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The grand doors of the Madonna Chapel slowly swung open.
Long’er stepped out with measured steps, dragging with one hand the now shriveled, withered old woman that was once Wang Rong.
Wang Rong’s red dress was tattered beyond recognition, barely able to cover her body. Her stature had shrunk ever smaller—by the time Long’er flung her down beside the golden sea of roses encircling the statue of Saint Wang Rong, she was no more than three feet tall.
Long’er ignored her, instead admiring the glittering sea of golden flowers before her.
It was deep into the night; the bright moon in the sky was obscured by dark clouds. Yet in the Roman pavilion where Wang Rong’s statue stood, dozens of mercury lamps illuminated the saint and the ocean of flowers in dazzling brilliance.
“…What surprised me most was that in less than a year, you managed to drive all the women in the city mad, making them worship and devote themselves to you. You truly succeeded in making yourself a deity.” After a brief silence, the young girl suddenly spoke.
At some point, Long’er had already removed her headscarf. The bright lights shone on her long, glossy black wavy hair. Paired with her peach-colored, off-shoulder dress, she looked both stylish and delicate.
“But it’s a pity—you are a corrupted soul. No matter how much fortune you absorb, it’s all in vain.” Long’er turned and glanced at Wang Rong, her eyes as cold as ice.
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“Holy Mother… mercy… I beg you… spare me…” The old woman, with her dirty, tangled white hair, knelt on the ground, constantly kowtowing and begging for her life.
“You’ve long been dead—what life is there left to spare?” Long’er scoffed. “I won’t scatter your soul entirely, I shall merely seal you—forever.”
“No—!”
Wang Rong screamed, “I don’t want that! You don’t know how terrifying it is! It’s not just losing one’s freedom! It’s the feeling of being unable to move at all! It’s unbearable! I don’t want it!”
“It’s late and quiet—don’t make a fuss.” Long’er frowned. “Your soul already belongs to me. No one can interfere with how I deal with you. Or would you rather be annihilated, scattered into nothingness? If you have that kind of courage, I can consider it.”
Long’er’s gaze grew cold and sinister, her smile twisted. Wang Rong shuddered under her stare.
But, she really did fall silent, saying no more.
“Heh, I knew you were a coward—no matter how you pretend, it’s useless.” Long’er sneered.
Wang Rong dared not reply.
After a long while, she muttered, “It’s not fair… this isn’t fair… my life… so unfair…”
“That’s right, I agree the heavens are unjust. I never understood why, among the countless children in the slums, only you, Wang Rong, were blessed to be exceptionally beautiful and clever. Why were you given the resources to stand out? Sigh…”
Long’er exaggeratedly frowned and sighed, as if deep in thought.
Faced with the Madonna’s ridicule, Wang Rong raised her voice in protest, “But I worked harder than anyone else! Even those smarter and prettier than me couldn’t match my efforts!”
“Bullshit!” Long’er rolled her eyes. “After marrying Fang Ming, you immediately retired, living as a pampered lady with a team of servants at your command. You hardly ever changed a diaper for your son, treating him as a doll to play with while all the chores fell to others. No one else might know, but my eyes see through it all.”
Having been so thoroughly criticized by Long’er, Wang Rong’s lips trembled, but she was left speechless. Because what Long’er said was true.
Long’er wandered over to the sea of flowers, casually plucking a gilded rose.
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“After Fang Ming’s fall, I did see your efforts. But there are countless people striving to rise in society, and plenty who cozy up to the powerful. What makes you any different? Your ‘giving it your all’ just means you’re more unscrupulous and selfish than others.” As she spoke, the golden flower in her hand rapidly faded and twisted, wilting away, eventually turning to dust and drifting off.
“Heh… heh… ha… hahahaha—”
Wang Rong, who had been hanging her head in silence, suddenly looked up and let out a mad, deranged laugh. She said to Long’er, “Fine! You win! I lose! I couldn’t defeat the Bai family! I couldn’t defeat you!”
Wang Rong had given up completely, not even caring if Long’er destroyed her entirely.
She was a woman who had plotted all her life, only now realizing that letting go felt so exhilarating.
Wang Rong shrieked, “But how pure are you really? Didn’t you use me to get close to Bai Shikun?! At first I thought you only wanted his money! Who would have imagined the sacred Madonna would fall for a mortal! Flirting with that old goat, even bearing him a child! What kind of goddess are you—?!”
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Before she could finish, the young girl flashed before her, grabbed the three-foot-tall old woman by the ankle, and swung her up, smashing her down hard into the sea of flowers.
