Shuying Temple occupied a special location—to reach it, one had to pass through Dafu Temple.

Only seven days had passed since Buddha’s Birthday, and the temple fair in front of Dafu Temple hadn’t ended yet. The place was bustling with voices and exceptionally lively.

When Qiao Zhao arrived, a guest monk was already waiting there. He escorted the master and servant to a secluded side gate, where a little novice led them toward Shuying Temple.

The little novice appeared to be only six or seven years old, with large, bright black and white eyes that rolled around alertly, quite lively indeed.

“Female benefactor, are you going to see Master Wumei?”

“Yes.” Qiao Zhao looked down and smiled at him.

The little novice’s eyes brightened, his voice soft and sweet as he shook his head: “Female benefactor, you’re truly amazing.”

Binglu covered her mouth and laughed: “Little monk, tell us, what makes our miss so amazing?”

The little novice’s face suddenly turned red, puffing out his cheeks: “She just is amazing! This little monk has never even seen the master of Shuying Temple.”

Binglu was amused and giggled: “How old are you? There are plenty of things you haven’t seen. Tell me, have you seen chicken legs? Have you seen pig’s trotters?”

The little novice was nearly brought to tears with anger, shouting: “I’ve seen chickens, and I’ve seen pigs too!”

Once, when following his senior brother down the mountain, he’d even seen little ducklings!

“What’s so special about that? The master is much harder to see than those—” The little novice suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his face red as he called out: “Master Uncle Jingxi.”

The nun Jingxi reached out to pat the little novice’s smooth head, then placed her palms together toward Qiao Zhao: “Young benefactor has arrived. The master is waiting for you in the meditation room.”

She spoke calmly while glancing at Binglu, reminding her: “Only the master prefers quiet, so others should preferably wait outside.”

Qiao Zhao returned the courtesy and instructed Binglu: “Just wait for me outside. If you get bored, you can go browse the temple fair.”

Binglu’s eyes lit up: “Miss, can this servant go to the temple fair?”

“Of course it’s true. Don’t you have the money pouch with you? Just be careful and stay safe.” Qiao Zhao gently reminded her.

“Yes!” Binglu cheerfully agreed.

Jingxi showed a faint smile.

This Third Miss Li treated her servants with kindness—she was someone with spiritual sensitivity. No wonder Master Uncle had taken notice of her.

Qiao Zhao followed Jingxi to the meditation room where she had previously written “Bringing in the Wine.” She saw Master Wumei sitting cross-legged in the meditation chair, only opening her eyes when she heard movement.

“Greetings, Master.”

Master Wumei nodded to Jingxi, who silently withdrew.

“You’ve come.” Master Wumei finally spoke.

Her gaze fell on the lilac flowers wound through Qiao Zhao’s hair ornament, and she suddenly asked: “Do you like lilacs?”

Qiao Zhao looked toward Master Wumei.

Master Wumei’s gaze was indifferent, her tone equally flat: “Lilacs symbolize a thousand sorrows. For a young lady to favor such flowers is no joyful matter.”

In her youth, she too had loved lilacs.

“Upstairs at dusk, longing to rest, the jade ladder blocks the moon’s crescent hook. The banana leaves won’t unfurl, the lilac buds won’t bloom—both face the spring wind with their separate griefs.”

She had paced countless times beneath the moon before her tower, yet never waited for the person she longed to see. In the end, there was only the company of Buddhist lamps and ancient scriptures.

Master Wumei looked at Qiao Zhao.

This little girl before her was so much like her younger self—equally talented and outstanding, confident and proud. Yet unfortunately, her circumstances were far worse than her own had been.

Standing before Master Wumei, Qiao Zhao felt none of the overwhelming pressure that others experienced. She smiled and replied: “I can’t say whether I like them or not. My maid picked them, and I thought they looked fresh, so I wore them.”

Seeing Master Wumei frown in silence, she continued: “Lilac buds represent sorrow, winter plum shows proud resilience—in my view, these are merely meanings people have attributed to them. They don’t represent anything.”

