I presented my healed wound to Old He, and he offered a knowing smile. Then, telling me to hold steady, he grabbed his belt with one hand, freeing the other to quickly shrug off his shirt. As only one sleeve remained on, he switched his grip on the belt to the free hand, using the other to flick the discarded shirt into my grasp.

That deep, unspoken understanding between us—that telepathy—was a quiet harmony cultivated through shared time. Old He didn't say a word; his movements alone made me instantly aware of his intent.

Taking the shirt, I smoothed out the sleeves, folded it meticulously, and then crumpled the whole thing into a tight, solid ball of cloth.

Clutching the cloth ball, I once again carefully leaned over the river's edge, plunging it into the water, allowing the crimson current to wash over it.

A minute later, I pulled out the dripping ball, turned, and retreated to the bank. Holding it cradled in both hands, I approached Xiao Shu and gently squeezed the bloody water from the fabric, drop by drop, onto his neck.

The blood-tinged liquid cascaded over his body. Xiao Shu’s corpse-like stillness began to recede, replaced by slow, deliberate breaths. His chest rose and fell, the movements growing stronger, the sounds louder.

As a dull thunder rumbled overhead, Xiao Shu abruptly lifted his head, sucking in a deep breath, his eyes wide with shock as he stared wildly at us.

“What happened to me?” he asked, fear clouding his gaze.

“You were pinned to this slab of rock,” Old He stated calmly, pointing beneath Xiao Shu’s body.

“What’s going on?” Xiao Shu shifted uneasily, realizing he was indeed fastened to the stone, utterly immobile.

“How is this possible?” He reached back to touch the conical object protruding from his neck, looking at us with bewildered disbelief, struggling to accept the reality of the situation. “I’ve been skewered from my rear end straight through to my neck by this thing?”

Old He and I nodded in unison, confirming with certainty that everything he saw was true.

“Why didn’t I die?” he asked, bewildered.

“You still had a breath left just now; the water from the Sea of Spirits saved you, brought you back. However,” Old He said, his tone shifting to light banter now that Xiao Shu was alive, “how we get you off this human kebab now, we haven't figured out. You might have to endure a bit more pain.”

I conceived a method for freeing him from the skewer. I suggested having Xiao Shu try to stand up, while Old He and I would continually prop up his feet until the spear could be drawn out from beneath him.

The moment these words left my mouth, Old He immediately shot down the idea.

“If it hurts that much, how can he possibly have the strength to stand? We should just tip the rock and him over together, then pull the spear out while holding onto the stone,” Old He proposed.

This suggestion gained Xiao Shu’s immediate approval. He slowly cooperated by leaning backward. Old He braced his back, and together, synchronized with the rhythm of us lowering the stone, we gently laid him flat on the ground.

I couldn't tell if Xiao Shu was in agony during the fall, but I saw him clenching his jaw, beads of cold sweat beading on his forehead.

Old He wiped his brow with a tissue and stepped closer, speaking softly, “We are about to start. You must hold on. With the Sea of Spirits right here, as long as you have one breath left, we can bring you back.”

Xiao Shu nodded, signaling for us to proceed.

So, Old He and I took positions on either side, our four hands gripping the edge of the stone. Counting one, two, three, we yanked backward with all our might!

“Aaaah…” came Xiao Shu’s sharp cry. The stone scraped backward about a foot, leaving the area where it had pressed against his backside a bloody, indistinct mess. A section of blood-slicked spear emerged from the center of the stone, plunging deep into Xiao Shu’s body. I reached out to touch it, unable to discern the material it was forged from.

Old He called out, “You alright?”

“Continue,” Xiao Shu gasped weakly.