Xu Youde did not go to the Ministry of Revenue.
He had woken up before dawn. After tossing and turning a few times, he found it impossible to fall back asleep. It was all because of the deadly account books and notes locked in the hidden compartment next door; these very items were the cause of his restless state of mind.
Xu Youde felt no fear.
But his heart was weighed down by an unshakable heaviness.
Qinghuan was far away in the Northern Frontier, and Xu Zhan had just left the death row. Both of his children were in perilous situations.
Although Xu Youde navigated and schemed within the capital's official circles, at the end of the day, all he could truly protect was what lay within the walls of the Earl of Chengyi's estate.
At a quarter past the hour of Mao, Xu Youde, bringing no attendants, wrapped himself in a half-worn brown cloak and slipped out through the estate's back door. He followed the alleys westward for three streets.
Huguo Temple.
This was a place of flourishing incense and worship in the capital. During festivals, the line of pilgrims would stretch from the mountain gate all the way past the archway. However, today was neither the first nor the fifteenth of the lunar month, and it was still the early hour of Mao. The entire temple was serene and silent, with only a few young novices sweeping fallen leaves beneath the corridors.
Xu Youde stepped over the threshold of the mountain gate, passed through the Hall of the Heavenly Kings, and without stopping, headed straight for the Mahavira Hall.
The hall doors were half-open, and not a single pilgrim was in sight.
The golden statue of Shakyamuni Buddha sat upright upon a lotus pedestal. The thirty-foot-tall figure gave off a faint golden glimmer in the morning light. The ever-burning lamp in the hall, having burned through the night, had only a fraction of its oil left. Its feeble flame flickered, casting a dim light. The fading scent of sandalwood in the hall mixed with the damp morning mist, lingering faintly in the air.
Xu Youde paused before the threshold for a moment.
In his life, Xu Youde rarely prayed to gods or Buddhas. From his early days as a merchant to becoming the magistrate of Taoyuan County, and now being enfeoffed as an Earl and promoted to the Ministry of Revenue, he had grown increasingly skeptical. He only believed in real gold, silver, sharp blades, and the numbers written in black and white in his account books.
But today, he believed.
Fear had taken root in Xu Youde's heart.
He stepped over the threshold and walked up to the altar.
On the altar lay three rows of incense sticks of varying thickness. The front row was ordinary sandalwood, the middle row was blended with agarwood, and the back row consisted of medicinal incense made by the temple itself. Without picking and choosing, Xu Youde casually drew three sticks from the front row and walked toward the ever-burning lamp.
The flame of the ever-burning lamp was weak. Xu Youde bent down and brought the three incense sticks close.
The feeble fire touched the tips of the incense, hesitating for a breath before slowly catching alight.
Xu Youde straightened up and turned to the bronze incense burner in the center.
The bronze incense burner was embossed with nine cloud dragons. Its walls, steeped in a century of incense smoke, were pitch black. Only the rim, polished by years of touch, gleamed brightly.
Xu Youde inserted the three incense sticks into the ashes one by one, placing them on the left, right, and center.
Xu Youde took two steps back and knelt on the prayer mat.
The mat was hard and uncomfortable, but Xu Youde paid it no mind. He pressed his palms together, rested his forehead against the backs of his hands, and kowtowed.
One kowtow.
Two kowtows.
Three kowtows.
As he rose, Xu Youde did not open his eyes.
He softly murmured two names.
Qinghuan.
Zhan'er.
After murmuring the names, Xu Youde looked toward the incense burner.
But instantly, his pupils contracted sharply.
Among the three sticks of incense, the ones on the left and right were burning at an alarming speed. In the blink of an eye, nearly half of them had turned to ash.
However, the middle stick exhibited a bizarre anomaly.
Its glow remained entirely stagnant.
The ember simply rested at the tip, neither burning down nor extinguishing. Only a single thread of blue smoke rose straight up from the spark.
Even more eerie was the smoke.
Three streams of blue smoke plummeted straight downward.
Wisp by wisp, the smoke sank, flowing against the outer wall of the incense burner, swirling around its bronze base and gathering thicker by the second.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on Xu Youde's back. In all his decades of life, he had never witnessed such an unnatural phenomenon.
Just then, an aged voice echoed from behind the Buddha statue.
Has the benefactor ever seen such an incense manifestation before?
Xu Youde looked up.
He saw an old monk emerging from the left side of the statue. The monk wore a faded, patched robe and tattered cloth shoes, leaning on a well-oiled bamboo cane.
The old monk was gaunt, his face lined with deep wrinkles, yet his eyes were extraordinarily clear.
