“No!”
Before the person beside him could even speak, Ding Weixiang had already lost his composure.
The moment those words left his mouth, Xiao Nanhui knew things had gone south. In his desperate urge to protect his master, Ding Weixiang had failed to realize that he had just revealed exactly how much weight those prayer beads held for them.
In a game of chess between two sides, the greatest taboo is revealing one's strategy prematurely.
Sure enough, a flash of realization crossed Shen Shian’s face. Seeing such an expression on the face of a young girl felt indescribably eerie.
“I was merely jesting. While these beads are somewhat precious, they are ultimately just a collector's item with a price but no market. They aren't truly that much of a treasure. Or perhaps... there is some reason behind this that I am unaware of?”
A moment of silence hung in the air. Then, Sui Wei lowered his head, gently stroking the string of beads on his left wrist. His expression held a perfectly measured touch of melancholy.
“I will not hide it from the Family Head; this object does indeed hold extraordinary significance to me. If I am truly to part with it, I fear it will be quite difficult.”
Shen Shian had not expected him to admit it so easily. She gazed quietly at the young man, seemingly weighing how much of his words were true and how much were false.
After a long while, she softly closed her eyes.
“Then I shall give you three days to weigh your options. I am a bit weary today, so let us leave it at that for now.”
The young noble followed her lead with easy grace.
“In three days, I shall see the Family Head again.”
The ghost-like old woman reappeared. As Xiao Nanhui was led out of the courtyard blindfolded, she vaguely heard a flurry of light footsteps brushing past her.
Those were the footsteps of children.
Were they the same children she had encountered last night? Were they also going to see Shen Shian? What exactly was Shen Shian doing, raising a group of children like that?
Xiao Nanhui’s hand, holding a porcelain spoon, stopped mid-air. Her hand tilted, and the half-spoonful of soup trickled back into the bowl.
*Clack.*
The man sitting across from her set down his chopsticks.
“What are you thinking about?”
Xiao Nanhui snapped back to her senses, looking at the food on the table and shaking her head.
“Nothing. It’s nothing important.”
Compared to Buhuna, the fallen princess, and the prophecy within that silk band, what did a few small children—hardly taller than a table—matter?
She was telling the truth, yet he could still see right through her.
The man’s gaze fell upon her waist. In the next instant, he suddenly leaned forward and reached out.
Her body stiffened. She didn't move—whether she forgot to or didn't dare to, she wasn't sure.
Then, she felt his fingers slide through several layers of fabric, moving from her chest down to her lower abdomen. He hooked his finger into her belt and slipped inside.
“In... in broad daylight...”
She wanted to ask if there was no law and order left in the world. Halfway through, she realized how wrong that sounded; talking about the law with the man before her was simply too foolish.
As if in response to her stammered half-sentence, the finger inside her belt traced a circle and probed downward. Xiao Nanhui felt a sudden tickle at her waist and was just about to beg for mercy when the finger withdrew. With a gentle tug before leaving, he pulled the small straw dog from her waistband.
The man placed the object gently on the table, his fingertip tapping the straw dog’s belly with an air of nonchalance.
“You like children?”
He had noticed after all.
Her thoughts exposed, Xiao Nanhui felt a wave of dejection. She looked at the straw dog and shook her head again.
“I don’t.”
She didn't like children; she never had.
Back in Suyan when she was young, those small, thin figures with empty eyes—just like her own—were branded into the depths of her memory. Back then, she often thought: if life in this world was nothing but enduring hunger and thirst day after day, why had her mother brought her into it?
But no one ever answered her questions, and no one ever cared about her pain.
In a place where everyone struggled just to survive, she received no more pity or favoritism than anyone else.
And she had been too small, powerless to change any of it. If she hadn't walked out of that city that day, her understanding of the world would have remained trapped in that endless cycle of hunger and thirst—no different from hell.
Even after she arrived in Quecheng and saw children who were carefree with bright smiles, she still couldn't forget the days of her own youth.
But last night was different. The reason she couldn't stop herself from looking at that child was simply because the girl bore an indescribable resemblance to her friend.
Her inner thoughts were a whirlwind, and her expression naturally shifted through a myriad of emotions. But the man only spared her a glance before coolly uttering a single sentence.
“Xiao Nanhui, Bolao is dead.”
Her body jolted violently. The porcelain spoon fell into her bowl with a splash.
