The maid came tumbling and crawling, crying and screaming, throwing First Madam Cheng’s courtyard into chaos once again.
“Murder?”
First Master Cheng was stunned when he heard the maid’s words.
“What kind of nonsense is this!”
The servant before him, hair disheveled, lifted her face, pale as a ghost.
“My lord, it’s true—an arrow struck my head…” She pointed at her own head, weeping. “If it hadn’t been off by a little, I would already be dead…”
At these words, First Madam Cheng came out too, covering her face. She had been clawed by Second Madam Cheng in their fight, leaving a scratch from a long fingernail, and had not wanted to be seen.
“Not a fool, but a lunatic now? Or some kind of martial madwoman?” she exclaimed in shock. “Where would she even get an arrow?”
“Where else? From the Zhou family. They may lack other things, but blades, spears, cudgels, and arrows—they have plenty,” First Master Cheng said.
“What is the Zhou family trying to do? Have that fool kill us for them?” First Madam Cheng cried. “Quick, send someone to bind her!”
But First Master Cheng did not speak, falling into thought.
“I think…” he began, only to be cut off by First Madam Cheng.
“Don’t ‘think’ right now—first get that weapon away from her! If that fool really kills someone with it, what will we do then!” First Madam Cheng said anxiously, ignoring her husband and shouting for people to hurry.
Ban Qin drew back her gaze from outside the door.
“Miss—this time ten people have come!” she said, her eyes shining with excitement.
Under the eaves, Cheng Jiao-niang stood with a bow hanging on her arm. She smiled faintly.
“This house is so cramped, I can’t even set up a straw target. Today, at least, I can stretch my limbs a bit,” she said.
The male servants outside had already approached, peering in through the half-open door. Suddenly, they saw a young lady step out, and all of them halted.
“Miss, we’re here under the master’s orders. Please, put down the bow and arrows—those aren’t toys to be played with,” the head servant pleaded.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly.
“Come a little closer,” she said.
Closer?
The servants exchanged puzzled looks, but still followed her words and stepped forward.
“Alright,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Alright? About what?
The servants instinctively froze in their tracks.
Buzz—a sound rang out. The servant standing on the far right let out an “Ah!” and clutched his head, squatting down. An arrow had struck, knocking the hat clean off his head before clattering to the ground behind him.
Before they could react, another buzz sounded. The servant beside him had his hat shot away as well.
With a whoosh, the servants erupted in chaos.
She really dared to shoot! She really dared to shoot at people!
Thank heaven her aim was off—otherwise…
“Miss, don’t be reckless!” the head servant shouted, lifting his foot to rush forward. But he stopped almost at once—for the woman by the doorway had her bow and arrow aimed directly at him.
She wore a green dress, a faint smile resting on her face.
“Your turn,” she said. “You’re standing a bit close… so let’s shoot the shoulder.”
As soon as the words fell, there was a sharp buzz. The servant saw a flash of sunlight before his eyes, then a searing pain shot through his shoulder. A powerful force knocked him off balance, and he toppled to the ground.
She really shot someone dead!
The servants behind him cried out in terror and scattered.
But they didn’t get far—noise suddenly rose from behind. More than a dozen men, wielding cudgels, came charging in.
Wonderful—reinforcements!
The fleeing servants thought joyfully, but the thought had barely formed when the newcomers swung their clubs down on them.
In the distance, First Master Cheng’s expression changed drastically.
“Wh–who are these people?” he shouted.
When had his household ever been invaded by so many ruffians!
The servants nearby all huddled close to him, their faces pale as they watched their fellow men get knocked to the ground within moments, beaten until they wailed like ghosts. The attackers were like starving tigers pouncing down the mountain.
“These are men of the Zhou family!” they cried out one after another.
The Zhou family! First Master Cheng’s face darkened, and he lifted his foot to step forward.
The servants beside him hurried to block his way.
“Master, arrows know no eyes—you mustn’t go near!” they urged anxiously.
“You’re wrong. From what I see, her arrows might as well have eyes of their own,” First Master Cheng shook his head, striding on.
Arrows with eyes? Wouldn’t that make it even more dangerous?
The servants scrambled to follow after him.
“Stop at once!” First Master Cheng shouted as he strode forward.
