Li Buyan feared neither heaven nor earth, but facing the old monk, her heart felt somewhat timid.

“Master!”

She smiled rarely and humbly, with a hint of flattery in her smile.

“I’m asking about Master Zhu the Fifth from the Zhu Manor, Zhu Xuanjia. Also a dead man. In life, he was very clever and intelligent, but unfortunately his health wasn’t good from childhood. Later when he grew up…”

“Throughout history, geniuses have the destiny configuration of Wounded Official and Wounded Food.”

This time, the old monk didn’t even ask for the birth date, directly sighing and saying three words: “Death Nail.”

What is a Death Nail?

Sounds terrifying.

Li Buyan: “And then?”

The old monk opened his eyes. “You ask one question, I answer once, then it ends.”

Even if you’re an enlightened high monk, you can’t leave sentences half-finished—it breeds resentment!

Li Buyan ground her back teeth.

Endure!

The old monk’s gaze shifted, his eyebrows peaceful. “Little girl, what do you want to ask?”

Yan Sanhe was just about to speak when she heard the old monk say in an extremely kind voice: “Think carefully before asking.”

Yan Sanhe’s heart suddenly raced.

She didn’t know why, but it seemed the thin old monk before her could see through her heart.

Just now, tempted by Li Buyan, she really had wanted to ask about the true culprit in the Zheng family case.

Mountain wind howled. In this wind, Yan Sanhe spoke.

“I want to ask: Zhu Xuanjiu altered someone else’s fate chart yet suffered no backlash himself. Instead, his days got better and better. What method did he use to resolve it?”

“Are you certain you want to ask this?”

“Certain!”

The old monk’s eyes held depths like still water, which disappeared after a few blinks.

“Borrowing fortune.”

Yan Sanhe’s gaze blazed like a blade. “Whose fortune did he borrow?”

The old monk smiled. “Whoever has good fortune, borrow from them.”

Whoever has good fortune, borrow from them?

Yan Sanhe leaned forward, turning to look at Zhu Yuanzhao, only to find him in the same posture, looking back at her.

Their four eyes met.

The terror in each other’s eyes was crystal clear.

In the Zhu family, Madam Mao had the best fortune!!

Just then, the old monk yawned and smiled at Geng Songsheng: “Disciple, your master is tired. Attend to your master…”

“Wait!”

Yan Sanhe suddenly stood up, lunging forward to kneel before the old monk.

The old monk cried out, suddenly somersaulted on the bed, retreating to a corner, shouting:

“Don’t kneel, don’t kneel, I can’t bear it, can’t bear it.”

Everyone was startled.

What?

What’s this mean?

The old monk is so divine, yet he’s afraid?

Must be an act!

Geng Songsheng was already accustomed to his master’s erratic behavior. Tapping his pipe, he said quietly: “Master, what kind of appearance is this? Sit properly at once.”

The old monk looked at Geng Songsheng with a wronged expression. “You, you, you first make that girl sit properly, then I’ll sit properly.”

Here we go being an improper old man again.

Geng Songsheng shook his head helplessly. “Miss Yan, my master most hates being knelt to. Get up and speak directly.”

She also didn’t need to flee so quickly—making her look like some plague god.

Yan Sanhe sat cross-legged. “Master Chanyue, I have a question in my heart. I don’t ask you to answer, only to give a hint.”

“Ai ya ya, you little girl pushing your luck!”

The old monk crawled while blowing his beard and glaring at Yan Sanhe to express anger.

“You can’t just because you’re… pretty act lawlessly! We agreed on three questions and three answers, but you insist on…”

“Master Chanyue, human life is at stake. I beg you…”

“Ai ya ya, ai ya ya… Can’t stand hearing ‘beg’—shortens my life, shortens my life!”

The old monk waved his hands repeatedly, his face showing anger, resentment, and helplessness. “Speak quickly, fart quickly, finish and leave fast!”

