within the scope of her law.
And…
Jiang Yan calmed her mind and gazed out toward the balcony. In the streets and alleys, several semi-transparent channels, like soap bubbles, crisscrossed the city. They stretched from the south to the north, then turned east, spiraling upward like elevated highways, finally fading near the blue sky.
They looked dreamlike, refracting sunlight into a spectrum of colors—green, pale purple—as if a single poke would shatter them.
Most peculiar of all, the channels were filled with spirits.
They moved forward only after long pauses, passing through shops and pedestrians on the street.
These spirits could not see the living, nor could the living sense them. Yet people and ghosts brushed past each other constantly—passing by total strangers, and sometimes those with whom they once shared bonds.
This was a new ability Jiang Yan had gained after her powers evolved—
She could now see into another dimension of space.
No one had ever explained to Jiang Yan what reincarnation truly was, so she’d always thought it happened underground, with the dead queuing below, waiting for the moment of rebirth.
But now she realized that wasn’t the case—or at least, not entirely.
The dead lingered in the human world, existing in a higher dimension. The soap-bubble-like channels acted as barriers against turbid qi; inside, the spirits chatted and laughed, discussing the deeds of their past lives.
Through the translucent bubbles, Jiang Yan could even faintly make out the faces of those spirits.
Jiang Yan had plans today. After saying goodbye, she left her house and walked along the road, following the nearest channel. She moved faster than the spirits, and with a single glance, could see both their differences and similarities.
Each spirit held two sheets of paper, thick or thin. One was white, with black characters recording their good deeds; the other was black, with white characters listing their wrongdoings.
When they neared the sky—the moment of reincarnation—they had to recite the words on these papers aloud, accompanied by a voice from above. Every word, every sentence, determined their next life.
These voices, these noble or base experiences, could be heard by all the spirits in line.
The brilliance and filth of human hearts were laid bare before reincarnation.
Jiang Yan was curious about this place. After a moment’s thought, she gently tore open a crack and stepped into this dimensional space.
The moment she entered, her vision went black. The bright sunlight vanished; the sky was pitch dark. What she’d thought were translucent soap bubbles became towering, indestructible black walls, entwined with thorns and flickering blue flames. Countless golden pythons, each over ten meters long, coiled atop the walls, raising the front halves of their bodies and baring sharp fangs at the passing spirits.
What surprised Jiang Yan most was that the upward-spiraling channels had become downward stairs. An endless line of people descended the steps toward a winding river. The last step led to the river’s center, where countless paper boats and colorful petals floated—the only vibrant colors in this realm.
From the outside, the real scene inside was completely different.
Reincarnation was indeed mysterious. Even though Jiang Yan now controlled space, it could still deceive her eyes.
She didn’t dwell on this. Instead, she looked straight at the River of Forgetfulness. In its center stood a mirror, four or five meters high. Each spirit, clutching their black or white papers, walked up to the mirror. Images flickered across its surface, and they recited the words on their papers in response.
“I once gave an apple to a beggar by the roadside.”
“I stopped children from burning ants for fun.”
“When the neighbor’s daughter-in-law slipped and went into early labor, her husband was out in the fields. I ran to the village entrance to fetch the midwife.”
An old woman in coarse clothes stood before the mirror, speaking softly. Her attire clearly marked her as a villager from the mid-20th century. She continued reading from her paper, “I adopted a girl, recognized her as my granddaughter, treated her wholeheartedly, and sent her to school without expecting anything in return. She attended a good university, became an official, built many schools, and helped thousands.”
Her account was meticulous and long. Two hours later, the old woman finally put down her stack of papers.
A few breaths passed, then the river surged and emitted a humming sound:
“Ruan He’an, deep in merit, enter a prosperous family—”
Then came a drumbeat, like a heavy hammer striking the eardrum.
“Dong!”
As the sound faded, the old woman stepped slowly into the mirror and vanished before everyone’s eyes.
Jiang Yan already knew this elder’s identity: she was the grandmother who had adopted Xia Hua and depended on her for many years.
