In the small meditation room reserved for Lin Fang at Zixing Temple, Sima Rusu remained unconscious. Sima Shiyuan had fallen asleep by the bedside, and Lin Wu gently picked him up, placing him beside Sima Rusu and tucking him in with a blanket.
Compared to before Sima Rusu’s coma, Sima Xin appeared to have aged over a decade, his face haggard, his beard unkempt, and his eyes sunken as they fixed on his daughter on the bed. He feared that if he so much as blinked, this daughter, whom he had only just regained, might slip away again.
Lin Wu urged Sima Xin, “Father-in-law, you haven’t slept for an entire day. If you don’t rest soon, how will your body endure?”
“Ah, every time I close my eyes, I see Rusu weeping in agony. My heart aches unbearably—how could I sleep?” Even as he spoke, Sima Xin’s gaze never left Sima Rusu.
“Amitabha, Master Sima,” a voice intoned. “If you truly cherish Rusu, then you must take care of yourself. If one day she wakes and sees that her hard-won father has ruined his health guarding her, how would she bear it? Moreover, if you truly love her, how could you bear to see her, still weak from just awakening, burdened with sorrow and exhaustion?”
As the Buddhist chant echoed, a radiant light filled the room. When the voice ceased, the light coalesced into a translucent figure—none other than the wandering monk Zixing.
“Master?”
“Old monk, have you become an immortal?”
Sima Xin and Lin Wu exclaimed simultaneously. Zixing chuckled, “Whether demon or immortal lies in a single thought.”
“Master, since you’ve attained immortality, could you save my daughter? She’s so young—it’s too cruel for her,” Sima Xin pleaded, bowing deeply.
“Yes, Master! You must know the past and present lives of all. Rusu has suffered enough—please save her!” Even Lin Wu, who usually treated Zixing with irreverence, bowed solemnly.
Zixing remained unmoved, his expression serene. “I ask you both: Do you want a Rusu who forgets her past and lives wholly in this life, or one who retains her memories, tormented by nightmares?”
“Of course the former,” Sima Xin replied.
Lin Wu added, “Apart from her time with Fang’s family, Rusu’s past held no joy.”
The monk nodded. “Rusu’s soul remains in her body, but most of her vitality is trapped by past grievances. Once those grievances dissolve, her energy will return. Until then, her family must stay by her side, so her spirit is subconsciously drawn back by their love. If the separation lasts too long, even if her energy returns, it may not reintegrate, endangering her life.”
“I will always guard my sister,” piped up Sima Shiyuan, who had woken unnoticed.
Zixing continued, “Even while watching over Rusu, you must all care for yourselves. When she first wakes, her spirit will be fragile. If she sees her loved ones weakened for her sake, she may grieve excessively. Such sorrow could either sever her soul again or burden her with guilt—either outcome would be perilous.”
“Old monk, I’ll protect my sister. I won’t let her face danger again!” Shiyuan declared, hopping off the bed and pushing Sima Xin and Lin Wu toward the door. “Father and Fifth Brother, go rest. I’ll watch over her. When I’m tired, I’ll call one of you. Taking turns will spare your health while ensuring she’s never alone.”
Though small, Shiyuan was strong—he managed to shove Sima Xin outside. Lin Wu, however, deftly resisted the push and turned back. “Wait, Shiyuan. I’m not competing with you. I just want to ask about Fang.”
Zixing interjected, “Fang is living well in her past life. Her heart condition is improving, and she has a guardian. If fate allows, your family may reunite.”
“Really? Fang will return? When?” Lin Wu’s face lit up.
Zixing smiled faintly. “Amitabha. That depends on destiny.”
So there was no guarantee. Lin Wu’s hope dimmed, but another question arose: “You said Fang has a guardian—who?”
“Some secrets heaven keeps. If fate wills it, you’ll meet.”
Lin Wu gritted his teeth, itching to yank the monk’s big ears as he had in childhood. But this was no time for games. As he prepared to press further, the room darkened—Zixing’s apparition vanished without a trace. Lin Wu stared blankly. Couldn’t he have stayed a moment longer?
