It was a spring day filled with rich floral fragrance. The sky was a pristine azure, like a vast frozen sapphire. Under the blazing sun, glaciers and snow peaks reflected deep blue light. Mountain ranges stood covered in spruce forests, their green waves surging. The mountainsides were lush with verdant growth, and pine forests flourished abundantly, scattered with wildflowers. At the foot of the mountains, meadows stretched endlessly, where horses and livestock roamed freely. Tens of thousands of wild apricot trees were scattered across the fertile valleys, blooming in competition, as brilliant as clouds at sunset.

After leading the monks in morning prayers, Tanmoluojia walked slowly out of the main hall. His kasaya brushed against flower branches that had pushed through the stone railings of the long corridor. The filtered flower light and shadows fell upon him, as if clusters of blossoms were silently blooming on his robe.

Flourishing and withering, all in an instant.

He held his prayer beads and walked through the corridor, seeming to be surrounded by Buddha’s light. As the breeze blew, the garden’s intense floral fragrance was diluted by the agarwood scent from his body. The blooming flowers and vigorously growing trees suddenly became cold and quiet.

Touched by his Buddhist aura, even the most vigorous vitality carried a trace of otherworldly detachment from life and death.

The monks and guards following him looked up at him, their hearts pounding, holding their breath, their expressions growing increasingly devout and respectful.

As he pondered the earlier Buddhist scripture debate with the monks, his mind nearly entered meditation. Then a voice came from the other side of the flowering trees, clear and gentle, like pearls dropping on jade.

The flower branches trembled, and his train of thought halted.

He walked around the luxuriant flowering trees, his steps slightly pausing as he raised his eyes.

Under the trees, a young woman held a golden Indian tray in one hand while picking flowers with the other. She wore an unremarkable ink-dyed monk’s robe, her long hair gathered up in a simple bun. A corner of red silk ribbon peeked through her jet-black hair, which framed a face as smooth as jade and white as cream. She wore no makeup, with red lips and white teeth, clear eyes reflecting spring light. In her glancing gaze flowed the vibrant charm of youth.

Prajñā stood before the corridor, slightly frowning, directing her flower picking.

She responded good-naturedly, her waist turning gracefully, face smiling. As the breeze passed, countless flowers showered down from the tree. Her loose monk’s robe rippled with fine wrinkles, like a divine maiden emerging from the water in gossamer clothing, the graceful figure visible beneath the wet garments.

The subdued flower fragrance suddenly became rich and intense again.

Tanmoluojia gazed at her.

Prajñā saw him first and hurried down the corridor to bow in greeting. The young woman also turned her head, smiled brilliantly, and holding the golden tray, retreated below the steps to bow respectfully. Her upward gaze held the same reverence and trust as other devotees.

The difference was that her gaze carried an unconscious familiarity that others lacked.

He knew this, and in her innocence and unawareness, he silently, shamefully indulged in it.

Tanmoluojia’s face showed no expression as he turned and left.

Yuanjue brought official documents, and he sat at his desk reviewing them. Flower fragrance wafted over as the young woman’s voice conversed with the guards in the corridor.

Afraid of disturbing him, they kept their voices very low, but with his exceptional hearing, he heard everything.

Prajñā told her to take the offering flowers to the Buddha statue.

She agreed with a smile, entering through the corridor in her monk’s robe, her figure flashing past as she delivered the fresh flowers before the Buddha statue.

Prajñā complained that her bowing posture wasn’t respectful enough and went on endlessly about it. She must have grown a bit impatient, sighing softly and mumbling something, but still bowed as Prajñā instructed, then turned back with round eyes.

“Is this better?” she asked softly, her expression still carrying a smile.

Prajñā examined her for a long while before nodding, “Much better than yesterday.”

“Thanks to Little Master Prajñā’s teaching,” she said with a smile.

Prajñā proudly lifted her chin: “I’ve always been in charge of the flower offerings in the Buddha’s hall!”

“You’re amazing,” she said sincerely.

Prajñā beamed with delight.

Tanmoluojia watched her playfully chatting with Prajñā from the corner of his eye, his brush never stopping.

When she wanted to please someone, she could make them bloom with joy.

Soon after, the two left amid conversation and laughter.

He continued reviewing the documents.

Almost half an hour passed in silence before the felt curtain suddenly rustled. She appeared outside the bead curtain carrying a stack of books, peered inside briefly, hesitated a moment, then quietly withdrew.

Without raising his eyes, Tanmoluojia said quietly, “Come in.”

She brushed aside the bead curtain and entered, bowing to him. Her gaze fell on her small black desk as she smiled slightly, sat down, carefully placed the books down, rolled up her sleeves, opened a wooden box, chose a brush, and began writing on the spread paper.