This grandmother had passed away more than fifty years ago. Because of her great merit, her waiting time in line was shorter than most.
Today happened to be her day of reincarnation.
Soon it was the next person’s turn. Jiang Yan looked around and noticed that, while she’d been observing, a spirit had quietly appeared midway down the line.
Here, newcomers didn’t always start at the end of the queue. Instead, the length of one’s wait was reduced by one to twenty years, depending on the depth of their virtue.
If not for Grandma Ruan’s guidance and her efforts to get Xia Hua into school, Xia Hua would never have achieved what she did later.
So part of Xia Hua’s merit fell to her grandmother, and since the grandmother was already a good person, she had twenty years cut from her wait.
Thinking of the now-dissipated Xia Hua, Jiang Yan shook her head lightly.
A few minutes later, she walked toward the front of the line.
She wanted to see where He Qingfu was.
He Qingfu had died forty years ago. Even with twenty years deducted for her merit, she still had about ten years left to wait.
Half an hour later, Jiang Yan found He Qingfu near the front of the line.
Because she’d died just past twenty, she looked especially young among the elders. Jiang Yan prepared her words, wanting to greet her, but soon noticed something odd.
Everyone else in line was talking, but He Qingfu stood there alone, isolated.
But Jiang Yan knew it wasn’t because of that. She walked over to He Qingfu’s side and called her name.
He Qingfu turned her head slightly.
Her gaze was blank and pure, even purer than the most innocent child.
This was not the look of someone who had experienced society.
Jiang Yan stood stunned for a few seconds before understanding why.
In the queue for reincarnation, one possessed an immortal soul and the memories and consciousness of this life. But when He Qingfu died, her soul entered the cycle, while her consciousness followed the Torch Dragon back a thousand years. Later, when Jiang Chixi died, He Qingfu’s consciousness lost its vessel and dissipated completely.
So now, He Qingfu had only the purest soul, without a trace of memory. She didn’t know who she was, nor did she recognize Jiang Yan.
Realizing this, Jiang Yan closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she said softly, “Mother.”
He Qingfu didn’t respond. She quietly watched Jiang Yan for a few seconds, then turned away.
So Jiang Yan called her again:
“Mother.”
This time, He Qingfu turned back, studying Jiang Yan curiously. After half a minute, she reached out and patted Jiang Yan’s arm, smiling before turning away again.
“She can’t speak, seems to be mute,”
the aunt behind He Qingfu explained kindly. “I tried talking to her, but she doesn’t seem to understand anything. You two look so alike…is she your mother?”
Jiang Yan replied, “Mm.”
The aunt looked regretful. “It’s a pity, you’re both so young to be here.”
Jiang Yan smiled but didn’t explain.
She called He Qingfu a third time: “Mother, can I see the paper in your hand?”
He Qingfu turned, and Jiang Yan pointed to her paper, then to herself, making a passing gesture. He Qingfu smiled again, her eyes crinkling with trust, and handed the paper to Jiang Yan.
Jiang Yan looked down.
Every word was clear.
It listed all of He Qingfu’s achievements.
“He Qingfu, blessed in all lives, mastered the art of empathy in this life, traced back four thousand years, served as the second director of the Supernatural Administration Bureau, devoted her life to seeking humanity’s path to salvation.”
“Eliminated four major energy fields, resolved the greatest energy field on Penglai Island in a century, then entered the Bureau alone, attempting to save humanity from disaster.”
In He Qingfu’s era, energy field incidents were much rarer than now; solving four meant she’d resolved every major one of her time.
Jiang Yan kept reading and even saw her own name.
The vast merit generated by her earlier manifestation as a talisman had partly fallen to He Qingfu, compounding her already immense virtue.
In her next life, He Qingfu would enjoy unimaginable happiness.
Jiang Yan returned the white paper with black characters to He Qingfu. She had only this one paper—no black one. Her life had been pure and great, without wrongdoing.
He Qingfu took the paper and smiled at Jiang Yan for the third time.
Jiang Yan couldn’t help but smile back.
