The day arrived when the Sheng family would go to offer incense in fulfillment of a vow. The inner quarters were in motion early that morning. At the second gate, three carriages of paulownia wood lacquer with flat roofs were readied: one for the Old Madam and Wang Shi, one for the Lady Hai and Hualan, and one for the three sisters. A few maids and serving women shared another carriage. Wang Shi additionally assigned several stout serving women and a dozen guardsmen.

Since it was an early start, Molan and Rulan were still drowsy, without the energy to quarrel, and like Minglan, both half-dozed with their heads propped against the cushioned sides as the carriage swayed. Rulan, who disliked Molan, kept leaning entirely toward Minglan, pressing against her uncomfortably. Minglan, lost in a haze, squirmed and suffered for quite some time before the discomfort roused her fully awake. From outside came the faint sound of chanting monks and temple bells, and she knew they must be close.

Minglan summoned the same technique she had once used back in school to rouse a sleeping roommate for early morning study — she neatly pinched both sisters’ noses shut. They woke up in no time, gasping, and turned identical glares on her. Minglan smiled sunnily: “Two sisters, we’re nearly at Guangji Temple.”

At that, Molan quickly bent her head to check her appearance. Rulan was a beat slower but reached up to straighten a glittering double-chignon hairpin that had come loose near her temple. As the carriage approached, sounds from outside grew louder — mostly women’s voices, mixed with the occasional piping of children. A number of families had clearly come to offer incense. The faint scent of sandalwood drifted in through the curtains.

Hearing the liveliness outside, the three girls looked at one another — hearts as restless as fat cats scratching at their ribs — each waiting to see who would dare lift the curtain for a peek first. Minglan bowed her head with a sigh. The adage coined by a certain monk was truly timeless.

The mood in the carriage dipped. Then suddenly, with a violent lurch, the carriage jolted to a stop. All three girls pitched forward at once, nearly tumbling off their seats. From outside came a burst of angry shouting. Minglan felt a thrill of excitement — could ancient carriages really rear-end each other?!

Rulan, always the quickest to react, was the first to scramble up, rubbing her head. Even with the thick velvet padding in the carriage, she had knocked her forehead and it was throbbing. She immediately called out: “What happened?!” — Of course, no one answered her.

Once Molan had picked herself up, she quickly slid to the side and lifted the curtain a crack to look. Rulan, forgetting to mock her, leaned over to look as well. Minglan, the last to recover, joined them out of sheer curiosity. Fortunately, the Sheng family driver had maneuvered the carriage behind a large roadside tree, providing some cover, so the three sisters peering out through the lifted curtain went unnoticed.

What they saw gave them a start. The Old Madam’s carriage ahead had stopped, and outside was complete chaos — people wailing and crying out. Several carriages were blocked and could not pass. At the center of it all, a group of young men in fine silk robes on tall horses were laughing and cursing. Minglan listened for a moment and pieced together what had happened: they had come riding at a gallop and overturned every small street stall set up near the entrance, and in their speed had also knocked down a number of pedestrians. The result was weeping women and children, people and horses in disarray — and the road was completely blocked.

Molan muttered under her breath: “Scoundrels.”

Rulan growled: “Utter disgrace.”

Minglan thought: The city watch?!

One of them, a man in bright red brocade, was whipping his crop in the air and hurling abuse: “Blind dog of a slave — dare to block your master’s path? Your master will stomp you flat like an ant without a second thought!”

A man below, supporting his elderly mother whose head was already bleeding from the impact and who was barely conscious, cried out in rage: “You… you… have you no respect for law and order? Such disregard for human life!”

The man in red brought his whip down. The man below took the blow across the face but bent low and clung to his mother, shielding her. The red-robed man’s jowls quivered with fury as he spat contemptuously at the ground: “Law and order? Your master is the law! Get out of the way!” The commoner seemed to reach the end of his patience and lunged forward, throwing both arms around the red-robed man’s leg and refusing to let go. The whip came down again and again, yet the man below held on.