It wasn’t that Steward Cao and the others obeyed him—rather, all the men before them had already been beaten to the ground. Steward Cao and his group put away their cudgels, paying First Master Cheng no heed. Instead, they formed up in front of Cheng Jiao-niang’s courtyard gate, raising their cudgels in unison and aiming them straight at First Master Cheng and his followers.
First Master Cheng had no doubt—if he dared to advance, these men would certainly strike.
“Committing violence in my own household—you’ve truly got some nerve!” he barked, his brows drawn tight, his face stern.
Steward Cao laughed.
“Master, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen it,” he said with a grin.
First Master Cheng’s face turned ashen.
Yes—this wasn’t the first time. The first time had been when that fool’s mother died. Back then, the Zhou family had sent even more men than today, carrying weapons far more terrifying than cudgels, wreaking havoc with even greater brutality…
The Zhou family!
First Master Cheng ground his teeth. It was because of this Zhou family that the Chengs had been utterly disgraced. And yet that Second Branch couple still dreamed of cozying up to them, of following their arrangements!
Over his dead body!
“I’m dying, I’m dying…”
The wailing servant rolling on the ground, clutching his shoulder, cut off First Master Cheng’s thoughts.
First Master Cheng stopped beside him and looked down. It was the servant who had been shot in the shoulder by Cheng Jiao-niang. What he saw only stoked his fury.
“Dying? Dying of what! There isn’t even a drop of blood.” He kicked the servant. “Get out of my sight.”
The servant let out an even louder cry from the kick, then suddenly froze. He pulled his hand away from his shoulder—and gaped. There wasn’t a single drop of blood on his palm.
“It didn’t even hit me!” he shouted, springing to his feet.
First Master Cheng gave him another kick, sending the servant sprawling back onto the ground.
“It’s not that it missed.” First Master Cheng bent down and picked up an arrow—or rather, what could hardly be called an arrow. It was nothing more than a tree branch, its three-edged iron head snapped off and the shaft wrapped in cloth.
In his youth, First Master Cheng had practiced archery himself. He recognized it at once: the sort used for pitching-pot games or for beginners learning to shoot—nothing close to a lethal weapon.
That girl!
He lifted his head toward the doorway. There stood Cheng Jiao-niang, bow in hand, smiling faintly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he barked.
“Shooting arrows,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, as she drew another from her quiver, nocked it, and leveled her aim directly at First Master Cheng.
The servants around him immediately panicked. While crying out “Miss, don’t!” they rushed forward, scrambling to shield First Master Cheng. After all, since the lady was using headless arrows, at worst it would sting a few times—no real harm done.
First Master Cheng pushed aside the servants with his hand and looked straight at Cheng Jiao-niang.
“Jiao-niang, let’s talk,” he said.
Meanwhile, in the hall, First Madam Cheng sat restless and uneasy—when suddenly a visiting card was delivered to her.
“Abbess Sun of the Xuan-miao Temple?” She frowned in surprise, then gave a cold laugh. “Well, that’s rare indeed. How could this so-called immortal lady be willing to lower herself to come to our house?”
Once, that little temple had relied on their family’s offerings just to survive. But somehow, fortune had turned overnight, and the temple had grown prosperous and famous. And ever since its rise, she had never set foot through their door again.
“Abbess Sun says that she is a person beyond the mundane world; she will not step into the mortal realm unless absolutely necessary,” the maid explained.
Those people beyond the mundane always spoke like that—no matter what, they were always right in their own eyes.
First Madam Cheng let out a cold laugh and tossed the visiting card aside.
“Madam, I think the Abbess Sun is right,” the maid said hesitantly. “Our household has always been fine before, but look at the troubles these past few days… there’s certainly some bad luck. And yet she chose to come at exactly this time… It must mean she saw that her intervention was unavoidable…”
First Madam Cheng fell into thought.
She had heard before that monks, Daoists, and spiritual seers could perceive disasters and misfortunes invisible to ordinary people. Could it be that Abbess Sun really had seen some ill fortune befalling her household?
Lost in thought, she ran her hand over her cheek, accidentally touching the wound. Pain jolted her back to reality.
Indeed—there was truly some ominous disaster stirring within this house!
“Please, bring her in,” First Madam Cheng said.
The maid nodded and soon led Abbess Sun into the room.
First Madam Cheng’s gaze faltered. It had truly been a long time, and for a moment, she couldn’t even recognize Abbess Sun stepping gracefully forward.