She took out a talisman. “Pingping made this. It’s given to many psychics as an extra reward for actively participating in energy field incidents.”
This talisman could reduce a spirit’s waiting time in the cycle by three to fifteen years.
Psychics weren’t short on money, but everyone had loved ones. Many wished to see their deceased parents again before dying, or secretly watch their parents’ new lives after reincarnation. So Pingping had poured much spiritual power into developing this talisman.
Psychics risked their lives during energy field outbreaks—no reward was too great.
After using the talisman, Jiang Yan watched as He Qingfu’s spirit grew blurry, then appeared at the very front of the cycle, walking down the steps to stand before the mirror.
Jiang Yan teleported to her side and read the contents of the paper for her.
The mirror shimmered, the river surged.
“Dong!”
As the words ended, a humming rose from the river.
“He Qingfu, virtue transcendent, enter a flourishing and harmonious family—”
“Born with top psychic talent, empathy.”
After sending off He Qingfu, Jiang Yan didn’t leave.
She still had some karma to resolve.
A few days ago, the Torch Dragon had come to her, asking for some space-derived talismans. These talismans, like the Torch Dragon-derived one Jiang Yan had received before, could be inscribed on Bai Ze’s physical body as needed, as long as there was enough yao power to make as many as desired.
Back then, the Torch Dragon had been angry that Bai Ze wanted to give up immortality. Even after Bai Ze had pleaded several times, it only inscribed one talisman for the Bureau, which later ended up with Jiang Yan. Now, both she and the Torch Dragon had several of each other’s derived talismans, and could ask for more when needed.
So Jiang Yan unhesitatingly pulled out a stack of time-related talismans.
She had sorted them into categories.
Some could rewind time; others allowed her to travel a few minutes into the past or future—though only in the form of consciousness, so no one could detect her presence.
After a moment’s thought, Jiang Yan selected the future-traveling talismans and held them in her palm.
In an instant, she vanished from the spot.
Leaving behind a few puzzled elders, who looked at each other in confusion.
“Wasn’t there a girl here just now…?”
“There was! Her mother was right in front of me in line!”
“So where’s her mother?”
“She reincarnated suddenly. Lately, there’ve been several like that. I hear it’s because their children are outstanding.”
“Ah, look at other people’s kids!”
Jiang Yan first went to find Xia Qing. Because of their karmic bond, she could precisely locate Xia Qing’s reincarnation.
In this life, Xia Qing was still a teacher.
She seemed to love this profession deeply, choosing it in every life, teaching and nurturing within the confines of a classroom.
When Jiang Yan’s consciousness arrived in the classroom, Xia Qing was sharing stories from her youth at the podium. She wore a shirt and trousers, no longer young—over forty, with beautiful fine lines at the corners of her eyes, yet her features still hinted at the youthful exuberance she once had.
“After graduating from university, I taught in the west for two years.”
She smiled in recollection. “The local customs were wonderful. The government sent experienced teachers to guide us. We colleagues lived and ate together, discussing daily how best to teach the children.”
“All our supplies were arranged in advance by the state. They often sent clothes and bedding. Many people came to support us, wanting to put us on the news, but most of us declined.”
“Those were truly precious memories.”
Her students were in high school. One girl raised her hand high, saying she wanted to be like Teacher Xia.
But Xia Qing shook her head with a smile. “Don’t be me—be yourself first.”
“Everyone just needs to be themselves.”
“Shine your own light. If your light is strong enough, it will illuminate others.”
Xia Qing was still a radiant idealist, but no longer so pure as to leave herself no retreat. She illuminated others, but also herself.
Jiang Yan’s gaze fell on the corridor outside the classroom, where Xia Qing’s photo hung.
[Provincial Outstanding Teacher—Xia Qing]
Xia Qing’s smile in the photo was bright; her words at the podium were calm and assured.
“Very good,”
Jiang Yan thought silently, leaving the classroom. Following the karmic thread, she found He Shuyu’s reincarnation.
He Shuyu was about the same age as Xia Qing now, in her forties.