The other young aristocrats on horseback burst into laughter: “Rong Xian! Your arm’s getting weak!”

“Did Little Cuixian empty you out last night? Ha!”

“Easy there, brother — don’t throw out your back. If something happens to you, Heaven’s Immortal Pavilion loses half its business!”

The group of richly dressed young men jeered and roared with laughter. Rong Xian grew more furious and whipped harder, flogging the commoner mercilessly until his skin was laid open. Those around him were still joking when a cold, flat male voice cut through the noise: “If you want to beat someone, go home and find one of your own servants to thrash to your heart’s content — even beat them to death and no one will say a word. What’s the point of making a scene here? Elder Yang’s son has set up a poetry gathering in the rear mountain plum grove — everyone will be heading up before long.”

Minglan had already pulled back from the curtain, but something about that voice felt familiar. She peeked out again. Among the group she spotted a man in a sapphire-blue round-collar straight robe. Even on horseback, his broad shoulders and upright back were unmistakably impressive — it was none other than Gu Tingye.

By now, the line of carriages at the entrance had grown considerably — all elaborately appointed, with formidable escorts. Several households had already sent manservants forward to inquire. The group of young men in their fine robes, reading the situation, scattered a large handful of silver coins and galloped away, leaving behind a road full of weeping ordinary people who had been knocked and trampled for no reason — and who nonetheless rushed immediately to pick up the coins.

Minglan shook her head and withdrew back into the carriage. It seemed the rumors were not wrong. Yan Ran had had a narrow escape.

The ladies inside the many carriages, most from prominent families, immediately opened their purses upon seeing the suffering below, distributing silver to the wounded. Only once the crowd had gradually dispersed did the row of carriages continue their ascent toward the mountain.

Guangji Temple was situated in the upper reaches of Yumei Mountain to the west of the city, one of the capital’s well-known great temples. At the founding of the dynasty, an imperial ancestor had personally inscribed the four characters Salvation for All Beings, lending the temple its renown. The temple itself was not especially grand or ornate — only a front and rear main hall, enshrining the Tathagata Buddha, Guanyin Bodhisattva, and the Maitreya and Luohan respectively, with a bell tower on each side. Its incense did not burn as vigorously as the two other great temples, and it was precisely for this tranquility that the Old Madam had chosen it.

Minglan was well practiced in the rituals of incense offering. The group followed the greeting monk through the gate into the main hall, where they were met by the head abbot Miao Shan himself. After a round of courteous exchanges, the Old Madam donated a substantial sum of lamp oil money, followed by Wang Shi and Lady Hai with their respective contributions. The female guests then proceeded from the main hall leftward, burning incense and kowtowing before each deity in turn, murmuring private prayers and burning many offerings.

Since most of the worshippers were women and children, the monks moving about the temple were either toothless elderly men or gap-toothed young novices — not a single able-bodied monk in sight anywhere. Minglan inwardly lamented: So much for professional standards.

When they reached the Guanyin of the Willow Branch at the very end of the third main hall, Minglan thought of the Yao family — her Yao father, her Yao mother, and her Yao brother — and kowtowed with sincere devotion, praying for their well-being. As she raised her head, she caught sight of Wang Shi guiding Lady Hai toward a corner at the back where a Guanyin of the Sending Children sat. Lady Hai’s face was flushed as she bowed and bowed again. The Old Madam stood to one side, gazing up at the statue in silent contemplation.

Minglan turned back to find Molan staring fixedly at a divination tube on the incense table, with a look of barely contained eagerness. Seeing Minglan watching her, Molan lowered her sleeve with a faint smile: “Shall we try our luck, Sixth Sister?”

Before Minglan could open her mouth, Rulan had already snatched up the tube and knelt down, murmuring under her breath as she shook it earnestly. Molan bit her lip — not willing to make a scene in public — and watched as Rulan drew out a stick. Before anyone could read what it said, Rulan closed her fist around it and looked at the others: “Are you going to draw too? Let’s all go have them read afterward.”