In the past, she had often found herself unable to hide anything from him. He was like a smooth, cold, hard mirror, always relentlessly reflecting her unseemliness and fragility. As their relationship grew more intimate, this feeling only intensified. When he was unwilling to sugarcoat the peace, the sharpness beneath his cool indifference would break through the surface and stab her deeply.
Xiao Nanhui clenched her fists.
“I know...”
“She died right in front of you. You must remember that clearly.”
“I said I know!”
She suddenly flared up, standing abruptly. Her movement knocked over the cups and chopsticks, which went rolling across the tabletop.
But no matter how much anger she displayed, the gaze he fixed on her remained steady and calm.
“You do not know yet. If you truly recognized that fact with clarity, you wouldn't waste your time lingering on pointless people and things.”
Pointless lingering? She was merely missing her friend—was even that forbidden?
“She is dead, but my feelings remain.” Her voice carried an irrepressible sorrow, sounding almost like an accusation, though she wasn't sure what she was accusing him of. “Do you not have anyone you want to remember, anyone you want to see one last time? Or perhaps you truly don't. Because you don't, you can say such things so easily!”
Having said her piece, she slumped back into her chair.
A sense of powerlessness and self-loathing surged in her heart. Despite her loud voice and fierce attitude, she knew deep down that her display was one of weakness.
It was only at this moment that she realized she had never truly moved past that night.
She might have long since let go of Xiao Zhun, but Xiao Zhun wasn't the only thing she had lost. She wasn't yet ready to say goodbye to all that she had lost.
The soup in the bowl had gone completely cold. The broth had turned cloudy, and a few scallion leaves had sunk to the bottom.
After a long while, he reached out and set the cold bowl aside, taking a clean porcelain bowl to serve her fresh soup.
“I do. The things you have lost, I once possessed as well.”
Xiao Nanhui remained silent; Sui Wei continued to serve the soup.
“At sunset that day, my mother jumped from Jingbo Pavilion. I thought she would fall into the lake, but she didn't. She fell onto the Xiushan stones by the shore. She was a bloody mess on the spot, beyond any hope of salvation.”
She continued to use silence to fight against that voice, but the blood-red sunset and the figure of a strange woman from her dreams surfaced uncontrollably. They overlapped with the man in moon-white before her, like the fusion of a scorching sun and cold moonlight—eerie yet harmonious.
“I also once thought of using the power of ghosts and gods to see her one last time. I didn't ask for long; the time it takes to drink a cup of tea would have sufficed. A cup of tea’s time would likely have been enough for me to ask her a few questions. For instance, why did she choose to leave on that specific day? Why did she choose to leave him again on the day of their reunion? Was it because her child wasn't good enough that she couldn't stay? If he could have worked harder, been a bit stronger, would his mother have been willing to stay and accompany him?”
He stood up, carrying the bowl of freshly ladled soup as he walked slowly to her side.
The soup bowl was placed gently on the table. Steam swirled around the rim, and her vision became a misty blur.
“However, though I searched through every Buddhist scripture and palm-leaf manuscript, I never found a way for a soul to return or be reborn. Finally, one day, I understood it all. Reincarnation and rebirth are merely a ruse—a lie to encourage the living and provide an outlet for regret.” He took her clenched hand, prying her fingers open one by one, and placed the fresh soup spoon, still carrying a hint of warmth, into her palm. “The dead do not return to life. From the moment of death, they vanish completely from this world. Everything you see afterward that feels familiar, as if from a past life, is nothing more than a lie left behind by God.”
His words were cruel, yet his movements were infinitely tender.
She could dodge a fatal blow of a thousand pounds, yet she was utterly unable to evade the power of tenderness.
She stared at the new spoon in her hand. Reflected in the smooth white porcelain was her own face, suppressed with grief.
The meaning of death was far more than the pain brought by that single moment. It was only much later—no matter when—that you would understand when you thought of the thing death had taken: those lost people or things would never return.
She kept her head lowered, yet her back remained ramrod straight, as if she could use that strength to combat everything.
“I’m sorry...”
I’m sorry; she hadn't meant to lose her temper with him.
She was simply disappointed and lost within herself.
Her voice was low. After a long while, she felt his arms wrap around her from behind. His breath drew close, lingering at her shoulder, behind her ear, and near her thrumming pulse.
“Xiao Nanhui, I don't want your apology. I want you to find a way to live well, even in the darkness. Only by living can you fulfill the promises you have made.”