Just like music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—while the world used these as standards to measure talent, Grandfather had said, “They’re merely for cultivating emotions and character.”

Therefore, she never considered herself any kind of talented woman.

Master Wumei was quite surprised by Qiao Zhao’s words. She stared at her intently for a long while before saying softly, “Young benefactor’s perspective resembles that of an old friend I once knew.”

Regarding matters concerning Grandfather, Qiao Zhao found it difficult to respond immediately.

“If he had met you before, he would certainly have liked you.” Seeing Qiao Zhao remain silent, Master Wumei lost interest in continuing this topic and brought out a copy of the “Lotus Sutra” for her to copy.

Qiao Zhao sat properly at the desk, took up her brush, and copied the scriptures at an unhurried pace. After half a day had passed, she hadn’t made a single error and hadn’t changed her posture.

Master Wumei gradually became absorbed in watching.

Just then, Jingxi entered to request instruction: “Master Uncle, the Ninth Princess has come.”

Master Wumei didn’t even lift her eyelids, saying indifferently: “Tell her to return.”

Jingxi hesitated briefly, then respectfully withdrew.

Princess Zhenzhen was waiting at the temple gate. Upon hearing Jingxi’s message, she couldn’t help but be surprised: “The master won’t see me? Master Jingxi, what is the master doing at this moment?”

Today wasn’t any special day—why would the master refuse to see her?

Buddhists don’t lie. After hesitating, Jingxi said, “The master is currently receiving a guest.”

“Since the master is receiving a guest, I’ll return another day.”

Princess Zhenzhen walked back with her palace maid. While she couldn’t say she was particularly disappointed—she was more interested in the temple fair before her than accompanying that master in Buddhist prayers—she was somewhat curious.

The master regularly saw only two or three people. Who could she be meeting with now?

Walking to the side gate of Dafu Temple, Princess Zhenzhen instructed her palace maid to inquire with the little novice playing at the entrance.

“Little Master Xuanjing, do you know who went to Shuying Temple?” the palace maid asked.

“I know! It was two female benefactors.”

“What kind of female benefactors? Could you describe them, little master?”

Xuanjing twisted his fingers, looking somewhat troubled: “This little monk doesn’t know how to describe them.”

The palace maid found this rather amusing.

This little novice had grown up in Dafu Temple since childhood—he probably couldn’t even distinguish between beautiful and ugly.

She raised her hand and asked: “Compared to me, are they tall or short? Fat or thin? Older or younger?”

Xuanjing’s eyes sparkled brightly as he spoke rapidly: “Shorter than you, thinner than you, younger than you.”

The little novice, showing his ability to extrapolate, added: “More beautiful than you.”

The palace maid’s pretty face instantly darkened.

What nonsense was this little monk spouting!

The palace maid returned to Princess Zhenzhen with a cold face, whispering: “Your Highness, the ones who went to Shuying Temple were two young women.”

“Young women?” Upon hearing this, Princess Zhenzhen immediately lost any desire to leave, sneering: “Then I must see just who these people are.”

Princess Zhenzhen stood waiting under a nearby tree. Before long, she saw a little maid in a peach-red vest humming a tune as she walked over.

The little maid bounced as she walked, her joy seeming ready to overflow, both hands filled with various foods.

Seeing Xuanjing, Binglu smiled: “Little master, here, I brought you something delicious.”

Xuanjing ran over, swallowing his saliva but shaking his head: “I can’t accept it.”

“You can! It’s delicious.” Without allowing any argument, Binglu stuffed a candied hawthorn skewer into the little novice’s hands.

The little novice blinked, opened his mouth, and carefully bit off half of the candied hawthorn. The sweet and sour flavor made the little novice instantly smile with his eyes crinkling, but suddenly his face wrinkled up. He opened his mouth and spat out a white tooth.

The little novice stood stunned for a moment, then began crying with sniffles: “I told you I couldn’t accept it.”