Tanmoluojia preferred quiet. Usually when meditating, guards and warrior monks stood watch outside, not daring to enter and disturb him. Yet lately he had grown accustomed to the occasional soft rustling sounds she made when nearby.

A faint, elusive sweet fragrance drifted through the air.

He never looked up. After finishing all the documents, a flower fragrance suddenly washed over him. The young woman had somehow moved beside him, her slender fingers tugging at his kasaya sleeve.

“Master, are you finished?”

His gaze lingered on her fingers.

He could have pulled away – if he had done it just once, she would never have made such a gesture again.

But he didn’t.

He remained perfectly still and gave a dignified, serene “Mm.”

She released her hand and lifted the box and papers she had brought, spreading them on his desk. “Master, please try this brush and paper. Using a round shaft makes writing smoother, the lines finer, and it won’t blot.”

Tanmoluojia took the brush she offered. Where he gripped it was warm from her touch.

He lowered his gaze and tried writing on the paper.

Indeed, as she said, the writing was smoother without large ink blots, the lines graceful. These writing materials would make copying scriptures more beautiful.

He wrote in Sanskrit, Chinese, and Turkic scripts, comparing the effects in different writing systems. Yaoying couldn’t help leaning closer to watch the beautiful characters flow from his brush tip. She exclaimed, “Master’s calligraphy is so beautiful.”

Even though she couldn’t read them, she could tell the other scripts were elegant and powerful, written with vigor.

She unconsciously drew closer and closer. If someone had peered into the hall, it would have looked as if he had one arm around her. His nose was filled with her scent – flowers, sweetness, and an ineffable fragrance that seemed to emanate from her very bones.

Tanmoluojia set down the brush.

She looked up. “Master, who taught you to write? When did you start learning?”

He answered, “I began practicing as soon as I could remember. Some monks in the temple excelled in Sanskrit, some in Chinese, some in calligraphy, some in textual interpretation – they were all my teachers.”

As the Buddha’s son in whom the world placed great hopes, he spent almost all his childhood studying, receiving instruction from different monks from morning till night every day. He also had to comprehend techniques with Pāralabdhi, day after day without slack.

Yaoying nodded, face full of admiration, and got to the point: “The temple’s most precious sutras are palm leaf manuscripts and parchment scrolls. Although they can be preserved for a long time without decay, they are extremely expensive and inconvenient to copy. For an ordinary family to own even one book would cost their entire fortune. Master, do you think using this kind of paper to print sutras and books could make them more affordable?”

Tanmoluojia felt the paper and nodded, saying, “The royal court’s climate is dry, this paper can be preserved for a long time too.”

She looked up at him, blinking, knowing he was very tolerant of her, so her words carried a hint of the intimacy of a junior acting spoiled with an elder.

He knew what she wanted to ask him, and waited for her to continue.

“Master, if you find it suitable, could you use this brush at the next dharma debate?” She rarely hid anything from him and asked directly.

Tanmoluojia nodded.

She slowly exhaled, “Sorry to disturb you, Master.”

Then she added, “Master when you’re not feeling well, using this paper and brush to copy scriptures will be less taxing.”

Tanmoluojia started slightly.

She had already withdrawn.

After some rustling sounds, the flower fragrance surrounding him faded away.

She had always been preparing to leave. Once she found Li Zhongqian, she would leave without looking back.

Tanmoluojia lightly fingered his prayer beads.

Would a deity want to possess their devotee entirely?

He wondered.

He wanted her eyes to see only him, wanted to possess her completely.

Why were demons frightening?

Because demons knew his deepest desires.

…

“Luojia…” came an anxious call.

Tanmoluojia awakened from meditation, his jade eyes opening. He rose, lifted the felt curtain, and strode toward the adjacent tent.

The bonfire blazed fiercely. The standing guards exchanged glances and hurriedly followed: “My Lord, what’s wrong?”

Tanmoluojia went straight into the tent, lifted the curtain, and walked to the low couch. He bent down and lifted the sleeping Yaoying.

Her brows were tightly furrowed, drenched in sweat.

“Mingyuenu.”

He called her softly, brushing away the sweat-dampened hair from her face. “Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”

Yaoying’s eyelashes trembled violently as she woke from the nightmare. Meeting his calm jade eyes, she was dazed for a moment, then let out a soft breath and smiled: “I dreamed about fleeing again…”

After leaving Chang’an, they continued westward. These days they were traveling the same route that Haidu Aling had taken when kidnapping her to the Western Regions. During the day, she had braved the scorching sun to visit several tribes, urging officials to dig irrigation channels before winter to ensure the tribes would have water for crops next year. Perhaps triggered by these familiar scenes, she had been frequently dreaming of past events these past few nights.