She couldn't see his face, but she felt as if she could see the emotions burning deep within those pitch-black pupils.
“Something I have already lost once, I will not let slip away again. Mark my words: if there ever comes a day when you choose to abandon me and leave me behind, I will surely pursue you, even to the Underworld and the Yellow Springs.”
His fingers gently brushed the stray hairs at her temple, tucking them softly behind her ear. It was as if the words he had just spoken were merely some trivial reminders.
The more his words were shallow yet his meaning deep, the more she didn't know how to respond.
Just then, there was a sound at the door.
Ding Weixiang hurried into the room. He turned to close the door and was about to speak when he instantly forgot what he was going to say.
Sui Wei had already stood up, walking to the side as if nothing had happened.
She breathed a sigh of relief and waved her hand dismissively.
“Lieutenant Ding. Come, have some soup.”
Ding Weixiang’s eyes went wide. He stared at the table and the soup as if facing a formidable enemy, wishing he could use a wall-crawling technique to escape through the skylight on the spot.
“Ma... Master...”
His master acted as if he didn't see his expression at all, strolling leisurely to the window.
“Is the path clear?”
Ding Weixiang took a deep breath and stood straight by the door, still keeping a wide distance from the table.
“Reporting to Master, it is more or less certain. In three days, regardless of what the other side does, we can definitely strike first.”
Sui Wei nodded, glancing up at the sky outside.
“Three days is too long. Let it be tonight instead.”
Xiao Nanhui, who was pretending to drink soup, couldn't help but pause.
“But didn't Shen Shian say she would give us three days...”
“I don't believe a single word she says.” The man’s voice was cold, a complete contrast to the burning intensity in his eyes just moments ago. “Not just her words—even the words my father spoke back then cannot be fully trusted.”
“From what I heard her say, at least regarding the silk brocade, it didn't seem entirely like a pack of lies...”
“If a lie is entirely fabricated, it will be full of holes and people will always find the flaws. Most people tell lies mixed with the truth; this way, they can gain trust while still achieving their own goals. Even if the listener senses something is wrong, they cannot be certain which parts are true and which are false.”
“But if that's the case, if she holds a deceptive intent, how are we to seek her help regarding the silk brocade?”
“Aside from that silk, she must want something else from us. By figuring out exactly what she wants, we might discover the so-called truth. And that is far more accurate than some ethereal prophecy. Shen Shian is a person of meticulous detail and deep thought. When the Secret Seal appeared before, countless eyes in Huozhou were watching, both openly and in the shadows. Having lost something on her own turf once, she will surely be doubly cautious a second time. Firstly, she knows I must already have misgivings about the Shen family, so she couldn't place someone too clever in Yueyuan to oversee things; that is why Shen Linlin appeared. Secondly, her deliberate proposal to exchange the prophecy for the prayer beads was, in fact, a test.”
But a test for what?
Unless they had seen it with their own eyes, no one should know the true purpose of those prayer beads, right?
However, remembering the old woman’s expression when she mentioned the surname "Zhongli," and the Shen family’s reactions to the beads both times, Xiao Nanhui wasn't so sure anymore.
Ding Weixiang was clearly thinking the same thing. Having just escaped his massive embarrassment, he fell into an unprecedented state of worry.
“Master surely wouldn't truly trade the prayer beads for that prophecy of unknown authenticity, would he?”
“I won't trade them, and neither will she.” Sui Wei paused, stating his conclusion. “Because what she wants is likely something else entirely.”
Almost at the same time, Xiao Nanhui had a guess of her own.
“Mister Zong once mentioned to me that the Heavenly Mandate is meant to be paired with the Imperial Seal. If this silk band we have is indeed the Heavenly Mandate that records the important prophecy, then what she likely wants most is still the Secret Seal.”
Or rather, the shared secret hidden within them.
But if that were the case...
“Then why didn't Shen Shian directly propose the Secret Seal as the condition for the exchange?”
Ding Weixiang voiced her confusion, but Sui Wei turned his gaze toward the sun setting in the west.
“Perhaps she believes the price for that item is too high, or perhaps... she actually knows that the Secret Seal is not on our person right now.”
The journey to Blackwood County was fraught with unknown dangers. It stood to reason that a national treasure like the Secret Seal, once lost and then recovered, wouldn't be carried around.
But Xiao Nanhui sensed something unusual.