Yan Sanhe: “Zhu Xuanjiu’s first wife, Madam Mao, was born in the Year of the Rat, on the first day of the first lunar month. Recently she’s been aging more each day…”

“Seven days left to live.”

With that, the old monk tilted back, lay on the bed, then pulled the blanket over himself, covering completely.

His roar came from under the blanket: “Get out, out, out, all of you get out!”

Not a single person in the stone room moved.

Everyone stared at that bundle of blanket in shock, minds buzzing.

Madam Mao has seven days left to live?

Seven days left?

Seven days!

This, this… impossible!!

Zhu Yuanzhao felt his heart churning, something in his throat irrepressible. His mouth opened, coughing up blood as well.

“Brother?”

“Master Zhu the Second?”

Zhu Yuanzhao’s face showed complete grief, his eyes frightening red.

This mouthful of blood should have been coughed up when his wife and child died, but without resolution for his heart demon, he had forcibly held it in until now.

Now, hearing about the Peach Blossom Well, the Death Nail, hearing Mother had only seven days left to live…

Everything he had struggled to maintain completely collapsed at this moment.

“As expected, coughing up this blood makes the heart feel much better!”

He pulled out a handkerchief from his robe, wiping away the blood at his mouth, then cleaned the floor.

After thoroughly wiping everything clean, he rose and knelt on the ground, kowtowing three times to the person hidden under the blanket, then staggered out.

Young Master Pei feared something might happen to him and quickly followed.

Geng Songsheng put away his pipe and jumped down from the bed. “Miss Yan, go rest outside. I’ll light another stove for you.”

Though he addressed Yan Sanhe, his gaze gently fell on Zhu Weixi’s face.

Zhu Weixi kept her eyes lowered, tears already dried up, just sitting there dazed, silent, unmoving.

Geng Songsheng’s lips moved, wanting to say something, but ultimately said nothing, only repeating to Yan Sanhe:

“Are you hungry?”

Yan Sanhe looked at Zhu Weixi’s sharply pointed chin, thinned to a point. “Hungry.”

“I’ll cook some rice porridge for you.”

After speaking, Geng Songsheng walked past them.

Li Buyan watched his retreating back, giving Yan Sanhe a look: No wonder Zhu Weixi was willing to elope—this man… is too much of a man.

…

Night deepened.

The wind and snow on the mountaintop grew fiercer, battering the two wooden doors with loud bangs.

In one room, the old monk had already gone to sleep;

In the other room, Ding Yi, Huang Qi, and Lü Dan’s snoring shook the heavens.

In the main hall between them, everyone sat around the fire on cushions, expressions heavy.

The Zhu siblings—one face full of grief, one expression vacant.

Geng Songsheng entered carrying a pot.

He placed the pot on the stove, stuffing the wooden ladle into Young Master Pei’s hands. “I’m going behind the building to find some food.”

Young Master Pei: “Behind the building?”

Geng Songsheng: “There’s another doorless small stone building for storing things.”

Saying he was finding food was actually just making space for Yan Sanhe and the others to deliberate slowly.

Actually, what was there left to deliberate?

With only seven days left for Madam Mao, Zhu Yuanzhao and Zhu Weixi had to rush back to see her one last time, or it would be lifelong regret.

The return journey would be difficult in snowy weather with slippery roads. At dawn tomorrow, they had to descend the mountain.

Yan Sanhe took the wooden ladle from Pei Xiao and placed it in Zhu Weixi’s palm.

“Zhu Yuanzhao, Buyan, Mingting, come with me outside for a walk. I still haven’t seen what the Eastern Platform really looks like.”

Young Master Pei wanted to say “are you crazy,” but Li Buyan’s knife-like glare shot over.

What glaring? What weather is it outside—don’t you have any sense?

It’ll freeze someone to death.

“Yan Sanhe.”

Zhu Weixi grasped Yan Sanhe’s sleeve, speaking softly: “There’s no need. I…”

“There is a need.”

Yan Sanhe was resolute.

In life, there are many kinds of pain. The greatest is called missed opportunities.