The main hall of Qingyun Temple was towering and solemn. The golden statues of the Three Pure Ones looked down upon all living beings amidst the flickering candlelight. The incense smoke curled upwards in wisps, making the clay and wooden figures of gods and Buddhas appear all the more compassionate and distant.
Shen Ningyue knelt on the futon.
The cold bluestone floor sent an inexplicable chill seeping through her thin skirt into her bones, but she was completely oblivious to it. Her gaze fell on the statue of the Heavenly Lord of Primordial Beginning on the altar table. The statue's eyes were cast down, seemingly looking at her and yet looking at nothing.
She closed her eyes.
She pressed her palms together.
There were too many thoughts tumbling in her mind, too chaotic for her to know where to begin her prayer.
Pray for a child?
Pray for the Heir to change his mind?
Pray to suppress Shen Ninghuan?
These thoughts swirled in the bottom of her heart, but never settled. Finally, she just bowed deeply, her forehead touching the cold edge of the futon, and said hoarsely:
"I beg the Daoist Ancestor... to give your disciple an answer."
She wanted an answer, an answer to the doubts in her heart.
Let her know.
What exactly was going on.
Why did the memories of her past life completely fail to match this life? Why did Pei Cijing know martial arts, strive for advancement, and treat Shen Ninghuan so gently? Why did the Heir's gaze toward her become increasingly indifferent, as if looking at an unfamiliar relative?
Why was the marriage she had fought so hard to snatch so hot to hold?
She needed an answer.
Even if this answer... was the one she wanted to hear the least.
After bowing, Shen Ningyue straightened up and looked at the rosewood divination tube on the side table. The tube was smooth and warm, having been rubbed by countless pilgrims over the years, gleaming with a dark luster.
She took a deep breath.
Reached out her hands.
And picked up the divination tube.
The tube felt heavy in her hands. The densely packed bamboo slips inside collided with each other, making a rattling sound. She closed her eyes and silently chanted in her heart—
"Disciple Ningyue of the Shen clan, asks for her future, asks... why is everything experienced in this life completely different from what was known in the past life?"
With a flick of her wrist.
A bamboo slip fell out and hit the bluestone floor with a smack.
Shen Ningyue opened her eyes.
She put down the divination tube and bent over to pick up the bamboo slip. The slip was slender, one end dyed vermilion, the other carved with a number. She turned the slip over and looked at the text on it—
"Flowers in a mirror and the moon in the water are not real, do not take illusions as solid traces. Cherish the fireworks before your eyes, for that is the true freedom in the human realm."
Very straightforward.
So straightforward that it didn't need any interpreter.
Shen Ningyue stared at those four lines of words, only feeling her vision darken in waves. Each word was like a branding iron, burning into her eyes, burning into her heart, burning into every inch of her flesh and blood.
Flowers in a mirror and the moon in the water are not real.
Do not take illusions as solid traces.
Was this saying that her so-called past life... was an illusion? Was it a flower in a mirror, a moon in the water, a completely nonexistent fantasy?
The hand holding the bamboo slip began to tremble. Her fingertips turned white, and her knuckles protruded. The slip seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, pressing down on her wrist so hard it ached, almost making her drop it.
No wonder.
No wonder everything she had experienced was completely different from the memories of her past life.
No wonder the Heir was only a Centurion and not a Deputy Battalion Commander. No wonder Pei Cijing knew martial arts and strove for advancement. No wonder Shen Ninghuan lived so comfortably and smoothly. No wonder the marriage she snatched was so hot to hold...
So the "memories" she desperately tried to grasp, the ones she relied on, the ones she thought would allow her to rise in status through her child and become the future Duchess—
Were completely illusions!
They were completely nonexistent phantoms!
Shen Ningyue felt as if all her strength had been drained away. Her body swayed, and she almost collapsed onto the futon. The bamboo slip slipped from her fingers, dropping onto the bluestone floor with a clatter, rolling twice before stopping at the foot of the altar table. But she didn't pick it up.
She knelt there, her mind in chaos.
She looked blankly at the statue ahead. The Three Pure Ones still cast their eyes down, compassionate and distant.
If her past life was an illusion, then what was everything she had done in this life?
She snatched the Heir, designed that "catching in the act" scenario, using it to force Pei Ciling to commit to her, forcing the elders of both families to hold their noses and accept this absurd marriage—she thought she had won, thought she had snatched the splendid future that should have belonged to Shen Ninghuan.
But if that future was an illusion to begin with...
Then what did she snatch?
What did she fight for?
What were her calculations, scheming, endurance, and torment over these past few months for?
Shen Ningyue suddenly wanted to laugh.
But the corners of her mouth twitched, unable to form any curve.
She wanted to cry.
But her eyes were dry, and she couldn't squeeze out a single tear.
She just knelt there, like a clay figure drained of its soul, kneeling before the incense-wreathed altar of the Three Pure Ones, kneeling before the gods and Buddhas she had once placed her hopes in.
She didn't know how long it had been.
She finally moved.
Not standing up, but slowly lowering her head, looking at her hands that were trembling slightly from gripping the slip too tightly. These hands, which used to never touch spring water in the Shen mansion, now had to comb her own hair, dress herself, and deal with those snobbish old women and maids.
She remembered the cold look in the Marchioness's eyes when her allowance was deducted.
She remembered the flash of disdain in the eyes of those old women when they took the broken silver she used to bribe them.
She remembered the increasingly polite and distant gaze Pei Ciling gave her when he returned to the mansion—not disgust, not indifference, just... polite.
It had only been a month.
They had become less like husband and wife and more like dealing with a distant relative.
She remembered the scene she had just seen under the ginkgo tree.
Pei Cijing held Shen Ninghuan, floating down from the canopy dozens of feet high, his posture like a crane, landing silently. When he looked down at Shen Ninghuan, his eyes were as gentle as spring water.