She was typing rapidly at a keyboard, her gaze steady and confident in her writing. Jiang Yan stood before her bookshelf and saw an entire shelf filled with He Shuyu’s published works.
[Shuyu Qinxing]
That was her pen name.
Jiang Yan leaned in to read the book covers and found an introduction—
[Shuyu Qinxing, renowned horror novelist.]
[Her first book, “The Dragon’s Blood of Tibet,” shot to the top of the website’s reading charts within half a month of serialization, thanks to her mature style, strange atmosphere, and gripping plots. She has since published countless works, maintaining her inspiration for ten years. Adaptations of her books have been widely acclaimed.]
Jiang Yan’s gaze slid down to the last line:
[Ranked seventh on the annual China Online Writers’ Rich List.]
No wonder the house was so big.
Jiang Yan glanced around. On the desk was a photo album with happy family pictures. He Shuyu’s parents sat chatting on a park bench, He Shuyu squatted nearby, carefully wiping dirt from a child’s hands, and her husband held up two ice creams, making exaggerated faces to amuse the kids. He looked like a good man.
Jiang Yan didn’t plan to linger. Just as she was about to leave, He Shuyu hit the “publish” button.
As soon as the new chapter was posted, thousands of comments poured in. He Shuyu smiled and began thoughtfully replying to questions.
Jiang Yan witnessed her radiant smile and understood how well she was living.
Five minutes had passed. Jiang Yan had visited two people in the same timeline; her talisman’s time was about to run out.
Unhurried, she took out a new talisman and vanished from the spot.
This time, she went to find Chen Ranyi.
Jiang Yan’s consciousness had barely arrived at the art museum when Chen Ranyi captured all her attention.
The girl wore a comfortable linen dress, her long hair casually tied back to reveal a smooth forehead. Chen Ranyi stood before a giant self-portrait, explaining her creative process to a reporter.
“That day, my mother was watering flowers on the balcony. Sunlight streamed through the window onto her shoulders, making her look as if she’d grown butterfly wings—so beautiful, so free.”
She was now a nineteen-year-old prodigy painter.
Free and unfettered, no longer bound or controlled by family, never again locked in a room or forced to face her greatest fear—a vicious dog—day after day.
Recalling that moment, Chen Ranyi’s eyes curved in a smile. “I picked up my brush, wanting to paint my mother.”
“But my mother said she hoped those wings could be painted on me. She had me stand where she was, then hurried to get the camera and took photos of me from every angle.”
“Luckily, beams of light can be captured on film.”
“I ended up with many photos of myself with golden wings.” As she spoke, Chen Ranyi’s eyes suddenly grew red, but she quickly rubbed her cheeks, calming her surging emotions.
She looked at the reporter, her voice full of gratitude:
“It’s such a blessing to be my mother’s daughter!”
There were two reporters interviewing Chen Ranyi. The lead, a young woman, held a recorder and asked concise, composed questions, while her partner took notes beside her.
Twenty minutes later, the reporter put away the recorder.
She hugged Chen Ranyi.
“Wishing you a perfect and joyful university life,” she said.
Chen Ranyi had just been admitted to the country’s most prestigious art academy and would enroll next month.
She nodded with a smile. “I wish you all the best too, Sister Zhiyu!”
Jiang Yan glanced at Su Zhiyu.
A badge hung on her chest: Official Reporter, National Television. It brought to mind the girl who once declared she’d become the country’s best reporter. When she died by falling from a building, she hadn’t yet been made permanent staff. Now, her dream had come true; she had the chance to pursue her ambitions.
Su Zhiyu put the recorder in her bag and patted her partner. “Jingrong, let’s go.”
Lu Jingrong quickly caught up, quietly discussing a recent molestation case with Su Zhiyu.
“The perpetrator’s been caught, but the child remains withdrawn and very resistant to seeing a psychologist.”
Su Zhiyu replied softly, “That’s normal.”
“She’s already been brave enough.”
Lu Jingrong nodded. “Yes, she told her parents right away and chose to report it. I’m still following up on the case.”
“I’ll make sure to protect her.”