Wang Rong’s scream was cut short as her body was pierced by dozens of gilded roses. Though not much blood flowed, she was left unrecognizable. The stems stabbed through her body like piercing an empty shell, producing harsh, strange cracking sounds. Her broken form convulsed uncontrollably, and the metallic petals protruding from her back shuddered along with her.
She could no longer speak, only producing guttural, choking noises.
Long’er, having struck, frowned fiercely, cheeks flushed, her bare shoulders heaving with her breath. She was indeed a bit angry, but soon calmed down.
“I don’t understand how Shikun could have produced something like you.” Long’er said coldly. “At least, I never forget my promises to people.”
Long’er’s eyes flashed with a strange light. Wang Rong’s chest split open, and a blood-red dried flower slowly rose from the crack. Long’er reached out, and the little flower flew into her hand.
“For his sake, I’ll give you a chance. If you can truly repent for your sins in life, I will lift the seal and set you free.”
Wracked with pain, Wang Rong could barely believe it. At the same time, her body was separating from the golden flowers, rising upward, with cracking sounds echoing.
Suddenly, a strong centrifugal force pulled her backward; when she came to her senses, she realized she was back inside the statue.
That feeling of utter immobility encompassed her completely.
She could only see Long’er in her peach-colored dress before her. “But let me remind you: the chance to reincarnate is rare. Even if you’re free, you’ll likely become a wandering ghost, in danger of being devoured by evil spirits at any time. Sealed, you’re safer.”
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Wang Rong watc
hed as Long’er left without looking back, but her voice grew ever clearer: “Even if you reincarnate, you’ll only reap the consequences of your actions. Your karma is heavy—most likely you’ll be born into a poor family, maybe even as an idiot, cripple, or ugly. Repentance cancels the contract, but cannot change your karma. Take care of yourself.”
Right before being submerged in blood, Wang Rong strained to look at Fang Ming one last time. Fang Ming smiled at her, but his eyes were sorrowful. “It was all just a dream… You’ve failed again.”
Then she awakened, recalling everything that had happened after her death, and remembered the scene of the Madonna sealing her.
And she remembered—she had been sealed for a very, very long time.
Before dealing with Wang Rong, Long’er first shattered the statue she had inhabited for many years. The Roman pavilion and red roses in the Madonna Chapel had long been removed, leaving only the statue standing in the hollowed-out sanctuary.
Long’er extended her jade hand, lightly pressed it to the statue’s chest, a flash of white light appeared beneath her palm, and she withdrew her hand.
As Bai Shikun walked slowly past her, he gently pushed the statue. It was as if it were made of fine sand—it collapsed at the slightest touch, crumbling to powder as soon as it hit the floor. In Bai Shikun’s eyes, the pile of powder on the ground turned into smoke and drifted away.
The Madonna’s statue vanished as if it had never existed.
Perhaps it was Bai Lao’s years of experience, but he stared at Long’er in stunned silence, deeply shaken.
“Are you afraid?” Long’er looked at Bai Lao and smiled lightly.
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“Should I be?” He paused, then raised his silver eyebrows and laughed heartily. “To find love in old age is already a joy, but to encounter an immortal fate—what a blessing! Hahaha!”
Long’er walked over, took his arm coquettishly, “I know, if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you’d never believe it. But now you do.”
Indeed, some days before, Long’er had returned home with her daughter and revealed her true identity to Bai Lao. At first, Bai Shikun was very worried, fearing his wife suffered from postpartum depression or even more severe mental illness.
“But… why me?” Bai Shikun looked at Long’er, his gaze intense.
“Haha! Why not you? Be confident!” Long’er giggled playfully.
Seeing the deep curiosity in her husband’s eyes, Long’er embraced him tightly, speaking softly in his arms, “There are many things I can’t tell you all at once, but what I do say is always true.”
She held him tighter, “We have a long time together; one day, you’ll know everything.”
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A man and woman, fifty years apart in age, embraced at the center of the sanctuary, before the mural of Icarus. The hollowness that had always haunted this place quietly disappeared.
With the original statue destroyed, the spiritual energy in all district Madonna Chapels instantly vanished.
This didn’t matter to most in the Madonna’s congregation, because in the past half year, Saint Wang Rong had completely overshadowed the Madonna herself. The chapels in every district had long been deserted. Only a small chapel in the slums still had locals coming regularly to pay their respects.
After the Madonna Society went bankrupt, the land of the small chapel was returned to the government and converted into a library. Only a small Madonna statue remained in a corner by the entrance, like a decorative piece, letting people know the building’s history.
Though the Madonna statue was tucked away in a corner cabinet, people sometimes still left white flowers in front of it.
Every time Wang Rong “awoke” within the statue, it was always at night. Sometimes the moon was full, sometimes waning, sometimes there were no stars or moon, sometimes it was a cold, rainy night.
