Chapter 13: The Plum Blossom Deity

For a while, everything was peaceful until seven days later when Abbess Liuyun of Chuyun Nunnery sent an invitation. She stated that she had received an order from Princess Zhaohe to hold a seven-day Water and Land Dharma Assembly for Ruan Qingmei (Sister Mei), and requested Di Jiang and Zhong Xu to help.

In Di Jiang’s view, Sister Mei was indeed pitiable, so she naturally did not refuse. She took the invitation, closed her shop, and brought Shuxiang and Wen Yao to Chuyun Nunnery.

At the nunnery, Di Jiang met her old neighbor, Master Zhong.

Every time Zhong Xu looked at Di Jiang, he wore an expression as if she owed him hundreds of taels of silver—or rather, several times he tried to pretend he didn’t see her. But Di Jiang, being persistent, forced him to acknowledge her presence, earning herself glare after glare in return.

Later, she even dragged him aside to have tea with Abbess Liuyun. As their conversation warmed up, she seized the opportunity to ask a question that had puzzled her for a long time.

“Abbess Liuyun, there are countless bodhisattvas in heaven. Why does Chuyun Nunnery exclusively enshrine the bodhisattva from the underworld?”

“That is not just any bodhisattva; she is one of the Three Sovereigns of the Ghost Realm.”

“The Three Sovereigns?” Zhong Xu became interested at this and sat up straight.

Liuyun nodded and continued: “The Three Sovereigns consist of the Ghost King, the Tai Xiao Emperor Lord, and the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha Manjushri, who resides perpetually at the bottom of the eighteen hells. The Ghost King governs the entire ghost realm, while the Tai Xiao Emperor Lord commands the ten directions of yin soldiers, administering punishment or reward to all those with grievances—essentially serving as the marshal of the ghost realm. As for Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, she embodies compassion, working tirelessly to deliver countless lost souls from hell, vowing not to attain Buddhahood until hell is emptied. Her selfless spirit is admirable. If all people could follow her example, there would be no such suffering in the world.”

After Liuyun finished speaking, everyone around her wore expressions of reverence.

Di Jiang glanced at Zhong Xu, whose demeanor had also turned solemn. Feeling compelled to join in, she praised: “The wisdom of Bodhisattva Prajñāpāramitā delivers sentient beings and sacrifices the small self for the greater good—it is truly admirable.”

Zhong Xu frowned again, correcting her: “Referring to the bodhisattva as having a ‘small self’ might not be appropriate.”

“Why not?”

“She is not an ordinary mortal.”

“But like mortals, she too has only one heart.” Di Jiang smiled faintly.

“...” Zhong Xu rolled his eyes, shaking his head repeatedly, feeling it was futile to argue with her. Abbess Liuyun, however, did not participate in their bickering. Seeing that the hour was growing late, she brought out a memorial tablet inscribed with Ruan Qingmei’s name, birth date, and death anniversary. Carefully placing it on the altar alongside other tablets, she said, “After the Water and Land Assembly, I will recite sutras daily to pray for her salvation.”

Zhong Xu nodded, clasped his hands together, and bowed deeply to her: “Your kindness knows no bounds, Abbess. Everything rests in your capable hands.”

“In truth, this isn’t necessary,” Di Jiang interjected, spoiling the moment. “A knot in one’s heart must be untied by oneself. Once they come to terms with it, there is no need for others to intervene. Sister Mei departed peacefully—we need not waste effort.”

“Amitabha Buddha. Physician Di speaks with clarity; this humble nun feels unworthy…” Abbess Liuyun expressed respect, then added, “You carry a serene countenance and act with grace. Though you may occasionally seem cunning, you don’t resemble an ordinary mortal. Instead, you seem more like… a bodhisattva who delivers sentient beings.”

Faced with such praise, Di Jiang felt somewhat embarrassed. Before she could respond, Zhong Xu pointed at her nose and scolded loudly: “If she’s a bodhisattva, I’ll cut off my skull and serve it to you as a wine snack!”

Di Jiang burst into laughter, amused: “I’m not a bodhisattva—I’m just a doctor.”

“A true doctor suspends a gourd to heal the world, but you’re nothing more than a merchant—a sly one at that!”

Di Jiang chuckled again, while Abbess Liuyun sighed and shook her head, gently reprimanding him: “When observing someone, don’t focus on appearances—look at their heart.”

Di Jiang wholeheartedly agreed with this statement. Bowing respectfully to Abbess Liuyun, she quickly formed a bond of mutual admiration with the abbess. After sitting together for a while, Zhong Xu rose and left. Seeing him depart, Di Jiang followed him outside.

However, Zhong Xu seemed determined to avoid walking alongside Di Jiang. As soon as they exited the nunnery, he strode ahead alone, disappearing from sight in no time. Di Jiang felt disappointed but let him go. In Zhong Xu’s eyes, she was merely a physician without martial arts or magical abilities, idling away her days.

Seeing that there was still plenty of daylight left, Di Jiang strolled leisurely through the mountains with Shuxiang and Wen Yao, treating it as a post-meal walk.

After walking for about half an hour, they came across a tall white horse tied to a tree trunk.

“I recognize this horse—it belongs to General Long!” Wen Yao exclaimed excitedly, then looked around and asked, “Is General Long here too? It’s the first time we’ve seen him since his wedding. Could he be attending Sister Mei’s Dharma Assembly?”

“It’s obvious he’s here to see Princess Zhaohe,” Di Jiang remarked, glancing sidelong at Wen Yao. “The princess organized this assembly but didn’t attend herself. I found it strange earlier, but now seeing General Long’s horse, it makes sense. Perhaps she was intercepted along the way by someone from her past?”