Robbed of her turn, Molan wasted no time. She immediately took the tube, knelt down, bowed three times, and then shook it carefully until one stick fell out — also quickly snatched away unread. Then they both looked at Minglan.

Minglan shook her head: “I won’t bother — sisters, go ahead and have yours read.”

Rulan refused to accept this, pulling Minglan down onto the kneeling cushion: “That won’t do. We both drew — you can’t be left out.” Molan added airily: “Sister might as well draw. If Grandmother hears you didn’t, she’ll only blame me for not looking after you.”

Minglan knelt before the Bodhisattva with a wry smile, shaking the divination tube. As she did, her mind drifted back to something the Old Madam had said to her the day He Hong left, and her cheeks grew warm with a faint flush. She had not been without thoughts about her own future — but in this closed and circumscribed world, how many people could she really know? Was it not better to place her trust in those who had proven themselves trustworthy?

After a lifetime of sorrow and pain, the Old Madam had come to see that rank and fortune were nothing but drifting clouds. So long as daily life was tolerable, that was enough — the most important thing was that a person have a gentle and honest nature. Initially, Minglan had considered Cousin Taisheng. Though the Hu family were merchants, Hu family’s father was a generous and good man through and through, and Aunt Sheng Yun owed the Old Madam a great favor. If Minglan were to marry into that household, a smooth and contented life would be all but assured.

But then two unexpected contenders had appeared out of nowhere. First came the He family grandmother and grandson — the He Old Madam had taken a strong liking to Minglan and hinted clearly at intentions of a match. Then there was Young Master Li from the Li family uncle’s side, who also showed distinct interest in seeking Minglan as a bride. After the family moved into the Sheng ancestral residence, the Old Madam observed quietly that the elder household members and Li Shi were both subtly signaling their hope for a match between one of the Lan sisters and Taisheng. Not wishing to put family relations in an awkward position, the Old Madam quietly let go of that idea.

And so Minglan’s marriage prospects had narrowed to two candidates: He Hong and Li Yu.

Though the Li family had more wealth, they were ultimately of merchant origin with no roots in the gentry world — which, as Minglan herself reasoned, if someone were both wealthy and well-connected to the nobility, why would they need to marry her? He Hong was refined and scholarly, with a pleasant, warm appearance. The Old Madam was quite fond of him, but worried about his early loss of his father leaving him without strong backing, and about his widowed mother’s poor health placing future burdens on a daughter-in-law.

On the day the He Old Madam came to examine Hualan’s pulse, she also spoke plainly with the Old Madam. First, she and her husband both doted dearly on this youngest grandson. When his father died, fearing for the child’s future, they had promptly separated the household, setting aside that branch’s share of the property and silver, which the He Old Madam now managed on his behalf. When the two elders passed, the ancestral estate would be divided equally among the branches. He Hong could also earn a living through medicine, and had a senior uncle who served as an official as well as other clansmen to rely on — so his livelihood was secure.

In the course of further conversation, the frank-spoken He Old Madam also revealed that He Hong’s widowed mother had long been gravely ill, sustained only by the elder’s nursing care, and was barely holding on in hopes of seeing her son settled and established. She had at most five years left. At this recollection, Minglan felt a pang of shame — for she remembered that upon hearing this news, she had felt a tiny secret flicker of relief at not having to manage a difficult mother-in-law.

Molan and Rulan were always teasing her for her lack of ambition. But in Minglan’s view, they had simply been dazzled by the grandeur of the capital and set their sights too high. The capital was full of imperial relatives, high officials, and men of power — these were figures of national standing. Yet someone like Sheng Hong, who was hardly remarkable in the capital, was still a figure of importance back in Yuyang.

Let He Hong spend more time in the capital, build his credentials in the imperial medical establishment, and then find a peaceful county town with clear mountains and clean streams — open a small clinic and pharmacy, and spend his days at ease. As it happened, the He family’s ancestral home was in a county town near Yuyang.