Jiang Yan watched the two leave.
Su Zhiyu continued to pursue her unfinished ideals, and Lu Jingrong sheltered other children.
All was well.
Jiang Yan stayed in the art museum for a few minutes, carefully studying Chen Ranyi’s self-portrait. Before the talisman expired, she used another.
This time, she arrived at an amusement park.
Here was seven-year-old Meng Chunhong.
The carefree little girl ran to her parents with arms outstretched. Her mother tied a cute bear balloon to her wrist.
“We’ve lost two balloons already—this is the last one for today!”
Chunhong patted her chest. “Definitely!”
Her father confirmed, “We’re not buying any more!”
Chunhong nodded firmly. “No more, I promise!”
“All right, go play then.”
Hearing her mother’s words, Chunhong immediately ran off with her bear balloon to the bumper cars, lively beyond her years.
But that was exactly how she should be.
She was no longer seen as an illegitimate child, no longer saw herself as a little parasite. In this life, she was open and aboveboard, with an impeccable status—the most cherished treasure of her parents.
After playing to exhaustion, she became interested in a roadside sketch booth.
Four girls ran the booth, claiming to be members of a high school art club, setting up shop just to practice. A portrait cost only five yuan.
Chunhong tugged her mother’s sleeve. Her mother understood at once and handed over five yuan.
“Draw a picture of our Chunhong, please.”
At this, Chunhong obediently sat up straight in the chair. One of the girls smiled reassuringly. “Relax, little sister. We don’t bite.”
“Sister Ruzhou, kids get nervous, it’s normal,” said a very fair-skinned girl, handing Chunhong a few candies. “Huang apricot flavor.”
Chunhong was surprised. “I’ve never had this flavor before.”
The girl chuckled. “It’s in my name—I love buying them.”
A quick sketch didn’t take long—ten minutes and it was done. Chunhong admired her portrait for a while, then, no longer nervous, began looking at the other sketches on display.
After half a minute, her gaze froze.
She stared for a long time before pointing at one picture. “Who’s this?”
Chen Qinxue glanced over and explained, “That’s an old lady who passed by. She was admiring the scenery, and Sister Ruzhou noticed she wouldn’t leave, so she asked if she could draw her for free.”
“When it was finished, the old lady didn’t take it and just left.”
Chunhong kept looking at the picture.
Jiang Yan looked too.
—It was the elderly Meng Henshui.
By the time Chunhong reincarnated, many years had passed and Meng Henshui was already old, but they were both still alive.
As long as you’re alive, you’ll meet again.
Like now.
Meng Chunhong stared at the portrait for a long time, then ran to her mother, tugging her sleeve hard. “I need five more yuan.”
Her mother understood, though she found it odd, and handed five yuan to An Ruzhou.
An Ruzhou quickly waved her hands. “No need, no need. The drawing was meant to be free for that grandma, but she didn’t want it and told us to do as we liked. Since you like it, it’s yours.”
Chunhong took the portrait with both hands, untied her bear balloon, and tied it to An Ruzhou’s wrist.
“Thank you, sister.”
With that, she took her mother’s hand, carefully put the portrait in her little backpack, and skipped off to the family car, leaving the amusement park.
Jiang Yan’s consciousness faded as well.
Only one place remained.
A flash of golden light from the talisman, and when Jiang Yan opened her eyes again, she found herself at an aquarium, the destination of a group of elementary schoolers on a spring outing.
This time, Jiang Yan was looking for members of the former underground circus.
But she was surprised to see Pingping, now grown up.
Pingping’s face had returned to her own, looking about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with long blue curls. She played the role of aquarium guide, leading a group of children on their tour.
She held a megaphone in one hand and a little girl’s hand in the other, explaining things earnestly and looking at the child with equal seriousness.
Soon it was lunchtime. The lead teacher thanked Pingping profusely and urged her to rest, but Pingping insisted on staying, making up excuses before sitting on a small stool across from Le Yi.
Jiang Yan watched the five of them.
Pingping, Le Yi, Le Yao, Xiao Jia, Xiao Tian.