Di Jiang led Shuxiang and Wen Yao on a short exploration nearby, eventually spotting them at the edge of a cliff.

General Long stood clad in armor, exuding a powerful aura, while the princess, expressionless, radiated an icy dignity that matched his own.

The trio watched from a distance as General Long reached out to take the princess’s hand, only for her to bow slightly instead.

Though close in proximity, they seemed worlds apart.

Long Ming spoke at length, but Princess Zhaohe responded with only one sentence throughout: “You have already betrayed one person—you must not betray another.”

That evening, as the sun set in the west, its rays stretched the shadows of General Long and Princess Zhaohe long across the ground.

“Let’s go,” Di Jiang softly suggested.

“We haven’t finished watching yet!” Wen Yao protested, unwilling to leave. But Di Jiang tugged her ear and forcibly dragged her back.

They never learned what happened afterward. No matter how many times Wen Yao tried to coax hints out of Di Jiang, she refused to divulge anything.

Not long after, news arrived from the imperial court that General Long had volunteered to guard the borderlands, leaving Liu Zhi behind in the general’s residence.

From then on, Liu Zhi appeared to others as the lady of the house, elevated in status. Yet the loneliness of keeping an empty home likely remained a private sorrow known only to her…

Time passed swiftly, and the first month of the lunar year soon ended.

One day, as Wen Yao and Shuxiang were sweeping snow outside, Di Jiang sat under the eaves, observing the auspicious atmosphere of the New Year. Noticing two plum trees in front of the door blooming magnificently before wilting, their fallen petals staining the ground crimson, she suddenly declared, “I’ll write a Record of Flower Deities.”

“Record of Flower Deities?” Both Shuxiang and Wen Yao furrowed their brows.

Di Jiang nodded: “Scholars and literati throughout history have enjoyed writing stories—I want to try it too.”

“Do stories really need to be written? You can find plenty just lying around,” Wen Yao tilted her head, puzzled.

“Eh, only worth writing about are those who deserve it.” Di Jiang waved her hand dismissively, laughing at Wen Yao’s lack of poetic sensibility.

“So, who will be the January plum blossom deity?” Shuxiang asked.

“Guess,” Di Jiang smiled, adding, “My plum blossom deity must possess fragrance imbued with grace, resilience without compromise, purity unbothered by cold, and pride without self-pity.” With that, she disregarded whether the two understood and returned to her room upstairs.

She couldn’t wait to begin.

Back in her room, Di Jiang leaned against the window railing and pulled out a book from her waist. With a flick of her sleeve, three bright characters appeared on the cover: Record of Flower Deities . Selecting flower deities was something every scholar and connoisseur enjoyed doing, and she was no exception. This year, her goal was to write a Record of Flower Deities for the ghost realm. Yet despite searching daily, she had yet to find suitable candidates. Now, inspired by a sudden idea, she couldn’t let it slip away.

Di Jiang summoned a brush with her right hand. The brush handle was pure white jade, and its tip was made of snowy-white bristles.

She opened the first page of the Record of Flower Deities and wrote a few strokes. The words “Wu Jingyi” appeared boldly on the first page, and her story gradually unfolded on paper.

Her anthology of flower deities had finally begun.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Wen Yao and Shuxiang were conversing as they swept snow.

“Who do you think our boss has chosen as the January plum blossom deity?” Wen Yao asked, then immediately answered herself: “Look at me asking such unnecessary questions.”

“Oh? So tell me, who do you think it is?” Shuxiang prompted.

“Obviously, it’s Sister Mei!” Wen Yao declared confidently. “She sacrificed herself for others without holding grudges—she deserves to be recognized!”

Shuxiang pursed his lips, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“What? Do you have a different opinion?” Wen Yao raised an eyebrow.

Shuxiang shook his head: “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Speak freely—I won’t blame you!”

“Really?” Shuxiang hesitated.

“Truly!”

“Then I’ll speak frankly,” Shuxiang set down his broom and said earnestly: “It’s true that Ruan Qingmei forgave others and sacrificed herself, which is commendable. But the plum blossom is a flower that blooms defiantly amidst frost and snow, unafraid of the cold. Ruan Qingmei once took her own life over a careless remark—how can she embody the spirit of enduring frost? As for saving the prince, she exchanged her life for his. How many people in this world sacrifice themselves for love? Not many, but certainly not none. Should everyone qualify as a flower deity?”

Di Jiang, listening from the window, couldn’t help but smile and nod lightly. She circled the phrase written earlier: “The plum blossom deity must possess fragrance imbued with grace, resilience without compromise, purity unbothered by cold, and pride without self-pity.”

“As for Princess Zhaohe,” Shuxiang continued slowly, “since childhood, the princess has possessed ghostly sight, able to see things others cannot. Growing up in a secluded palace, fear was inevitable. Yet no matter how difficult it became, she never considered taking her own life. Upon meeting Long Ming, she supported and encouraged him to become a young general, helping him overcome his inferiority complex and paving the way for him to become a worthy match. Later, when Liu Zhi drove a wedge between them, she gave Long Ming the freedom to choose. In the end, even at the cost of her own love, she preserved her lifelong sister-like bond with Liu Zhi. Isn’t this worthy of the title of purity and loftiness? And when Ruan Qingmei came to borrow her body…”

“Stop! There’s no need to say more—I understand your point.” Wen Yao looked shocked, as if she had never thought deeply about it. Enlightened by Shuxiang’s words, she finally grasped the truth.

Upstairs, