This renowned temple, sustained by the donations and offerings of countless devoted worshippers, was not the main hall, yet its grandeur was undeniable. Spanning over sixty-five meters in width and thirty-two meters in depth, with towering side columns so thick that it would take several people joining hands to encircle them, every detail exuded an imposing presence.
The columns divided the hall into eastern and western wings, and nearly four hundred meditation cushions were laid out upon the dimly gleaming stone floor. By now, nearly half were occupied, with male guests seated on the left and female attendees on the right, maintaining perfect order.
Thanks to Young Master Qin’s connections, Zhou Liu-lang had secured an excellent seat, offering him a broad view of the entire Zen tea ceremony as well as a clear sight of the other attendees within the hall.
On the other side, the ladies of the Chen family had already taken their seats. Since the ceremony had yet to begin, they exchanged quiet laughter and greetings with familiar faces nearby.
Madam Chen had two empty seats beside her that remained unoccupied for some time. However, before long, a few people entered from outside the hall, their expressions carrying a mix of joy and nervousness as they took their seats. Yet, the lady he was waiting for was not among them.
Zhou Liu-lang frowned.
Amidst the low hum of murmured conversation, the sound of ritual music and chanting rose from outside, accompanied by a series of approaching footsteps—signaling that the Zen tea ceremony was about to begin. The hall gradually fell into silence.
No one would be allowed to enter after this.
Zhou Liu-lang loosened his hand from his knee, a trace of disappointment flickering across his brow.
She came, yet she didn’t. Where had she gone instead? This lady—could she not stay still for even a moment?
A handful of flower petals fluttered down into the pond. The fish, eagerly competing for food, surged forward—only to quickly realize they had been tricked and scattered away.
Chen Dan-niang burst into laughter, while the attending maids stood watchfully by her side, ensuring she didn’t lose her grip on the jade railing.
“Let me try, let me try!” Jin Ge’er pinched a few pieces of fish food, which had been bought in advance, and tossed them into the water as well.
“Look at that one,” a maid pointed toward a fish among the swarm. “They say His Majesty personally released it into the pond.”
The pond teemed with fish, a dazzling sight of constant movement. Ban Qin widened her eyes, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t tell one fish apart from another.
“Lady Cheng.”
Chen Dan-niang ran over from the pond to stand before Cheng Jiao-niang.
Cheng Jiao-niang stood with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the rippling water.
“Are you unhappy?” Chen Dan-niang hesitated for a moment before asking.
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
“No. Why do you ask?” she replied.
“Mother said your family doesn’t like you, and that it’s very pitiful…” Chen Dan-niang said.
The maid behind her gasped in shock, her eyes widening as she hurried forward.
“Shi’jiu-niang, don’t joke like that! Madam—Madam never said such a thing,” she said quickly.
But Mother had said it. Yet the maid wouldn’t allow her to repeat it. Though still young, Chen Dan-niang understood that she had spoken out of turn.
“I—I meant, Lady Cheng, you don’t have to be afraid. My mother, my sisters, and I all like you. If they don’t want you, we do. You’re not pitiful,” she hurried to amend.
These words were better left unsaid—the maid grew even more anxious.
Speaking about others behind their backs was one thing; whether in praise or criticism, it hardly mattered. But pity was the trickiest sentiment to navigate—spoken lightly, it became mere gossip; spoken too heavily, it felt condescending. And for someone like her, all the more so. Girls of her kind were often more sensitive than most—outwardly indifferent, yet inwardly deeply affected by what others said about them in private.
She was unpredictable in her ways, yet remained the one most valued by the family. If she took offense at these words, wouldn’t that be disastrous?
They had warned against letting Dan-niang spend too much time with her. Children spoke without restraint, after all.
The maid broke out in a cold sweat, scrambling to find a way to smooth things over. But before she could speak, Cheng Jiao-niang had already reached out and taken Chen Dan-niang’s hand.
“I’m not afraid,” she said. “It’s not that they don’t want me. It’s fine.”