Looking at her now—her Daoist robe faded from countless washings, her expression solemn, her steps composed—this lady was no longer the timid, subservient figure who once smiled obsequiously to please others.
If she was truly the same person, only one phrase could describe her: completely transformed.
First Madam Cheng straightened in her seat, recalling the rumors about Abbess Sun circulating through the city.
It was said that on a certain night, lightning struck Small Xuan-miao Temple on the mountain. The Daoist Patriarch had manifested a divine presence, granting Abbess Sun a spiritual root.
Perhaps it was true—otherwise, how could this Xuan–miao Temple have risen to fame almost overnight?
“Greetings, Madam,” Abbess Sun said as she entered, flicking her whisk and performing a bow.
In that brief moment, First Madam Cheng’s previous anger and resentment melted away, and she hurriedly returned the greeting.
The Abbess sat down, lifting her head to regard First Madam Cheng. She seemed to neither notice nor be surprised by the wound on First Madam Cheng’s face, her expression remaining entirely unchanged—as if she had long anticipated it.
The young lady had once said that rarity gives value, and brevity gives weight to words. Before that almost silent young lady, she had always been cautious. Every word spoken seemed exquisitely precise, and she unconsciously mirrored the young lady’s manners and conduct. Over time, she came to regard it as truth.
People in this world do not truly need to hear what you say—they merely want you to listen to what they themselves say. Whatever you speak, they hear only what they have already decided.
“Madam, this is the Tai Ping Scripture, copied by my own hand,” she said directly, presenting a scroll. “Take it, Madam, to calm your fear.”
At that single sentence, First Madam Cheng’s emotions collapsed.
See? See? She really had been shaken by evil spirits. A Daoist Immortal could see it at a glance—that was why she had brought the scripture, to calm and protect her.
“Thank you,” she said, hastily reaching for the scroll. The moment it was in her hands, a sense of peace settled over her heart. Her eyes reddened, and she gently dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.
“Abbess, your arrival is most timely. I was just about to send for you,” First Madam Cheng said, calming her emotions.
Abbess Sun nodded.
“Please, Madam, give your instructions,” she said, her expression serene, her eyes full of compassion, as if she fully understood all the suffering and misfortune in the world.
Seeing Abbess Sun kneeling before her, First Madam Cheng felt an even deeper sense of reassurance.
“My child has returned home,” she said, sighing. “She still needs to be sent to the temple, so I ask you to take care of her.”
Abbess Sun nodded.
“That is precisely why I have come,” she said with a smile, bowing slightly. “Madam, may I first go see this… old acquaintance?”
Did you hear that? She came just for this!
Clearly, that fool really was a source of calamity.
First Madam Cheng quickly nodded.
“Go at once, go at once! Things have already escalated to the point of someone being harmed,” she urged anxiously.
Even as the words left her mouth, Abbess Sun’s expression remained unchanged, as if she had heard nothing about murder but merely a mundane matter, like preparing a meal.
Had it been anyone else, hearing that a young lady in the house was raging and about to kill someone—even the bravest man would show fear, not to mention a woman.
First Madam Cheng felt even more reassured. Truly, this was someone blessed with a spiritual root by the Daoist Patriarch himself.
“Very well, then I shall go see for myself,” Abbess Sun said calmly, bowing slightly as she rose.
Murder? It was nothing extraordinary; she had seen it before.
Back when lightning had struck Small Xuan-miao Temple, during the rebuilding, her careful eyes had noticed something the other houses did not: an iron rod. She vaguely remembered Daoist scriptures mentioning methods to summon heavenly lightning—though she had never known it truly worked.
Whether it worked or not didn’t matter. What truly mattered was the courage to try.
“Then I shall not go,” First Madam Cheng said, covering her face with her hand.
Abbess Sun smiled gently and bowed.
“Madam, please stay. I can handle it myself.” She then turned and followed the maid.
First Madam Cheng watched Abbess Sun leave and let out a sigh of relief. Hastily, she clutched the scroll tightly to her chest, feeling as if a heavy stone had been lifted from her body.
“Truly an immortal lady,” she murmured, gazing at the scroll in her hands. She even regretted not having visited the temple sooner. “Quick—donate five hundred strings of coins to Xuan-miao Temple for incense offerings!”