From what the He Old Madam reported, He Hong also seemed quite taken with her. And recalling their previous meetings, Minglan believed that after marriage, they could at the very least achieve mutual respect and harmony. She would then manage the household affairs diligently, strive to become the wealthiest woman in that county town, keep one or two loyal dogs by her side, and walk through life with her head held high — what a perfectly pleasant existence that would be!

Still, the Old Madam had said: no rush. Keep watching. Who knew if someone even more suitable might appear? She would continue to observe He Hong, and consider Li Yu further — and there might yet be more unexpected contenders appearing out of nowhere.

Molan and Rulan watched as Minglan shook the divination tube in an absent-minded daze, a silly, vacant smile spreading across her face. Rulan, losing patience, gave her a push, and Minglan stumbled into a foggy awareness and shook out a stick. The sisters held up their sticks to compare. In order from highest to lowest: upper-middle, mid-upper, and lower-lower.

Molan and Rulan wore expressions of quiet satisfaction, then turned to Minglan’s stick with exaggerated looks of pity and consolation: “It’s just a useless stick — Sixth Sister, don’t take it to heart.”

Minglan was quite at peace with it. The stick was an accurate reflection of her circumstances.

Just outside the hall doors was the area for having one’s fortune read, where five aged monks sat in a row. The three sisters reported to the Old Madam and Wang Shi, then went over accompanied by their maids and serving women. As they approached, they found a group of handmaids clustered around a richly dressed young girl, who sat with her back to them so her face was not visible. They heard the monk before her saying: “…As Qin Qiong once sold his horse in hardship, so the hidden path may open; though your current situation is somewhat unsatisfactory, by following the natural course of things, the clouds will part and the moon will shine through…”

Minglan suppressed a smile. Every fortune told at these things was a generality that could apply to anyone, anywhere.

Molan and Rulan each excitedly found a monk to read their sticks. Minglan lingered at the back and listened for a while. She came to a rough summary: the future was bright, the road was winding, but so long as one worked diligently, even a dull-witted soul could succeed — applicable equally to marriage, career, and health.

Not wishing to stand apart from the crowd, Minglan went to find a monk as well. She noticed one sitting alone in an uncrowded corner — an extraordinarily odd-looking old man, his face more wrinkled than a dried orange peel, and with a fierce, unsettling expression. No one had come to him for a reading. Minglan, having no patience for waiting in line, walked straight over and sat down. She held out the stick with both hands.

The old monk glanced at it briefly and was just about to speak when his gaze fell on Minglan’s face. His brow furrowed sharply, as though something startled him. He tossed the stick carelessly aside and waved her away like he was shooing a fly: “This stick isn’t yours. There’s no point in you drawing lots — even if you do, it won’t be of use.”

Minglan was taken aback. She wondered if she had encountered a true master, and was just about to ask further — when the old monk said with unmistakable irritability: “Go, go, go. The more one says, the more mistakes one makes. Don’t come here getting me into trouble!”

Minglan was left somewhere between understanding and confusion, still half wanting to say something, but Rulan and Molan had already finished their readings. A serving woman came to call the three of them back. As Nanny You steered Minglan away by the arm, she glanced back and saw the old monk scurrying off in a hurry, as though a tiger were chasing him from behind. Minglan felt a surge of indignation: whoever said that reclusive masters all delight in helping others?!

The three girls were first brought into a side room for tea, where in addition to the Old Madam, Wang Shi, and Lady Hai, the head abbot was also present along with several elegantly dressed noble ladies. With a group of women chattering away non-stop, there were topics of an adult nature unsuitable for young girls, so Wang Shi sent the three sisters to rest in an adjacent room.

A young novice found a clean, elegant empty side room and showed the young misses in. But as Rulan stepped through the doorway, she saw that a girl was already seated at the round table inside drinking tea — the same girl they had noticed at the fortune reading earlier. She was around fifteen or sixteen, with fine willow-leaf brows and bright almond-shaped eyes, her appearance vivid and charming, with a touch of allure in her expression.