Today was the grand day when the Bodhisattva at Huangjue Temple manifested, and also the day that the Ninth Princess—whom Zhang Tianshi had declared auspicious for a marriage alliance—was to wed. At such a time, for Master Yuanhui to speak such words before the assembled believers naturally served two purposes: first, to deepen everyone’s impression of her terrifying fate, and second, to likely provoke disgust and resentment toward her from Zhou Weizhao and the other imperial grandsons.
After all, Master Yuanhui had specifically brought up a solution to her supposedly unsolvable fate—one that required an extremely noble destiny to suppress it. Such an almost blatantly obvious hint would inevitably make all the imperial grandsons, even the imperial family and all under heaven, believe that the Earl of Changning’s household would stop at nothing to form new connections.
This was truly a case of calamity falling from the sky upon someone sitting peacefully at home. Yun Shi let out a cold snort, her expression extremely unpleasant. “Master Yuanhui was originally a virtuous master. Eminent monks value virtue and the Way—how can someone who repeatedly harbors malice toward a young girl be worthy of practicing Buddhist teachings?!”
Song Chuyi had some recollection of Master Yuanhui. This person possessed real ability—in her previous life, it seemed Prince Duan had followed his advice, first sending men to lie in ambush along the official road, digging out the mountain path for several days and nights, burying the Crown Prince who was rushing back to the capital to mourn there. Moreover, this monk was no ordinary monk. Though he had gained fame and prestige, he seemed especially enthusiastic about power. He had supported Prince Duan all the way to the throne, later shining brilliantly before Prince Duan, and eventually rose to become a Grand Secretary of the Jinji Hall, entering the cabinet.
This person, whom even Shen Qingrang and Han Zhi had to avoid in those days—a profoundly calculating eminent monk especially accomplished in fate-reading and astrology—had always been willing to serve as Prince Duan’s right-hand man.
Even now, though Prince Duan was dead and the situation had turned completely upside down, his loyalty to Prince Duan remained entirely unchanged.
Madam Cui’s face inevitably took on an even deeper shade of worry. “No matter how much we complain here among ourselves, who can compare to Master Yuanhui’s eloquent tongue? Last time, when his words contradicted Zhang Tianshi’s completely, Imperial Uncle only said that they were from Buddhism and Taoism, different paths.”
At this point, only by settling Song Chuyi’s marriage as quickly as possible could they avoid attracting even more difficult gossip from all quarters, and only then could they quiet the current multitude of malicious speculations about the Earl of Changning’s household and Song Chuyi.
Master Yuanhui had truly presented the Cui clan and the Song family with an enormous problem. Madam Cui felt her chest so stifled it was somewhat difficult to breathe. Just as she was about to speak of returning, she heard from outside that Master Yuanhui was requesting an audience.
Madam Cui was holding back a bellyful of anger, wishing she could burn a few scars onto Master Yuanhui’s gleaming bald head. Upon hearing this, her eyes widened immediately, and she angrily refused: “We won’t see him!”
Even without seeing him, so much trouble had been stirred up—if they actually met, who knew what would happen.
Ah Fu turned to leave, but soon returned with a face full of difficulty. “Master Yuanhui says he doesn’t seek to see the princess—the person he requests to see is Sixth Miss.”
“Still won’t see him!” Madam Cui felt even more difficulty breathing, to the point of being somewhat out of breath. “Having just slapped someone in the face before all the distinguished ladies of the capital, what does he want to do by coming now?! Tell him we won’t see him!”
First Madam Song’s eyes also darkened, her face rarely showing some anger. Actually, after these past few years of training and growth, she rarely lost her temper, but this time she was truly infuriated. Master Yuanhui had simply opened his mouth and spoken a few sentences, but what he brought to Song Chuyi and the Earl of Changning’s household was endless, infinite trouble. She felt the veins at her temples throbbing one by one, ready to burst forth.
Ah Fu pressed her lips together and turned to leave, when she suddenly heard Song Chuyi’s still calm and gentle voice from behind: “I’ll see him.”
“Xiaoyi!” Yun Shi rubbed her temples and stopped her. “What good will seeing him now do? He’s already spoken those words before so many people. Even if you refute him into speechlessness at this moment, the people outside won’t know. It will only bring you more vexation.”
However, Song Chuyi knew that Master Yuanhui never visited a temple without purpose. Since he still wanted to request an audience with her at this time, he surely had some matter. Though she didn’t know what it was, hearing more certainly wouldn’t make things worse.
She smiled and told Ah Fu: “Please invite the Master to the adjacent bright chamber, and have someone prepare tea.”
Master Yuanhui still wore his benevolent and kind-faced appearance, the enormous prayer beads on his wrist polished smooth and lustrous, each bead gleaming with an oily sheen. When Song Chuyi lifted the curtain and entered, he acted as if he hadn’t seen her, continuing to rapidly count through the beads one by one on his own, eyes downcast, saying not a word.
He was the one who had requested the audience, yet he was also the one who now acted like a gourd with its mouth sawed shut, saying nothing. If it had been anyone else, they would have already left in anger. But Song Chuyi could maintain her composure. She slowly sat down in the first chair on the right side, her expression calm, showing no anger.
Enduring momentary anger was nothing special, but as time gradually passed, even after the monks outside had finished their lessons, Song Chuyi still hadn’t moved a muscle, not even changing her posture once.
Master Yuanhui felt slightly surprised in his heart. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked toward Song Chuyi. Examining his own conscience, at Song Chuyi’s age, he had never seen anyone who could be so patient—who, after having their reputation damaged by him repeatedly, could still endure such cold treatment. Such mental fortitude…
In her previous life’s final years, Song Chuyi had barely survived, and aside from Luyi, she had rarely seen even a mosquito. This patient self-control had been carved into her very bones. Let alone sitting for half a shichen, even if she were left alone for three days and three nights, she wouldn’t feel lonely.
Master Yuanhui glanced at the top of her head, pressed his palms together, chanted a Buddhist invocation, and looked at her with some pity and compassion. “Buddha said: one flower, one world; one leaf, one bodhi. Sixth Miss is not originally a person of this world…”
Last time he had been willing to use her fate as a cover to speak in veiled terms, but this time he spoke directly and bluntly of her origins. No matter how composed Song Chuyi was, she couldn’t help but have her heartbeat quicken. She pressed her lips together and glanced at him.
“Since you have such karmic connection and such a fate, you should comply with the times and with heaven’s mandate.” Master Yuanhui no longer looked at her. “Why stir up winds and clouds, changing heaven and altering fate? Sixth Miss carries a body full of hostility and resentment—you ultimately won’t go far. Acting against heaven will inevitably bring burning trouble. Though Sixth Miss now enjoys brocade flowers and oil-fired prosperity and cannot perceive it, you must know that retribution always comes.”
Song Chuyi let out a scornful laugh, her eyes clear and limpid to the bottom, not showing the slightest trace of fear or terror.
“Comply with the times and heaven’s mandate? Then what difference would there be from the previous life? It would merely be experiencing the nightmare I’ve already lived through once, from beginning to end, all over again.”
Master Yuanhui suddenly laughed, shook his head, pressed his palms together and chanted “Amitabha,” then with heavy-lidded eyes, closed them again.