She remembered during the Spring Hunt, he had also suddenly entrusted the item to her. She had once thought it was a spur-of-the-moment "Empty Fort Strategy," but looking at it now, there might have been another reason.
“Did you intentionally not bring that item with you?”
His gaze remained fixed out the window, yet he seemed to be looking at some distant place.
“I have a theory that has yet to be proven. So, that item cannot be by my side for the time being. However, I have entrusted two old friends to look after it. They are honest men; they will surely do their utmost.”
Honest men? Could there actually be honest men around this person?
Xiao Nanhui was highly skeptical of this statement and merely gave a perfunctory nod.
Thinking that there was a fierce battle to be fought tonight, she set her doubts aside for the moment and lowered her head to eat heartily.
****** ****** ******
In midsummer, the days are long and the nights are short, but in the mountains, the sun still sets earlier than elsewhere.
By the middle of the Hour of the Rooster, the courtyard of Yongye Temple was already beginning to grow dark.
Once night fell, there were no more pilgrims. The temple’s candles were prioritized for the Main Hall, so the side halls and inner courtyards were often dark from sunset until dawn. Over time, everyone had grown accustomed to it. Aside from the monks on night duty who would light oil lamps, everyone else even navigated the dark when getting up in the middle of the night.
After the evening lessons, the monks took their vegetarian meals back to their rooms. Zhuyu carried a separate bowl filled with food and headed toward the Sutra Depository behind the side hall.
Although the Sutra Depository still held its title, it no longer contained any truly precious scriptures. Every young monk who had spent a few years at Yongye Temple knew that the most valuable items in the temple had long since been moved by the Abbot to the back of the Main Hall.
It was already a remote place, and at night, even the insects were too lazy to visit. Today, however, a faint candlelight flickered from within the cracked doors of the pavilion.
Zhuyu pushed the doors open. Navigating around the scattered ancient texts and medical records on the floor, he grabbed a fan from a wooden shelf and waved it, attempting to disperse the surrounding steam and medicinal mist.
The wooden shelves inside the pavilion had been moved aside, and in the center stood a discarded incense altar. On the altar sat a square piece of beautiful green jade. A man in white sat before the jade, his back to the door, busy with something unknown.
Zhuyu gave a light cough.
“Benefactor Hao, it’s time to eat.”
The man in white turned around. His eyes, which had grown large and round from hunger, stared unblinkingly at the bowl in the young monk’s hand.
His nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes, which had been wide with anticipation, instantly lost their light upon seeing the contents of the bowl.
Zhuyu seemed entirely oblivious to the shifting expressions on the man’s face. He thrust the bowl into the man’s hands and even thoughtfully handed him a pair of chopsticks.
“The rain has been plentiful these past few days, so the radishes and cabbage have grown exceptionally well. You are in luck, Benefactor.”
In luck? Since when did radishes and cabbage deserve the words “in luck”?
Hao Bai looked down at the bowl in his hands, feeling as if his entire vision was filled with green. When he looked up at the items on the table, they were green as well.
His pupils constricted, and a surge of manic frustration bubbled up within him after too much suppression. He tossed the bowl aside, slapped his thighs as he stood up, and grabbed a hoe from a medicinal basket, hoisting it over his head.
“Today—today I must have meat, or else I shall steal! I shall rob! And after I rob, I’ll pin it all on you monks!”
Zhuyu sighed, ignoring the hoe in the poor man’s hands.
“This monk advises Benefactor Hao not to set his sights on Old Man Guo’s chickens at the eastern end of the mountain. His family keeps seven yellow dogs, and I hear they especially love to bite the backsides of thieves.”
The white-clad physician waved the hoe wildly, his accusations filled with blood and tears.
“I haven't taken refuge, nor have I shaved my head! Why is every single meal radishes and cabbage?!”
“The Abbot said that the weather is hot, and eating too much meat makes one prone to internal heat. Benefactor Hao is a physician himself; how can you not understand such a simple principle?”
Having said his piece, Zhuyu shook his head with a hint of disdain and turned to walk out of the hall.
Hao Bai chased after him with unsteady steps, his hands gripping the vermilion pillars in front of the hall. His face was a shade of dark blue-green, then pale green, then bright green.
“Where is Yikong? I want to see Yikong! Yikong! You stingy monk, you dead bald donkey...”
Zhuyu, who had already quickly rounded the corner of the hall, stopped and picked at his ear.