She shook her head, coming to her senses: “How did you know I was having a nightmare?”

Tanmoluojia uncorked the leather water bag and said, “I heard you call my name in your dream.”

Yaoying froze, half-doubting: “I called you?”

“You did.”

He helped her drink water. His hearing was better than others, which was why he had rushed over when he heard her cry out in her dream.

Yaoying’s throat was dry and itchy. She drank several mouthfuls from his hand. It was spring water he had specially collected when passing through an oasis, clear and sweet.

Xie Qing and the others who had rushed in, seeing the situation, quietly withdrew.

Tanmoluojia didn’t leave. After putting down the water bag, he held Yaoying and lay down.

Yaoying pushed him: “It’s so hot, go sleep in your tent…”

Due to his cultivation technique, his body had been very hot lately, like a silver brazier – though no red coals were visible, it was scorching to hold.

Tanmoluojia held her shoulders firmly, “I’ll recite sutras for you.”

Yaoying loved hearing him recite sutras. This skill too he had practiced since childhood. His voice was clear and cool, his intonation pleasing to the ear, with perfect rhythm and cadence, carrying within its warmth a solemn majesty like mountains and rivers. At every dharma assembly, when he began speaking, thousands would fall silent, even swallowing their coughs.

She hugged his waist and nestled closer into his embrace, though she said, “We still have to travel tomorrow, don’t tire yourself.”

He replied, gentle but brooking no argument, “I’ll go back once you’re asleep.”

Only then did Yaoying fall silent, closing her eyes to listen to his sutra recitation.

He recited for a while, his melodious voice swirling around her ears. Her heart tingled with warmth, and she smiled, saying, “Luojia, how is it you’re good at everything?”

“I’m not good at everything,” he said softly. “You’ve been having nightmares these past few days.”

He couldn’t enter her nightmares to help drive away her fears.

Yaoying laughed, “They’re just dreams… We’ve been traveling every day, and thinking of past events naturally leads to dreams about them. Don’t worry, in the dreams I know those things are in the past. I keep telling myself that what happens in the dreams isn’t frightening because everything will be fine once I wake up.”

“After having a nightmare, I’m especially happy when I wake up.”

Because those memories had long since left her behind, she would never experience such things again.

“Luojia, do you have nightmares too?” she asked drowsily, stifling a yawn.

Tanmoluojia bent down to kiss her.

Yes.

The Asura hell wasn’t his nightmare, nor were the devotees’ curses and abandonment. His nightmare was her being thrown into purgatory because of him, suffering endless torment.

Yaoying fell asleep.

After a while, finding him too hot, she let go of him, tried to push him away, couldn’t move him, then flung her arm out and turned her back to him, keeping far away, leaving him with only the view of the back of her head.

Tanmoluojia knew he should get up and leave, but every part of his body resisted. He just gazed at her back until he too fell asleep.

The next day, before Yaoying woke, Tanmoluojia quietly rose and ordered all divisions to speed up their advance. After Yaoying resolved several disputes between tribes, they no longer stopped along the way, reaching Gaochang within days.

They were greeted by the cheering of citizens throughout the city and over a dozen young men mounted on tall horses, wearing black robes and silver armor, their bearing vigorous and spirited.

Having ridden all day, Yaoying was travel-worn, with enough sand in her boots to fill half a jin. After brief greetings with the young men, she hurriedly entered the city, bathed, and retired to rest. When she woke, it was dark outside, with the melodious sound of pipa music drifting in.

She went to find Tanmoluojia. Ever self-disciplined, he was already awake, sitting at his desk reading a scroll. Seeing her enter, he immediately put the document away.

Yaoying was curious about what he was reading and glanced over, but he had already tucked the scroll into a box and stood up, his gaze falling on her face with an unusual expression.

“What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t help asking.

He stared at her, silent for a moment, then said, “Nothing.”

“Come with me somewhere,” she said.

Without a single question, he followed her out.

The courtyard lanterns cast dim firelights. Yaoying took his hand – it was somewhat hot.

Tanmoluojia looked down at her, a faint smile passing through his eyes as his tense expression softened. His fingers pressed slightly, interlocking with hers.

Passing through the front corridor, Yaoying suddenly laughed, pointing to a pillar in the corner: “Luojia, when you came to Gaochang last time, were you hiding there watching me?”

She had sensed something then, but when she looked, she hadn’t seen him.

Her playful tone in bringing up this matter was so charming that Tanmoluojia couldn’t help bending down to kiss her rosy lips. “Yes.”

He had stood there, separated by a door, watching her in the mortal world.