Chen Dan-niang held her hand and nodded.
“Then… you mustn’t be sad either. Mother says that those who understand everything are the ones who suffer the most,” she added.
The maid, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, nearly fainted in shock all over again.
“I’m not sad either,” Cheng Jiao-niang said with a faint smile. “It’s precisely because I understand that I don’t feel sad. There’s nothing to be sad about.”
With that, she turned and led Chen Dan-niang forward.
A path led from the pond to a Buddhist hall, connected by a long corridor spanning thirty meters.
“I’ve been foolish before—that’s a fact. Being disliked is only natural,” Cheng Jiao-niang said as they walked. “When others treat you well, it’s a stroke of luck. When they shun or avoid you, it’s not surprising either. How could you expect everyone in the world to like you? If someone doesn’t, should you resent them for it?”
Chen Dan-niang looked up at her.
“My cousin doesn’t like me,” she pouted. “Whenever I visit Grandmother’s house, she calls on the other girls to play but leaves me out. I hate her for it.”
“And did hating her make her play with you?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
“No,” Chen Dan-niang sighed like a little adult.
“Then just ignore it,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “Wouldn’t it be better to happily play with those who do like you? Unless, of course, she bullies you directly.”
Chen Dan-niang looked up at her.
“And what if she does bully me?” she asked, eyes shining with curiosity.
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her gaze, smiling faintly.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Because I’m not you.”
Chen Dan-niang tilted her head.
“Then what if someone bullies you? What would you do?” she asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled again.
“That depends,” she said. “On what they intend to do.”
Chen Dan-niang, holding the gold necklace in front of her, looked utterly confused.
As they spoke, they had already reached the back door of a side hall. Cheng Jiao-niang paused and looked up at the plaque.
“This is the Great Compassion Hall, dedicated to Guanyin,” the maid behind them explained.
“We’re going to see the Dragon Girl,” Chen Dan-niang said, brushing aside her confusion. She cheerfully stepped into the hall, then turned back to Cheng Jiao-niang, adding, “…And the walls full of Guanyin statues, they’re all beautiful…”
“It’s the Thirty-Two Manifestations of Guanyin,” the maid softly explained from behind.
Cheng Jiao-niang stepped inside.
The maid waved her hand at Ban Qin and Jin Ge’er, who had followed them.
“Go play on your own. Miss will be with me here,” she said. “In a little while, spread out a blanket by the pond and arrange the snacks we brought. There’s well water in the courtyard; you can heat it using the clay stove and bring it to Miss to eat.”
Jin Ge’er and Ban Qin responded obediently, without a hint of reluctance, and turned to leave.
In the Zen Tea Hall, the sounds of Buddhist music and chanting filled the air.
Everyone’s attention was on the Great Zen Master, who had just finished his meditation and was beginning the sacred water ritual to purify the mundane.
Almost half an hour had passed since the ceremony began, and Zhou Liu-lang was starting to feel restless. He couldn’t help but glance outside from time to time, until Young Master Qin poked him with his hand.
“What are you doing?”
Young Master Qin silently asked with his eyes.
“Nothing,”
Zhou Liu-lang silently shot back a glare.
Young Master Qin gave him a knowing look, and Zhou Liu-lang turned his gaze away, pretending not to notice.
He watched the old monk’s solemn, methodical movements in the hall, but his mind was preoccupied with Cheng Jiao-niang.
Since she had come, it must mean she hadn’t left the temple yet, otherwise, she wouldn’t have shown up.
Or perhaps she had to leave suddenly for some reason? What could have happened?
What could be so urgent that she had to leave in such a hurry?
She was both arrogant and strange, always causing trouble for others—who could do anything to stop her?
Zhou Liu-lang felt a mixture of emotions.
But who in this world is born strange?
He thought of his aunt, that woman who was small and slender, sitting on a mat with a soft smile directed at him.
“…Zijian, I have some candy, come quickly,” she said, extending her hand.