That kind of gentleness, she had never received in her past or present life.
Shen Ningyue closed her eyes.
She suddenly felt very tired.
Tired from the inside out.
Not physical exhaustion, but a weariness of the heart, the kind of weariness that came from holding on for too long, staying tense for too long, fighting for too long, only to suddenly realize that everything was meaningless.
She supported herself on the futon and slowly stood up.
Her knees were already numb from kneeling. She stumbled when she stood up and almost fell. She grabbed the edge of the altar table to steady herself, without looking back at the bamboo slip on the floor.
She just left like that.
Her footsteps were weak, her figure swaying, walking step by step out of the main hall, out of the curling incense smoke, out of the compassionate gaze.
She didn't look for someone to interpret the slip.
She didn't turn back to pick it up.
She didn't even take another look at those four lines of text.
...
The hall returned to silence.
The incense smoke still curled, the candlelight still flickered, the Three Pure Ones still cast their eyes down.
After a long time.
A lean figure walked slowly out of the side hall and stopped in front of the altar table.
Master Qingyun bent down and picked up the forgotten bamboo slip from the floor. He cast his eyes down at the text on it, then looked up at the figure outside the hall that had already gone far, gradually fading into the twilight.
"Foolish child."
He sighed softly, his voice old and distant, like it came from the depths of time.
The bamboo slip flipped gently between his fingers. The sunlight poured in through the lattice window, casting mottled light and shadows on the slip. The four lines of words flickered in the light and shadow, very much like the unpredictable fate of this world.
Master Qingyun looked at the disappearing figure, his gaze profound.
Heaven had not treated her thinly, in truth; she was inherently a person of great providence.
Were it not so, she would not have caught a glimpse of that corner of the future during a fluctuation of heaven's secrets—even if it was merely the most probable out of countless possibilities, even if it was as illusory as a flower in the mirror or the moon in the water.
But providence was, after all, just providence.
Had she cherished the present and held onto the marriage originally bestowed upon her by Heaven, her life would never have been poor.
Her original other half—whom Master Qingyun had just seen—seemed undisciplined but was actually clear-minded and gentle. Though he lacked a strong desire for advancement, he would never mistreat his wife.
He was destined for wealth, and his parents were kind. If she had married him and treated others with genuine sincerity, she might not have expected an imperial mandate of immense wealth and status, but she could have lived a stable life, free from worries about food and clothing, in a harmonious marriage.
That was supposed to be a smooth and favorable path.
Yet she just had to...
Master Qingyun shook his head.
People were born different from one another.
How could there be any logic in easily replacing someone simply by taking over a marriage?
She thought that by stealing her legitimate older sister's marriage, she could steal her destiny. Little did she know that destiny never lay in the marriage, but in the person themselves.
One is oneself, and others are others.
Put another person in the exact same position, and they still would not walk the exact same path.
To force things too much.
Not only would it fail to fulfill one's desires.
It would even backfire.
Master Qingyun raised his eyes, looking at the darkening sky outside the hall. The twilight clouds gathered from all sides, and the sunset glow dyed the horizon a desolate orange-red, like an old silk cloth scorched by fire.
He held that bamboo fortune slip, silent for a long time.
Eventually, he only let out another sigh.
"If she can let go in time... perhaps she could still end things with some dignity."
His voice was very light.
As light as the wind.
It dissipated in the curling incense smoke, dissipated in the flickering candlelight, dissipated in the silence of this thousand-year-old ancient temple.
Outside the hall, the twilight deepened.
That desolate, soul-lost figure had long since vanished at the end of the stone steps.
And that bamboo slip was gently placed back into the canister by Master Qingyun. With a soft clack, it mixed with countless other bamboo slips, no longer distinguishable from the rest.
As if no one had ever drawn this slip.
As if no one had ever read those four lines of words.
As if those truths about the flower in the mirror and moon in the water had never been known by anyone.
...
Outside the mountain gate of the Qingyun Temple.
Shen Ningyue stood on the stone steps, gazing at the darkening sky.
The wind blew up from the foot of the mountain, messing her temple hair and lifting her sleeves. She stood there, as frail as a fallen leaf that could be blown away by the wind at any moment.
The faint sound of the evening bell drifted from afar.
Once.
Twice.
Deep and slow.
It sounded like it was urging the pilgrims down the mountain, yet also like it was bidding farewell to something. Shen Ningyue suddenly turned her head, glancing at the towering Daoist temple behind her. In the twilight, the temple gates slowly closed.
A muffled creak.
It isolated the inside from the outside.
She stood there, watching for a long time.
Then, she turned around and walked down the stone steps step by step. Her footsteps were still weak, her figure still swaying, but compared to when she arrived, she seemed to be missing something.
Missing that strength that had been propping her up.
Missing that anxiety that kept her restless day and night.
Missing that obsession... that made her fight, made her steal, made her unwilling to concede.
Was it really missing?
Or was it just temporarily suppressed?
Shen Ningyue herself did not know.
She merely walked down the mountain, stepping into the thickening night, heading toward the shabby carriage waiting at the foot of the hill. The carriage curtain lifted and fell.
Concealing her face.
The carriage started moving, wheels rumbling, gradually disappearing into the depths of the twilight.
Meanwhile, up on the mountain, inside the Qingyun Temple.
The last wisp of incense smoke dispersed.
The final candle flickered out.
The Three Pure Ones still lowered their eyes, compassionate yet distant, looking down upon the myriad living beings.
Looking down upon the foolish, the angry, the greedy, and the seeking; looking down upon those struggling, unresigned, sinking, and awakening within their destinies; looking down upon the ripples stirred by that first cast stone, expanding circle by circle toward an unknown distance...
