Chapter 90: The Buddhist Temple (2)

She had grown up, was no longer a child, and was quite tall, yet he lifted her as easily as he used to when she was little. He was tall and strong, but his embrace was gentle. For a moment, they were very close, and she saw her reflection in his beautiful phoenix-like eyes, which mesmerized her with that ineffable feeling.

Qi Ying was actually the same.

Her slender waist rested in his palm, a faint fragrance enveloping him, and for a fleeting moment, the soft curves of the young girl pressed against him.

He truly didn’t mean to offend her and certainly didn’t want to entertain any improper thoughts, but the turmoil in his heart at that moment couldn’t be denied, not even by himself.

His panic was on par with hers.

However, Lord Qi, seasoned through years in the political arena, naturally possessed a steadier disposition than a young girl. Moreover, he deeply understood a principle: the more unstable one’s emotions, the calmer one’s exterior should appear. He had practiced this many times, always effectively. Now, he feigned a composed demeanor, gently releasing her from his embrace and indifferently saying, “Let’s go.”

With that, he turned and walked ahead.

Shen Xiling had been momentarily lost in his rare embrace, but seeing his seemingly calm and even somewhat indifferent demeanor now felt like being doused with cold water. The subtle ripples in her heart instantly faded, leaving her feeling inexplicably hurt, wondering: Did he still see her as a child? Or worse—perhaps he didn’t have those feelings for her…

Her mind was in disarray, unsure what to say or do, even neglecting to follow him, standing there in a daze.

Meanwhile, Shui Pei and Bai Song had finished tying up the horses. Turning back, Shui Pei saw her mistress standing alone, looking lost and somewhat sorrowful, and hurried over to ask what was wrong.

Just then, Qi Ying noticed she hadn’t followed and turned to look at her. Shen Xiling’s heart skipped a beat, fearing her thoughts would be discovered, and quickly gathered herself.

Though young, Shen Xiling had learned to conceal her emotions from her experiences in commerce. Though not as adept as Qi Ying, she could still manage appearances. She took a deep breath, hiding her earlier disappointment and sorrow, even smiling at Shui Pei, saying naturally, “It’s nothing, let’s go.”

Qixia Mountain lived up to its reputation, indeed picturesque and graceful.

From afar, the red maples appeared magnificent, but upon closer inspection within the mountain, they revealed their delicate beauty. The mist made the scenery especially serene, as if transcending the mundane world.

Shen Xiling stole a glance at Qi Ying walking beside her. Others might not notice anything, but she knew he was in a good mood now.

It was hard to say how she knew. After all, whether happy or angry, he rarely showed much difference outwardly—but she just knew; she could feel it.

He was a man who never had leisure, always burdened with affairs. Taking such a leisurely autumn stroll must have been rare for him.

She remembered the annotation he had written in the Baopu Collection . In this setting, she wondered if he had attained the profound interest described in that short piece.

She was lost in thought when suddenly a chant echoed, vaguely carried through the mist from the western slope.

Shen Xiling was startled, remembering there was a Qixia Temple on the western slope.

Buddhism and Daoism flourished in Jiangnan, with countless temples and monasteries. Just around Jiankang, there were hundreds of small and large Zen monasteries, perpetually filled with incense smoke. The royal family also revered Buddhism; the current emperor was particularly devout, holding grand Buddhist ceremonies every year on the eighth day of the fourth lunar month, the Bathing Buddha Festival.

But Shen Xiling knew Qi Ying didn’t believe.

The Forgetfulness Room contained countless classics, histories, and philosophical texts, yet no Buddhist scriptures. Unless absolutely unavoidable, he generally didn’t attend Buddhist ceremonies.

Shen Xiling once asked him why he didn’t believe. At the time, he was deeply engrossed in reading under lamplight. Hearing her question, he glanced up at her but said nothing.

She didn’t understand his meaning until later when Qingzhu explained it to her.

He said, “My master has a resilient spirit. He believes in himself more than in deities. If he can make everything go smoothly by his own efforts, why bother seeking divine intervention?”

His words were firm, and Shen Xiling wasn’t sure whether to believe them.

She always felt that though he didn’t believe in Buddhism, he himself possessed a kind of Buddha-nature. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have saved her and taken care of her afterward. He was broad-minded and compassionate, with a sense of Zen in his heart. Perhaps someone already so clear and pure in spirit wouldn’t be bound by beliefs or lack thereof.

But Shen Xiling was different. She believed, and rather mundanely. Whenever she encountered a temple or monastery, she always went in to pray, otherwise she wouldn’t feel at ease.

Qi Ying knew her habit. Hearing the chanting now, he recalled the temple on the western slope and saw the young girl gazing hopefully at him, immediately understanding her intention.

The mountain was resplendent with red maples, and the mist and humidity made the young girl’s face exceptionally radiant, like a beautiful flower spirit.

His eyes held affection and faint pleasure as he asked, “Shall I accompany you?”

Shen Xiling smiled at him, her eyes bright as she nodded, replying, “Yes.”

The fog was thicker on the western slope, making the temple seem nestled among clouds.

In the sixteenth year of Qinghua, before Emperor Liang allocated funds to expand religious structures, Qixia Temple wasn’t as grand as Jiming Temple or Dingshan Temple, nor was it renowned throughout the southeast. What was noteworthy was the Amitabha Buddha and two Bodhisattva statues carved into the western cliff, each over three zhang tall, attracting Buddhist disciples for reverence.