His mother had said that his aunt kept a fool in her room, and if you went in, you’d become a fool too.
“I’m not eating a fool’s food…” the little him had shouted, turning and running off.
No one yelled or scolded him from behind. Anxiously, he glanced back, and the woman sitting in the hall simply looked at him, still smiling softly.
His aunt and grandmother looked very much alike. When he was young, he used to sleep with his grandmother. At night, she would wash his feet and even pinch his toes while singing little songs.
“Big toe short, second toe long…”
He would laugh, and his grandmother would laugh too. But those days were short-lived. Soon, he never saw his grandmother smile again. Instead, he only saw her crying, sighing in front of others and behind their backs. Then, she quickly grew thin, resembling his aunt more and more.
His father said that his grandmother’s father was a skilled marksman. When his grandmother first married, she even faced his grandfather in a shooting contest on the training ground, and his grandfather couldn’t handle it.
His grandmother could ride horses and shoot guns, and she trained her muscles and bones well. She should have lived a long life.
But after his aunt died, his grandmother spent every day with medicine, dragging on for years before passing away.
His father and mother said that if it hadn’t been for that fool, his aunt and grandmother would surely have lived well.
It was all because of that fool.
Why was the Zhou family so unlucky to have to raise a fool?
Could it really be the retribution for the bloodshed their ancestors had caused, as the idle people whispered?
Zhou Liu-lang clenched his fists tightly, his teeth grinding with a creaking sound.
This time, it wasn’t just Young Master Qin—everyone around him, in front and behind, was glaring at him.
Zhou Liu-lang lowered his gaze and sat properly.
But really, how could he blame that fool?
Who would ever want to be a fool…
Who would willingly be born a fool…
So she guarded herself, avoided them, refused to trust her own family—but what else could be done?
Even if they could go back and do it all over again, things would still turn out the same. Distance and estrangement were inevitable.
The past couldn’t be changed. The only way was forward.
Qin Shi’san had said sincerity was needed. But would she even recognize his sincerity?
And besides, what could he possibly do to prove sincerity?
The grand hall stirred with a commotion—it turned out that Master Minghai was sprinkling water to bestow blessings, and everyone present lowered their heads in reverence.
Zhou Liu-lang also bowed along with the crowd.
“Back then, Emperor Wu bestowed the title of ‘Master Zhenji’ and granted the purple robe, all because of the divine efficacy of this Guanyin Hall,” the palace attendant explained, gesturing toward the temple gate.
Duke Jin’an lifted his head to look, his expression casual, tinged with boredom.
“I’d rather just have a bowl of noodles right now,” he remarked. “What’s so fascinating about these lumps of earth, stone, and wooden idols?”
The palace attendant panicked, hastily waving his hands.
“You must not be disrespectful, you must not be disrespectful,” he whispered anxiously, pressing his palms together and murmuring Buddhist prayers.
Duke Jin’an found the sight amusing.
“If these lumps of earth, stone, and wood are truly efficacious, then let them grant my wish,” he said with a laugh, strolling forward.
He stepped onto the platform, crossed the tall threshold, and entered the hall. The first thing that met his eyes was the towering statue of Guanyin, adorned in resplendent gold and jade. Just as his gaze lingered on its intricate details, he suddenly heard a soft exclamation—
A lady’s voice.
Duke Jin’an instinctively turned his head, only to see a lady standing to the left of the Guanyin statue.
She was dressed in a plain blue robe, her hair simply arranged. Startled by the sudden intrusion, she glanced in his direction.
Her face was as fair as jade, her eyes burned like embers, yet her posture was as still as her expression—calm, indifferent, devoid of joy or sorrow. Though her gaze met his, it was as if she did not see him at all, as if she were just another statue in this sacred hall, an untouchable idol of earth and stone.
For a fleeting moment, Duke Jin’an forgot to breathe. His eyes widened in shock, and he instinctively grasped the jade pendant hanging from his waist.
My heavens—Guanyin really answered my prayer!