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But none of this mattered anymore, for she had lost all sense of time.
In novels, the protagonist, wrongfully imprisoned, would judge the passage of days by the sunlight through the cell window, carving a mark into the wall for each day that passed, so as not to lose themselves completely. But Wang Rong, without a body, could not do even that.
At first, over a dozen devotees would come daily to worship her. Compared to her heyday, the desolation was unbearable. Other than feeling lost, she had no recourse.
She could no longer receive information from the outside world, and naturally did not know that the “Wang Rong Myth” had collapsed along with the Bai family heir’s mistress’s failed attempt to enter the palace. At least, she could vaguely estimate the passage of time from the prayers and conversations of her devotees.
But worse still, now Wang Rong was nothing but a remnant soul, and Long’er’s new seal cut her off from absorbing fortune.
Soon, even the remaining devotees realized that Saint Wang Rong’s power had truly faded.
Their numbers dwindled from a few a day, to a few a week, to a few a month, until eventually, no one came for a very, very long time.
After that, Wang Rong tried to keep track of the rising and setting sun and moon in her mind, but of course she could not succeed, and soon gave up.
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Until one day, she watched the once-golden sea of roses fade, rust, and become covered in cobwebs and dust. The mercury lamps that had illuminated her and the sea of flowers every night had, at some unknown point, ceased to shine. Only then did she realize how long she had been trapped.
In the long passage of years, sometimes she would sink into a deep “sleep,” just like an old person dozing off in front of the TV.
In her dreams, she would relive her past lives in different versions.
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From childhood, to attending Madonna Primary School, to entering society—she would meet Fang Ming and Xing Jun in every life, encounter Bai Shikun and even Xia Yu in various ways. The background details varied, but the main characters and key events would always reappear in each dreamlife.
At the end of every dream, she would always see that bloody, yet sweet-smelling, aromatic Holy Mother’s heart.
Every time she woke, the desolate garden outside the Holy Mother Chapel remained unchanged.
Wang Rong’s periods of “wakefulness” grew shorter, for it no longer held any meaning for her. Soon, she would drift again into another dream.
Until one night, Wang Rong once more woke within a dream. She no longer cared how many times this had happened. She knew none of it mattered anymore.
But on this day, something extraordinary happened!
This morning, a team of engineers and professors arrived at the overgrown garden outside the Madonna Chapel, accompanied by reporters, bringing excitement and life to the long-desolate grounds.
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Dressed in professional gear and yellow hard hats, including engineers and university history professors, the team carefully examined the Holy Mother Chapel and the statue of the saint, discussing and being interviewed by the media.
Wang Rong, having not seen living people for ages, watched their every move intently from inside the statue, straining to catch every detail. From their conversations and the reporters’ introductions, she learned:
After the Madonna Society’s bankruptcy, the land of the Holy Mother Primary School was returned to the government, which auctioned it off to a small developer at a low price.
The developer had hoped to make a name with the project, but within three years ran into severe financial trouble and folded.
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Thereafter, the land changed hands several times, but each subsequent holder also went bankrupt within three years. The land reverted to the government each time, but repeated auctions failed—no one dared take it.
Rumors spread: “The land of Madonna Primary School is cursed.”
Wilder stories arose: Legends of the Madonna and Saint Wang Rong vying for believers, both ultimately ruined, with the Madonna cursing the Society and dooming the land so that no one could ever own it.
With years of urban planning, the site became isolated from transport networks and lost development value.
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The Holy Mother Society was long gone, but its remnants were still of cultural and religious historical value to the city. Thus the government funded a restoration project for the Madonna Chapel, commencing this year.
As the only remaining Holy Mother Chapel building, it would be preserved. The school, however, would be demolished for public housing.
The statue of Saint Wang Rong, naturally, was to be an important part of the preservation. It represented the unprecedented religious mania that swept the city fifty years ago—a key piece of its religious history.
Hearing this, Wang Rong couldn’t help but cry. No—she had no physical organs to weep, but she felt a strong urge to.
Fifty years.
She had been trapped in her cycle of dream-lives for fifty years.
She had been dead for half a century.
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End of Chapter Thirteen
Copyright Notice:
The Posthumous Tale of Wang Rong: A Journey of Revenge Through Inverted Dreams
(Bilibili title: The Posthumous Tale of Wang Rong: Revenge Dream)
Chapter 13: The Passage of Years
Original work by Jing Xixian (Vampire L). This chapter completed on September 1, 2025.
This document is for original record and publication only. All rights reserved. Without written permission from the author, do not reproduce, copy, adapt, transfer, translate, or use for commercial purposes in any form.
© Jing Xixian (Vampire L). All rights reserved.
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