Volume Three: Vengeful Spirits Chapter Four: The Past

That summer, Wang Qianqian was still a twenty-year-old girl—youthful, lively, and beautiful. The boy by her side held her close, his smile radiant as he said, “Qianqian, when we graduate from college, let’s get married.” He wrapped his arm around her, and she laughed, her joy bright and unrestrained.

That year, amidst the gentle spring rain and apricot blossoms, they graduated. Like everyone wished, the golden boy and jade girl entered the hall of marriage. They were so happy—under the sunlight, on the beach, witnessed by all, they swore eternal love. A year later, Wang Qianqian was pregnant, and becoming parents made them even happier.

But happiness did not last. As Wang Qianqian’s belly grew, her husband began coming home less and less, always with some excuse. She knew he was having an affair. Their fights escalated from shouting to physical violence. One day, during a quarrel, Wang Qianqian fell down the stairs. Blood pooled around her. Panicked, her husband rushed her to the hospital. Their child, four and a half months along and already growing tiny bones, was taken from her—shattered, lifeless, lost in blood. With the child’s departure, all of Wang Qianqian’s illusions about love were ground to dust.

“Let’s divorce,” Wang Qianqian said. Her husband pleaded over and over, but nothing could warm the cold inside her after losing her child. He knelt and clung to her, but she would not relent. She filed for divorce, won the case, and left him. With money and connections, she managed to retrieve her child’s broken remains, found a priest to bind the spirit, hoping to see her child even once. But the child never appeared.

Unable to escape the shadow of her loss, Wang Qianqian drank herself into oblivion each day. She became prey to strangers, was pregnant again, but did not keep the child. Days blurred into degradation. Eventually, she worked as a waitress in a bar, lost in a haze of debauchery. Child after child, she abandoned them all, yet woke from dreams in tears. One doll, then two, then more—each a silent witness to her grief.

Though her blood was not yet cold, her heart had frozen. A story as old as time. Closing the Book of the Living, Yaoguang left the Underworld.

In the light rain, before a gravestone in the cemetery, Yaoguang stood alone. “Wang Qianqian, I have buried you and your children together. Rest well.” She turned and walked away.

In a hospital’s delivery room, a woman’s agonized cries were suddenly replaced by a newborn’s clear wail. Outside the door, the man who heard it collapsed to his knees, overcome with sobs.

The child was brought out. The man took the baby, wiped away tears, and asked, voice trembling, “Doctor, how is my wife?”

“She’s fine. Both mother and child are safe. After falling into the water, neither had any vital signs, but suddenly they revived and the baby was born. It’s a miracle,” the doctor said, taking a deep breath.

“Ah Sheng, I’m alright,” the mother said as she was wheeled out, still weak on the hospital bed. Seeing her husband’s red eyes, her heart ached.

“Qian, I’m sorry…” The man could not finish. Holding the child in one arm and grasping his wife’s hand with the other, he wept with relief. “Thank goodness… you’re alright.” He choked out the words, recalling how he’d only gone to buy water while they walked through the park, and in that moment, his wife had slipped into the artificial lake.

“I’m fine,” the woman said softly, wiping away his tears.

Their premature child was taken to the observation room; the woman was sent to the ward. The man held her hand, and she gazed at him with deep affection. In a brief moment of quiet, she murmured into the emptiness, “Thank you, Divine One.”

On the rooftop of a tall building, a man laughed wildly and leapt. The coroner ruled it an accidental fall while drunk. On his body was a photo of a woman: “Qianqian…”

Karma turns, retribution comes, not because it is delayed, but because the time has not yet arrived. This is the law of cause and effect. In the Underworld, the Book of the Dead records one’s fate and lifespan—this is destiny. The Book of the Living records one’s merits and faults—a blank page, waiting to be written.

Yaoguang drained her cup of wine in one gulp. Yes, karma is inescapable. She sighed. Suddenly, thunder cracked across the sky, and Yaoguang spat blood, her face turning ashen. Another thunderclap—she coughed up blood again. The third bolt struck, rain pouring down, and for the third time she vomited blood, collapsing to the ground, her lips stained a deep red. Pain twisted through her chest as she lay there, powerless.

“My lady!” Yitian rushed down, seeing her so frail. “What happened to you?”

“Yaoyao broke the rules. These three thunderbolts are her heavenly punishment,” a male immortal appeared beside Yitian.

“What rules? My lady has endured three hundred and twenty-four thunder tribulations—what thunder could harm her?” Yitian was bewildered.

“This is divine punishment from the Celestial Realm, designed specifically for gods who break the laws. It is not like other thunder. That pregnant woman who fell into the water was, according to the Book of the Dead, fated to die that day, and her unborn child, too. In the moment when their souls parted from their bodies, Yaoyao sent Wang Qianqian and her baby’s souls into that woman’s body—such soul restoration is forbidden, a grave violation of heavenly law. Moreover, it was Yaoyao who orchestrated Wang Qianqian’s ex-husband’s death, altering his fate in the Book of the Dead. Though he harmed many women after leaving Wang Qianqian, his allotted lifespan had not ended. Yaoyao, using divine power, tampered with the register of life and death. This interference with reincarnation, this disruption of the Underworld’s laws and the order of the mortal realm, is a great crime. She must accept the divine punishment. Three bolts of heavenly thunder are but a mild warning. Were she not a revered deity, she would have to face the tribulations of rebirth—her fate would be far worse.” The male immortal sighed, lifting Yaoguang and laying her on a bed.

“Yaoyao, was it worth it?” the immortal asked.

“It was worth it. After all these years as a deity, this was the one time I acted out of compassion. Wang Qianqian was pitiful, her children even more so. That man was vile. You were human once—you should understand why I did it. Water Spirits are the most wretched souls in this world,” Yaoguang said before fainting.

After hearing this, Yitian felt a heavy weight in his chest. The immortal looked at the unconscious Yaoguang and let out a deep sigh.

Since ascending to divinity, you always claim to be ruthless, above it all. But Yaoyao, your heart has never changed. Though you are now a respected god, the kindest part of your humanity remains. You release those lost souls out of compassion; you granted Wang Qianqian and her child a life of peace from the goodness in your heart. You ended that man’s life because you felt for those girls. Human nature is fickle, but you have never changed.

Yaoyao…

Outside, the rain fell harder and harder…