Chapter 5: Reunion Part 1

This temple was called Capital Mountain Temple, quite ordinary and not as bustling with incense as the imperial temples. However, the Pingnan Prince’s Consort came here every year to offer prayers. In the past, she had always come alone, but now that Xun Changqing had grown up a bit, she brought her out for some fresh air.

The Zen lecture was dull, and after listening for half an hour, Xun Changqing felt stifled. She slipped out from behind the door. Being young and keeping her head low, no one noticed her.

The temple grounds were filled with towering ancient trees. In late spring, the leaves were extremely lush, with the tops of the paulownia trees piercing straight into the sky. Xun Changqing walked downward along a paulownia tree and saw many stone tablets engraved with text. Upon closer inspection, they were all dense scriptures.

Further ahead stood an ancient pavilion where two people were playing chess. One was a woman around fifty years old, dressed plainly with a jade hairpin slanted in her hair. She exuded an air of nobility, her brows and eyes radiating a strong scholarly aura. She gazed intently at the white-bearded monk across from her, who appeared to be at least in his seventies by his features.

Yet he was not stern at all; instead, his face was kindly, and he spoke with a faint smile. Amid their casual conversation, he placed a piece. The woman’s brows furrowed as if she struggled for a moment before abandoning her white stone in hand. She shook her head and said, “I lost.”

The white-bearded monk smiled and remarked, “With your mind elsewhere, how could you succeed?”

The woman paused for a moment but did not respond. She lowered her gaze to the chessboard where her pieces had been utterly decimated, a bitter sigh escaping her lips. “You must know that many years ago, I didn’t want to enter the deep palace, so I requested to go to Jiangnan. Now, I don’t want my child dragged into it either, but the Second Imperial Prince won’t let go.”

“The deep palace isn’t frightening. You’ve been there for so many years; you should know that.”

The white-bearded monk’s words flowed gently like a stream in front of a farmhouse, serious yet laced with concern. They sounded detached and worldly-wise, like those of a hermit who had seen through the mortal world.

That woman was none other than Ning’an County Princess Wei Xiao. She visited this monk every time she returned to the capital. When the person she loved fell one day, he became as still as stagnant water, detached from worldly affairs, shaved his head, and entered the empty gate. Wei Xiao said helplessly, “You must know the deep palace is no longer as peaceful as it once was. I don’t want Ahci dragged into it. Could you perhaps…”

“How can someone beyond the mortal dust meddle in its affairs? Donor, seek another path. If the younger generation’s heart belongs to the palace, why not go with the flow and forge the marriage? It could be a beautiful thing.”

Ning’an County Princess knew he would refuse; she was used to it. But Wei Lingci was her only child—how could she choose? The emperor did not dote on her as the Previous Emperor had. Refusing now might incur the sovereign’s wrath. She said helplessly, “Ahci doesn’t agree. She hasn’t returned to the Imperial Capital in years. Besides, the Second Imperial Prince is the heir apparent chosen by His Majesty. How could the Rear Palace have only Ahci? You understand.”

Silence fell in the pavilion for a moment. The white-bearded monk, dressed in white robes, stood up and glanced obliquely at a nearby stone tablet. His dark eyes were calm, devoid of ripples, incapable of stirring storms. He said faintly, “The current sovereign is not obstinate. Speak the truth, and he surely won’t force you.”

With that, he issued a dismissal. Wei Xiao rose, bowed to him, and then smoothed her robes before leaving.

Xun Changqing, who had wandered into the stone tablet grove by mistake, inwardly cried out in distress. She had no idea what the two had discussed, but the woman had bowed to the white-bearded monk like a subject before leaving—truly strange. Her small frame hid easily behind the tablets, and she planned to leave after he departed.

She watched the woman leave and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Unexpectedly, a voice came from the pavilion: “Come out.”

Xun Changqing startled and looked around, seeing no one else. She realized it was directed at her. With no choice, she slowly approached the pavilion, gave a perfunctory bow, and apologized, “This junior wandered in by mistake and didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Her black hair was tied in a jade crown, her lips red and teeth white. Her every word and action carried a dignified elegance, but her deep, profound eyes did not match her age. Even after being called out for intruding, she remained calm and unruffled, indicating excellent upbringing. Though he had navigated the imperial inner circles for decades and seen through such vanities, unwilling to involve himself, the white-bearded monk couldn’t help but smile at this clever child and ask, “Which family’s girl are you?”

Xun Changqing raised her head, annoyed by his words, and bluntly replied, “I’m a boy, not a girl.”

“Just a tomboy,” the white-bearded monk said lazily, not bothering to argue. He lowered his gaze at her with a half-smile and asked, “You haven’t said yet—which family’s… young lad?”

Feeling she had been impolite—in this sacred Buddhist ground, one must be serene—Xun Changqing bowed deeply and reported, “Xun Changqing, son of the Pingnan Prince.”

So, she was the child of an old acquaintance. The white-bearded monk sized her up again. For some reason, a chill settled in his heart, though his face remained casually indifferent. He said, “I see. The imperial descendants should be so proper and courteous, to honor their forebears’ hardships.”

Xun Changqing half-understood. Then she heard him say, “Appearance reflects the heart. If the heart harbors demons, clinging to past matters becomes futile regret. Why pursue it? Better to let go and seek new paths.”

Past life… futile regret… Xun Changqing shivered suddenly, a chill running through her. She wanted to ask for clarification, but the white-bearded monk had already vanished into the grove. His words echoed in her ears: Clinging to the past life has become futile regret…

Late spring brought frequent rains. As Xun Changqing left the stone tablet grove, it began to pour. She almost ran back to her resting place.

By the time she reached the covered corridor in front of the room, her clothes were soaked halfway. Strands of hair peeked from under her jade crown, glistening wet. Outside, the rain threads continued endlessly, mist shrouding like light gauze. The wind whistled past her ears, carrying a faint peach blossom scent—perhaps from petals knocked down by the storm, their fragrance borne on the breeze.