Feeling Shiyuan nudge him, Lin Wu snapped back to reality and hurried down the mountain. His parents would rejoice to hear about Fang—unaware that Zixing had already spoken to them and taken some of Fang’s personal belongings from her room.
—
In an ordinary house in Liangping City, Lin Guicheng gazed at a mirror, murmuring, “Master, I’ve met Fang and her family. But her temperament seems vastly different. I don’t know if she’ll help resolve Panyu’s obsession.”
A voice echoed from the mirror—Zixing’s, though no image appeared. “Whether Yuan is saved depends on Fang and Qibiao. Hesitate now, and all is lost. Think carefully.”
“Master, for Yuan’s sake, I won’t give up.”
“Remember: If the time isn’t right, never reveal the truth.”
“I understand.”
The mirror fell silent. Lin Guicheng sighed heavily and slumped into a chair.
This Lin Guicheng was the owner of the antique bookshop—and also the Lin Guicheng from another world, who had been forced to flee Lin Village with his wife and daughter. But here, only his soul remained; his physical body stayed behind in that world, using its vitality to shield his family.
After wandering, he settled in a small town, bought a grocery store, and cared for his wife while raising their daughter.
Dong Panyu was barely alive, a shell of her former self. Their daughter, Lin Yuan, often asked why they left Lin Village. Lin Guicheng echoed the explanation given to Lin Fang—they were searching for ancestral roots, though his childhood memories were too vague to succeed.
Lin Yuan persisted: If they couldn’t find home, why not return to Lin Village and live with Uncle? Lin Guicheng forced a smile. “Your mother needs quiet. Lin Village has grown too bustling for her health.”
Though confused, Lin Yuan adapted. Once lively, she now stayed home dutifully, tending to her mother so her father could work.
Days passed with no improvement in Dong Panyu. Instead, Lin Yuan weakened, her reactions dulling. Countless doctors offered conflicting diagnoses, but her condition worsened until she no longer recognized her parents, reduced to a childlike state.
Desperate, Lin Guicheng turned to religion. On his way to a temple, he met Zixing and begged him to save his family.
Zixing sighed. “Dong Panyu should have died long ago, but her resentment is too strong. To survive, she unconsciously drains energy from those near her—especially Yuan, whose spirit is weak and unguarded.”
Lin Guicheng was aghast. “Why am I unaffected?”
“You’re strong, a martial artist. She can’t take from you. But between wife and daughter, you must choose one to save.”
To save his wife meant letting her drain Yuan until both perished. To save Yuan meant separating them, ensuring Dong Panyu’s death—but her lingering resentment would leave Yuan impaired unless her soul was shattered entirely.
“Is there no other way?” Lin Guicheng neared collapse.
“Her obsession stems from two people: Fang, whom she tried to harm, and Qibiao, who drove her to this. Only if Fang eases her heart and Qibiao forgives her can she release Yuan’s energy before dying.”
But Fang and Qibiao’s souls had traveled to Fang’s past. Zixing sent Lin Guicheng’s soul there too, possessing the body of Zhou Guicheng—a man who had died just before fulfilling a promise to deliver a mansion and rare books to Fang’s family.
Zixing manipulated time to hasten these events, ensuring Fang received what was rightfully hers. Lin Guicheng’s mission: return the books.
In this world, Lin Guicheng found the mansion altered beyond recognition. The books, however, were priceless. He tracked them down after they’d been pawned by Zhou’s wasteful heirs.
He assumed his task was simply to deliver the books gradually. But fate intervened when Fang gifted him chili oil, leading him to her family’s doorstep.
Compared to Lin Dalang and Li Cuimei, Fang’s parents—Lin Yuanmin and Dong Huixin—were cautious, scarred by past turmoil. Yet their fierce loyalty to family reminded Lin Guicheng of his own bond with Lin Dalang, stirring emotions he struggled to contain.
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