Pingping hadn’t aged, but the others had reincarnated already. This was unusually fast—no talisman could bring someone back this early—so Pingping must have worked hard, researching all sorts of methods and using much of her merit to help them reincarnate ahead of time.
Just as Jiang Yan thought this, she heard Pingping cough a few times.
Le Yi glanced at her. “Did you talk too much?”
Pingping took out a box of sliced pears. “A bit. These pears are sweet—let’s eat together.”
Xiao Jia took a fork and speared a piece. Xiao Tian commented, “My mom says sharing pears means separation. We shouldn’t eat them like this.”
Le Yi mocked him, “You actually believe that? So dumb.”
She reached for a fork, but Pingping quickly put the box away.
“Let’s have grapes instead.”
“Separation isn’t good.”
As she spoke, Pingping took out all sorts of snacks from her backpack, spreading them before the group. “Eat up, I brought plenty—can’t finish them myself.”
Xiao Tian reached for the fried pork, while Le Yao and Xiao Jia, feeling shy, took out their own food to share with Pingping.
“We’ll share.”
Le Yi munched on the sandwich Pingping had prepared. Xiao Jia nudged her and whispered, “Isn’t it rude to eat so much of her food?”
Le Yi turned away. “She can’t finish it. It’s not like I insisted.”
Pingping unwrapped another sandwich and handed it to Le Yi. “When you finish that, have this. I have plenty.”
No longer playing Le Yi, Pingping’s personality had returned to her original self.
Her voice was soft, as if afraid of startling the children.
Le Yi snorted and looked at Xiao Jia. “See?”
“Just eat your own—don’t mind me.”
The meal was slow, and Jiang Yan used several talismans to stay in this time.
Finally, lunch was over and the children had to leave the aquarium.
Pingping took out a few protective charms. “For you—may you live long and healthy lives.”
Xiao Tian scratched his head. “But my mom says not to accept things from strangers.”
Xiao Jia: “…”
Le Yao reminded him, “Xiao Tian, who ate the most just now?”
Xiao Tian’s face turned bright red.
Pingping bent slightly, holding four charms in her palm. After some thought, Le Yi was the first to take one.
She picked a colorful one with blue water patterns.
Pingping seemed dazed.
After a moment, she asked Le Yi, “You like this one?”
“It’s okay,” Le Yi replied. “I like seeing colorful petals on the river.”
Pingping pressed her lips together. “I like that too.”
Le Yi responded, “No wonder.”
Pingping asked, “No wonder what?”
Le Yi snorted softly. “No wonder I think you’re nice. Turns out we like the same things.”
“Online, they call this ‘sisters from different mothers and fathers.’”
Le Yi spoke carelessly, but Pingping was nearly choked with emotion.
She hurriedly stood, looked up for a few seconds, then lowered her eyes and said goodbye. The four children followed their teacher, and just before merging with the larger group, Le Yi suddenly turned her head.
“Goodbye.”
She said, “The four of us are saying goodbye to you.”
Pingping clenched her hand and did her best to wave. “Goodbye.”
As her voice faded, so did Jiang Yan’s consciousness.
And with it, the threads of karma that had once connected her to these people faded as well.
Everyone was doing well now.
Though their pasts were painful, those pains had been wiped clean. Tomorrow would be good, and every day after would be even better.
Pingping’s time had finally begun to flow.
She could finally have a life of her own.
Bug note for this chapter: For example, names and ideals not changing after reincarnation is intentional. The goal is to create the feeling that “one is the same person in past and present lives”—it makes for a more HE (happy ending)!
Character Appearance List:
“Spring Silkworms”: Xia Qing
“Born of Grace, Like a Curse”: He Shuyu, Chen Ranyi
“Lucid Dream”: Lu Jingrong, Su Zhiyu, (Meng Chunhong, Li Nianqiu, An Ruzhou, Lin Xing’er, Chen Qinxue) — Victims of the Underground Palace Case
“One-Man Show”: Pingping, Le Yi, Le Yao, Xiao Jia, Xiao Tian