Inside the temple was a stupa, and to the east stood the Great Buddha Hall, also known as the Three Saints Hall, enshrining the Amitabha Buddha, with Avalokiteshvara and Mahasthamaprapta Bodhisattvas standing on either side, very majestic.

When Shen Xiling and her companions entered the temple grounds, the chanting had ceased, leaving only the sound of the bell ringing. The spacious temple was devoid of worshippers, with only occasional monks passing by.

Shen Xiling was quite surprised.

Though Qixia Temple wasn’t as bustling as Jiming and Dingshan Temples, she hadn’t expected it to be completely empty today. However, this was a good thing. If too many people were praying, the Buddha and Bodhisattvas might not hear your wishes. With no one around, you could pray earnestly, perhaps even prompting the gods to grant your wish just to get rid of your nagging.

Feeling pleased, Shen Xiling turned to Qi Ying and asked, “Master, will you come inside the hall to pray with me?”

Qi Ying stood with his hands behind his back, simply saying, “I’ll wait here.”

Since he didn’t believe, praying would be disrespectful. Shen Xiling understood and didn’t urge him. Nodding obediently, she said, “Alright, then I’ll go with Shui Pei.”

Qi Ying nodded, looked around, and reminded her, “No need to rush, we have plenty of time today.”

Shen Xiling blinked, hearing his words and seeing him standing there waiting for her, feeling a secret joy of being favored. Suppressing a smile, she nodded again, then walked into the Great Buddha Hall with Shui Pei on the mist-dampened stone path.

Qi Ying watched her retreating figure until she disappeared into the Buddha Hall before withdrawing his gaze. Glancing aside at Bai Song standing behind him, he noted the hand resting on the hilt of his sword and chuckled, raising his voice slightly, implying, “How can you bear arms before the prince? No need for such precautions.”

As soon as he spoke, a burst of male laughter echoed from the thin mist. Qi Ying turned and raised his eyes to see a man approaching from beneath the stupa, dressed in a deep purple brocade robe, with a mole below his right eye.

Third Prince Xiao Zihuan.

Qi Ying sighed silently, then stepped forward to greet the Third Prince. Xiao Zihuan lightly supported him, saying, “This is a tranquil place of worship. Why adhere to worldly formalities? Brother Jingchen, please don’t be so formal.”

Qi Ying smiled but still observed the formalities, later saying, “The laws of the world are still laws; they should be followed.”

Xiao Zihuan shook his head and chuckled upon hearing this. Seeing he couldn’t dissuade Qi Ying, he accepted his bow. Then, glancing at Bai Song, he remarked, “I’ve long heard about your private minister’s extraordinary hearing. Didn’t expect it to be so remarkable.”

Turning to Bai Song, he asked, “When did you discover my presence?”

The Third Prince originally referred to himself as “me,” but now used “this prince” because he had been granted the title of Prince Duan two years ago for his role in eradicating the remnants of the Shen clan, becoming the only prince to receive a princely title, basking in glory back then.

The situation in court had always been subtle.

Two years ago, when the Third Prince was granted the title of Prince Duan, everyone assumed he had secured the position of Crown Prince. However, just days after the reward, the emperor personally arranged the marriage between the Fourth Prince and the eldest daughter of the Fu family, with great fanfare, making the emperor’s intentions unclear and difficult to decipher.

Nevertheless, one point was certain: the Third Prince was granted the title for suppressing the aristocratic families, while the Fourth Prince gained favor through alliances with them. Their positions in court were diametrically opposed. This only indicated one issue: the succession battle depended not only on the competition between the two imperial sons but also on how the three major aristocratic families maneuvered.

This was a choice both the royal family and the aristocrats had to make.

Such a situation naturally made the relationship between the Third Prince and Qi Ying very delicate. After all, regardless of perspective, Little Lord Qi was undoubtedly the most outstanding figure of his generation among the three major families. Even if the position of family head was passed to his elder brother Qi Yun, Qi Ying would still hold significant sway in the court, destined to become the future leader of the Jiangnan aristocracy.

How could the prince who despised the aristocracy possibly befriend Qi Ying? Many secretly hoped he would meet an untimely demise due to his brilliance. Bai Song understood these implications, and when Xiao Zihuan posed the question, his entire body tensed, his expression extremely cautious.

Qi Ying, however, remained relaxed, turning his head to tell Bai Song, “The prince asks; answer truthfully.”

Upon hearing this, Bai Song bowed slightly, performed another bow to Xiao Zihuan, lowered his head, and replied, “To answer Your Highness, I knew upon entering.”

This was no lie.

He had always possessed exceptional hearing, further honed through years serving Qi Ying, becoming highly alert to even the slightest sounds. Upon entering the temple gates today, he detected movements beneath the stupa, distinct from the footsteps of the monks.

He had initially intended to investigate immediately but was subtly stopped by his master, likely to avoid involving Shen Xiling. Thus, they waited until she entered the Buddha Hall before encountering the Third Prince.

Hearing this, Xiao Zihuan laughed loudly, praising repeatedly, then turned to ask Qi Ying, “He discerned my presence through hearing, but how did you know? You addressed me as ‘Your Highness’ without seeing me; did you already know I was beneath the stupa?”

Author’s Note: Emperor Liang, the king of balance. Who wouldn’t say this water is perfectly level?