An’an had long been waiting anxiously at the second gate. No matter how Nanny Xu and Lianyi tried to persuade her, she refused to budge even half a step. After an unknown amount of time, Nanny Xu finally heard a farmer’s wife joyfully shout: “Sixth Miss has arrived!”

She held An’an’s hand and walked quickly forward a few steps. Sure enough, she saw the carriage rolling through the gate. Luyi happily descended from the rear carriage, first beaming as she called out “Mother,” then turned to help Song Chuyi down.

An’an had already broken free from Nanny Xu’s hand and flew over in a flash to hug Song Chuyi’s leg, looking up at her pitifully with two watery eyes: “Little Auntie, I thought you weren’t coming!”

Xiang Mingzi, wearing a snow-white rabbit fur cloak, crouched down and pinched her face: “How could we not come? Has there been any year when we didn’t come for our An’an’s birthday?”

Ever since she had stayed overnight at the Tongzhou estate on the way back from Qingzhou and learned of An’an’s background, she had felt sympathy for the girl who shared a similar fate. She made sure to come every year for An’an’s birthday. An’an was already quite familiar with her. Hearing this, she shyly buried her head in Song Chuyi’s cloak.

Song Chuyi smiled and bent down to straighten An’an’s body, reaching out to scrape her frozen red nose: “At such a young age, yet you think so much. Why wouldn’t Little Auntie come? Of course I came to celebrate our An’an’s birthday.”

Ziyun held an umbrella for them. The young ladies standing in their cloaks in this snowy landscape made the finest possible scenery. Ye Jingchuan stood not far away watching Song Chuyi smile, and suddenly he smiled too.

He finally understood the feeling of having someone in his heart. That feeling was—even when you were clearly unhappy, you could be infected by her single smile and become happy.

Nanny Xu invited them toward the flower hall in the rear courtyard: “We’ve cooked longevity noodles today. First eat a bowl to warm yourselves, then we’ll have the banquet at noon.”

It wasn’t a milestone birthday. Every year they simply gathered together to eat a bowl of longevity noodles, gave the farmhands and laborers below an extra month’s wages or reduced a month’s rent, then at noon had a lively meal together at several tables.

Song Chuyi smiled and was about to respond when she saw Uncle Zhang rush in from outside in a panic, reporting: “Miss, a monk has come from outside, claiming to be from Huangjue Temple…”

Everyone stopped in their tracks. Weren’t the people who came to burn down the estate last time related to monks? Nanny Xu’s expression turned unpleasant as she looked toward Song Chuyi with concern.

Ye Jingchuan also grew stern. Just as he was about to say they wouldn’t receive him, there was suddenly a thunderous boom, as if the earth was shaking and mountains were trembling.

An’an was startled and cried out, clutching Song Chuyi’s robe. Song Chuyi gripped her hand tightly. Then she saw a farmer’s wife run in with a pale face, saying that the monk had kicked the door down.

Although the estate’s door wasn’t as thick as those in the capital, it weighed at least two to three hundred pounds. To be able to kick down such a heavy door—how much strength must this person have? Even Ye Jingchuan couldn’t help but furrow his brow.

Song Chuyi released An’an’s hand and smiled reassuringly at her: “An’an, first go to the rear courtyard with Auntie Mingzi and Nanny. I’ll come in shortly, alright?”

Without the door’s protection, the cold wind outside rushed in all at once. When Song Chuyi entered through the side door, she couldn’t help but stumble from such a strong wind. Song Yan pressed his lips together and followed beside her. At a glance, he saw a plump monk with kind brows and benevolent eyes, yet with a faint air of malevolence, standing in the hall.

Who else besides Master Yuanhui, known in Fujian as the Holy Monk of Death, could have the ability to kick down this door? He looked at Master Yuanhui and laughed coldly: “Master Yuanhui just got out of prison. Instead of repenting before Buddha and reflecting behind closed doors, you ran to our home to smash the door. Do you want another trip to the authorities?”

Master Yuanhui’s gaze fixed directly on him. After a long moment, he recited “Amitabha,” then with a deeply meaningful smile, looked toward Song Chuyi: “This humble monk came this time to thank Sixth Miss Song for returning my mother and elder sister. I also have a message for Sixth Miss Song.”

Song Chuyi’s right eyelid twitched involuntarily—she hadn’t instructed Ma Changjiang and Ma Wangkun to return Madam Huang and Elder Sister Huang to Master Yuanhui. A blood feud had already been established. Even if she actively begged for mercy, someone like Master Yuanhui wouldn’t spare her life.

Yet Master Yuanhui had already found where Madam Huang and Elder Sister Huang were hidden? Her heart held hidden worry, but her face revealed nothing. She gently nodded toward Master Yuanhui: “I’m all ears.”

“When a person speaks a kind word or has a kind thought, they add a portion of light to their nature. When a person has an evil thought or speaks an evil word, they add a portion of darkness to their nature. The merit of those who do good is like grass in a spring garden—though you don’t see it grow, it increases daily. The merit of those who do evil is like a whetstone—though you don’t see its wear, it diminishes daily.” He put his palms together and looked at Song Chuyi with kind brows and benevolent eyes: “Sixth Miss is someone who defies heaven to change fate. Nothing should be forced. If you force it and still forcibly alter others’ destinies, I fear you won’t meet a good end.”

Song Yan couldn’t help but fly into a rage, immediately rebuking him: “What nonsense are you spouting?! A Buddhist monk creating such evil karma with your mouth—aren’t you afraid of descending to Avici Hell to have your tongue pulled out?!”

“Whether or not I’m creating evil karma and cursing with nonsense, why doesn’t Sixth Miss look at her own palm?” Master Yuanhui stared intently at Song Chuyi, his eyes bright: “Spread it open and look at your palm lines. Haven’t they already become chaotic and disordered? Those not blessed by heavenly fate… not only bring disaster upon themselves but also implicate those around them.”

Song Chuyi couldn’t help but feel there were hidden meanings in his words. Thinking of Ma Changjiang and Ma Wangkun, her heart skipped a beat.

Master Yuanhui smiled slightly. His facial expression was clearly extremely benevolent, yet somehow frightening: “Even after a hundred thousand kalpas, the karma created does not perish. When causes and conditions meet, one personally receives the karmic retribution. Sixth Miss, we’ll meet again.”

Song Yan felt his scalp tingle from his gaze. For a moment, he felt that the way Master Yuanhui looked at him was no different from looking at someone already dead.

He turned to leave, but from outside the door came a clear voice responding: “I’ve only heard that fortune and misfortune have no gate—people invite them themselves. The retribution of good and evil follows like a shadow.”

Zhou Weizhao wore black clothing, his hair all gathered behind his head with a jade crown. On his jade-white face, two eyes like the finest ink stones stared at Master Yuanhui, pitch-black and transparent: “Buddhism emphasizes cause and effect in all things. The Buddha and Bodhisattvas sit on high observing all worldly affairs. They would never make people suffer without asking the reason. Master, tell me—am I right or not?”

These people somehow started discussing Buddhist verses. Ye Jingchuan vaguely heard some implications, but if he tried to investigate deeply, he couldn’t—he had always found these things gave him a headache.