He wasn't sure if he had misheard, but aside from the feeble cursing behind him, there seemed to be the faint sound of bells ringing at the mountain gate.
Unless it was a holiday or a Buddhist ceremony, the mountain gate of Yongye Temple was usually very quiet. If a pilgrim or a traveler came seeking help, they could ring the bell at the gate to signal their presence.
For nearly a month, the rain had washed the mountain paths into a muddy mess. Even pilgrims were few and far between, let alone travelers.
Could it be another bird looking for a place to roost that had nudged the bell?
But it was late, and it was hard to say if someone had run into trouble on the mountain path.
After a moment’s thought, he lit an oil lamp and headed toward the mountain gate.
The dim evening light filtered through the forest mist, falling onto the bluestone path. The little monk carrying the lamp wove through the trees, his feet nimbly avoiding the long-uncleaned moss with practiced ease.
In just a few moments, he arrived at the mountain gate. Sure enough, a carriage was parked under the stone archway.
As Zhuyu drew closer, a faint scent of rot mixed with the earthy smell of the post-rain soil wafted toward him.
He glanced at the large wooden box being pulled behind the carriage, steadied his nerves, and stood upwind.
“Has the Benefactor encountered some difficulty?”
A shadow under the eaves of the carriage moved, revealing the figure of a middle-aged man wearing a bamboo hat.
“May I ask, Little Master, is this Yongye Temple?”
Zhuyu nodded.
“It is.”
The middle-aged man jumped down from the carriage and took off his hat, revealing a face that was a sickly dark grey.
“This old man was passing through. When I passed the foot of the mountain, I saw people eating porridge. I asked around and learned there was a temple in the mountains, so I drove up here. I wonder if the Little Master could show some kindness, provide some porridge and rice, and let me stay for the night?”
Under the Abbot’s careful tutelage over the years, Zhuyu had received countless pilgrims of all shapes and sizes. But looking at the face below the stone steps at this moment, he couldn't help but take half a step back.
“The matter of staying overnight must be decided by the Abbot. However, there are still some radishes and cabbage in the temple. If the Benefactor does not mind, you may follow me.”
The middle-aged man nodded repeatedly, his expression very sincere.
“That is good, very good.”
After walking a few steps back the way they came, Zhuyu suddenly stopped.
He turned around and looked at the middle-aged man driving the carriage.
“Benefactor, this monk still has one thing he does not understand.”
The middle-aged man gave a couple of dry laughs and haphazardly looped the reins around a hitching post.
“If the Little Master has something to say, please speak freely. This old man will surely tell you everything he knows.”
The oil lamp was raised a bit higher, illuminating the little monk’s clear eyes.
“A few days ago, the Abbot strained his back while lighting a lamp. Consequently, he grew lazy today and handed the porridge distribution over to Master Renqin of Dacheng Temple. There was no one distributing porridge at Yongye Temple today. Why did the Benefactor lie and say he saw people eating porridge at the foot of the mountain?”
The smile remained fixed on the middle-aged man’s face.
“Because... because...”
His voice sounded as if something was stuck in his throat. His face also seemed to have been struck by a sudden palsy; every muscle twitched and locked, as if he had forgotten how to return them to their original positions.
“Because...”
*Thud.*
The middle-aged man fell face-first, crashing straight onto the stone slabs in front of the mountain gate, motionless.
The little monk was startled. Just as he was about to step forward to check, something invisible suddenly flashed past him, instantly extinguishing the oil lamp in his hand.
It seemed like a gust of evening wind.
But the weather was so stiflingly hot; where could an evening wind have come from?
the last sliver of light before nightfall vanished into the mountains. In the darkness, only a strange, muffled sound could be heard coming from the massive wooden box on the carriage.
*Creak, creak.*
***
### Glossary
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
---|---|---
静波楼 | Jingbo Pavilion | The location where Sui Wei's mother committed suicide.
岫山石 | Xiushan Stone | A type of ornamental rock; the specific spot where Sui Wei's mother fell.
永业寺 | Yongye Temple | The temple where the Secret Seal is being hidden.
烛鱼 | Zhuyu | A young monk at Yongye Temple.
郝白 | Hao Bai | A physician and friend of Sui Wei, currently staying at Yongye Temple.
一空 | Yikong | The Abbot of Yongye Temple.
大成寺 | Dacheng Temple | A neighboring temple mentioned by Zhuyu.
仁勤 | Renqin | A monk from Dacheng Temple.