This man was none other than the abbot of Huguo Temple, the monk Huiming.
All the dignitaries in the capital knew his name. During the late Emperor's reign, he had been invited to the palace three times to expound on the sutras. The blessing ceremony during the current Emperor's coronation year had also been personally presided over by him.
Huiming walked up to the incense burner.
He lowered his head and stared at the smoke that sank instead of rising, watching it for a long time.
Xu Youde stood up from the prayer mat. His knees were so sore that he stumbled slightly. He steadied himself and walked to Huiming's side.
Master, this incense...
Inverted incense.
Hearing this, Xu Youde's heart sank.
Inverted... what does that mean?
Huiming raised his bamboo cane, pointing the tip at the left and right incense sticks that had already burned down mostly.
These two sticks are burning far too hastily, and their smoke falls rather than rises. This is an omen of extreme Yin.
He paused for a breath.
Those drawn into this situation are standing on deadly ground.
The two names the benefactor just murmured, one male and one female, are both thousands of miles away. This old monk will not ask who they are, but this incense has already revealed...
He slowly turned his head to look at Xu Youde.
Those surrounding them harbor murderous intent, and within your family, there is also the peril of annihilation.
Xu Youde's lips trembled.
He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat felt as if it were blocked by something.
After a long moment, Xu Youde finally squeezed out a sentence.
Master, in this situation... is there a gate of survival?
Huiming did not answer.
He raised his right hand, his withered finger pointing toward the center of the incense burner.
Xu Youde followed his gaze.
The middle incense stick had still not burned downward. The faint spark hung precariously at the tip, but the ash...
The ash had not broken off.
From the tip to the base, the segment of pale ash that should have crumbled away was firmly clinging to the stick. Not a single speck had fallen.
And at the very top, at some unknown moment, the ash had bent and twisted, forming an upward-facing ring.
Xu Youde was dumbfounded.
Huiming lowered his hand.
A situation of supreme malevolence is plainly laid out here, but look at this middle stick, benefactor...
His pace of speech slowed down.
It does not burn, it does not extinguish, it does not rise, and it does not fall. Instead, it is absorbing.
Absorbing?
The aura of death from the left and right sticks is being absorbed by it.
Huiming pointed to the thick ring of smoke at the base of the incense burner.
Only then did Xu Youde realize that the sinking smoke was slowly converging toward the middle incense stick. Wisp by wisp, it vanished into the base of the center stick.
This variable... Huiming took a step back.
As he took this step back, Xu Youde saw it clearly.
The tip of the bamboo cane held by this old monk—who had lived for over eighty years, preached sutras to the late Emperor, and prayed for the Son of Heaven—scraped a white mark across the blue brick floor.
His hand was trembling.
It is seizing the secrets of heaven.
Huiming's voice changed, no longer calm.
The aura of death enters its body, neither dissipating nor extinguishing, but instead transforming into something it can use. In my eighty-one years of life, and having read through the manuscripts of all the past abbots of this temple, this old monk has never seen such an incense manifestation.
Xu Youde's breathing grew heavy.
Master, do you mean...
Before he could finish his sentence, a sudden light flared within the incense burner.
The left and right sticks burned out in the exact same instant. Their ashes snapped in the middle and tumbled into the ash pile, kicking up a puff of fine dust.
Meanwhile, the spark on the middle stick abruptly expanded in that very moment.
What was originally a feeble speck of light now turned into a thumb-sized flame, blazing with a bright orange-red glow.
The smoke swirling around the burner's base was, in the instant the flame expanded, entirely sucked into the heart of the fire by some invisible force.
The smoke dispersed.
The hall became clear and bright, without a single stray wisp of smoke left.
Only the lone middle stick of incense remained standing there, bearing a quiet, bright flame at its peak.
Monk Huiming turned to Xu Youde.
Hidden within the deep wrinkles of his face was an incredibly complex expression, making it hard to tell whether it was awe or terror.
"Patron."
He pressed his palms together.
"I dare not look any further into this fate."
Xu Youde's heart gave a violent lurch.
"Master, you..."
"The person you seek is already beyond the bounds of heavenly providence!"
Huiming closed his eyes, leaned on his bamboo staff, and turned to walk behind the Buddha statue. His worn, patched robe gradually blurred in the morning light.
His voice drifted from behind the statue, distant yet crystal clear.
"I have but one piece of advice to leave you with."
"Heaven's will can be stolen, but karma cannot be reversed. For every fraction of destiny she seizes, she owes a debt to this mortal realm."
"And one day, this debt must be paid!"