Previously, when thinking of this incident, Yaoying had only felt heartache for him. Now, revisiting the place while holding his hand, past pain had fermented into mellow wine. She smiled and said, “I knew you had secretly come to Gaochang and left alone while injured. I was nearly furious to death.”

Truly furious enough to want to rush before him, tear off his kasaya, strip away all his pretenses, and have a proper argument with him.

Tanmoluojia stopped, looking straight into her eyes: “Mingyuenu, it won’t happen again.”

When he made promises, each word carried the weight of mountains, as steady as towering peaks.

He was the same when lying.

Yaoying snorted lightly, wanting to hit him, but he held her hand too tightly for her to pull away. She could only glare at him.

A smile spilled from his lips; he very much wanted to kiss her properly.

She had already turned to walk outside.

Tanmoluojia felt a touch of disappointment as he followed her out.

Beyond the palace gates, the bustling sounds from the square rushed to meet them. After the scorching day came a cool night. The welcoming feast was just beginning, with finely dressed men, and women, old, and young filling the square. Some linked arms to dance around bonfires, some sat in corners playing music, some gathered to drink and compete, and some displayed their dancing skills – it was extraordinarily lively.

Yaoying watched the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd with keen interest.

“Want to go dance?” Tanmoluojia asked.

Yaoying smiled and shook her head, pulling his hand as they left, passing through quiet streets to arrive at a secluded courtyard. People were already waiting there with lanterns to lead them in.

Voices of laughter came from the inner courtyard. A beautiful woman in Central Plains dress led two young people, a man and a woman, who stood in the courtyard releasing lanterns and praying for blessings. Before the courtyard stood an altar table filled with offerings.

The woman taught the young people to recite scriptures, and they agreed with smiling faces.

“That’s my mother,” Yaoying said softly. “My brother and I knew Li De wouldn’t release her, so when we reclaimed the lost territory, we found a way to secretly bring her out of Jingzhou Prefecture. The one in the palace was someone else pretending to be her.”

The impersonator resembled Xie Manyuan somewhat and could fool the guards, though not Li De. Laughably, Li De didn’t care about Xie Manyuan and had only seen her from afar a few times, so he didn’t know his hostage was fake.

“Mother doesn’t recognize me or my brother anymore, but I still wanted to bring you to meet her, to let Mother know that I’m doing very well.”

Tanmoluojia squeezed Yaoying’s hand.

They stood in the shadows for a while, until Xie Manyuan was persuaded by two servants to return to her room, holding hands as they left.

Yaoying asked the steward: “Has my brother been here?”

Li Zhongqian had arrived in Gaochang before her.

The steward’s expression changed slightly as he said quietly: “Seventh Miss, the young master did come, but didn’t dare stay long… There’s something I must report to you.”

“What is it?”

The steward hesitated before saying: “I heard from Xie Chong and the others that a lady… came looking for them with the young master’s token. Both you and the young master were away then, and Xie Chong and the others didn’t dare make any decisions, so they could only take her in. When the young master returned, they hurried to report to him, but who would have thought, when he saw her, he didn’t even blink before turning and leaving… Xie Chong and the others don’t know how to handle this lady.”

“Is she someone we know?”

“No, Xie Chong said looking at her features, she’s not Han. She can speak our official language, and seems to be of unusual status, though Xie Chong didn’t dare tell me directly.”

Yaoying’s eyelid twitched: Had Li Zhongqian gotten himself into some romantic entanglement? But he had always been responsible for his actions, and his relationships with ladies were always consensual – he would never abandon someone after leading them on.

She thought for a moment and instructed: “Take good care of that lady for now, and we’ll see about arrangements after I’ve clarified things with my brother.”

The steward sighed in relief and agreed.

The night was deep, with starlight scattered across the ground.

Yaoying and Tanmoluojia walked back hand in hand, with guards following behind, their footsteps echoing through the long street.

Tanmoluojia suddenly asked: “Do you want to go dance at the feast?”

Yaoying started, looking up at him. He looked down at her, his expression very serious.

If she said she wanted to dance, he would accompany her.

Yaoying smiled and rose on tiptoe to peck his lips. “I’m tired today and don’t feel like joining the festivities. I’ll dance for you another time.”

Tanmoluojia’s mind flashed to her dancing with Princess Manda in the pavilion last time.

Even the graceful dances of celestial beings in paradise couldn’t surpass that.

Like flowers swaying in the wind, seemingly about to fall, brilliant and enchanting, flower buds on the verge of blooming – his palm still remembered the supple grace of her waist.

His body tensed, his blood suddenly rushing faster, surging through all his vessels.

The night well concealed his loss of composure. Yaoying, thinking he was simply uninterested in dance, swung his hand and pulled him along as they continued walking back.