Yan Sanhe was quite surprised again.

When people look at someone for the first time, it’s almost always about appearance—beautiful or ugly, tall or short, fat or thin…

These are the most intuitive things.

Yet the impression Jingchen gave was quietness?

Quietness is a temperament.

This temperament must be extremely outstanding to make people overlook everything else about her.

So Yan Sanhe continued asking, “Why did you have this feeling?”

“I don’t know.”

Huiru gazed somewhat wistfully outside the room. “I just felt she was very peaceful, very proper, not the kind of person who chatters and talks too much. Different from ordinary women.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “And did the facts prove it?”

Huiru replied, “Indeed they did. Jingchen didn’t talk much, never caused trouble, was polite to everyone. In these eighteen years, I never saw her lose her temper with anyone.”

Yan Sanhe pressed, “Not even once?”

Huiru said, “Miss Yan, people like us have no desires, no ambitions, no争 competitiveness, no greed—who would we lose our temper with?”

Silent, quiet, good-tempered.

Yan Sanhe organized her thoughts, then asked, “What about her appearance? Ordinary, attractive, outstanding, or stunning?”

Huiru replied, “Attractive, very fair.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “What do you mean by fair?”

Huiru said, “Her face was clean and clear, not even half a mole.”

Yan Sanhe said, “Yesterday in the coffin I saw her hands. They were very beautiful.”

Huiru nodded. “When she was young, her hands were even more beautiful than her face. Each finger was like a green onion. I often thought her hands shouldn’t be the hands of a nun—they should be the hands of someone living in luxury.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “Did you ever tell her this?”

Huiru replied, “Those who leave home do not speak falsehoods. I only thought this in my heart.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “Was she literate?”

Huiru answered, “She was, but she said not much.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “Could she write?”

Huiru said, “Yes.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “How was her writing?”

Huiru picked up a stack of Buddhist scriptures beside her. “This is her writing. Miss Yan, take a look.”

Yan Sanhe took them and flipped through a few pages, her eyes darkening. This handwriting was truly mediocre—it didn’t seem like someone from a scholarly family.

Yan Sanhe asked, “How was she at chores—washing clothes, cooking, cleaning, needlework?”

Huiru replied, “Apart from cooking not tasting very good, everything else was presentable.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “When she came to your Water Moon Nunnery on the winter solstice, what did her hands look like?”

Huiru answered without needing to think, “Delicate and tender, like a young lady’s hands from a wealthy family, extremely well-maintained.”

Young ladies from wealthy families never touched manual labor—they wouldn’t know how to wash clothes or cook. Yet Jingchen knew all of it.

Someone accustomed to rough work couldn’t possibly maintain such hands. Yet Jingchen had such hands.

Very contradictory!

Yan Sanhe said, “You say she was like a wealthy young lady, so when she first came to Water Moon Nunnery, she didn’t look like a married woman?”

Huiru replied, “She was a married woman who had experienced intimate relations between man and woman.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “You’re that certain?”

“Miss Yan, a maiden’s features and a married woman’s features are different.”

Huiru looked at her. “Like you, Miss—your brows are inexperienced, your pupils clear and transparent. One look shows you’re still a virgin, inexperienced in intimate relations.”

Yan Sanhe’s face flushed at her words.

“Jingchen’s brow ridge was somewhat chaotic, her eye whites unclear, turbid—that’s the appearance of a married woman. Moreover, in our Great Hua Kingdom, women who haven’t married by twenty-seven are extremely rare.”

“Since she had a married woman’s appearance, then…”

Yan Sanhe asked, “Can you determine whether she had given birth to children?”

“No!” The old nun Huiru’s tone was very certain.

“Why?”

“To tell if a woman has given birth, you only need to look at her waist. Jingchen’s waist was slender as a willow—she definitely hadn’t given birth.”

Had known a man, but never given birth to children.

Attractive appearance, fair and clean.

Hands like a wealthy young lady’s slender jade fingers.

Had read a little, knew a few characters, didn’t often cook.

Yan Sanhe quickly extracted some key information in her mind.

“These eighteen years, you spent day and night together, closer than family, correct?”

“Correct!”

“Then you should know everything about her experiences these eighteen years?”

“You’re right, Miss. After she entered the nunnery, I know everything.”

“Pick three of the most important things, the things you remember most deeply, and tell me.”

“Let me think.”

Huiru’s prayer beads moved faster, but after just a few movements, her hand suddenly stopped.

“Miss Yan, she never celebrated her birthday.”

“Oh?”

Yan Sanhe’s heart was lightly pricked by something.

“We who have left home don’t really celebrate birthdays. When a mother gives birth, it’s a near-death experience—it’s a difficult day. On one’s birthday, we only do two things: first is releasing captive animals, second is chanting scriptures.”

Huiru continued, “Releasing animals must be done in the morning; chanting scriptures must be done all day. Some devout disciples even begin copying the Heart Sutra half a month before their birthday to burn as an offering to their mothers on that day.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “And her?”

Huiru shook her head. “All these years, I never saw her release captive animals.”

Yan Sanhe asked, “Do you know when her birthday was?”

“That’s just it—I don’t know, which is why I was curious.”

Huiru said, “When the old abbess was alive, she asked about her birthday. She said she had long forgotten everything from the mundane world.”

Yan Sanhe frowned. “Did she truly forget, or did she not want to celebrate?”

“Who knows?”

Huiru said, “Those who leave home don’t ask about cause and effect, only about cultivation. So after that time, the old abbess never asked again.”

I truly have forgotten!

Yan Sanhe picked up her teacup, hiding the darkness in her eyes. “Anything else?”

Huiru said, “She had an adopted daughter. Miss Yan, does this count as something important?”

“An adopted daughter?”

Yan Sanhe’s eyes brightened. “Where did she come from?”

Huiru replied, “Found at the nunnery gate, just like Lan Chuan.”

In this world, there were too many cases of abandoning wives and daughters. Every year or two, Water Moon Nunnery would find a baby girl at the gate.

Over time, an unwritten rule formed: whichever nun was willing to pick up that baby girl would be responsible for raising her.

“Jingchen’s adopted daughter was called Mingyue. Jingchen raised her for eight years. Later, a couple from our nunnery took a liking to Mingyue and took her back to be their daughter.”

Yan Sanhe felt this explanation lacked context. Thinking of Lan Chuan’s background, she asked, “For little nuns like Mingyue and Lan Chuan, how many paths did the nunnery arrange for them?”

“One path is like Mingyue’s—being taken by a couple and returning to secular life. The other is remaining at Water Moon Nunnery as a nun for life. Just these two paths.”

“Which path do more people take?”

“Miss, saying this shows you’re still young and haven’t truly experienced the mundane world.”

Huiru couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“At Water Moon Nunnery over all these years, those who could take the first path don’t exceed the fingers of one hand. In these times, who would run to a nunnery to take in a girl of unknown origins?”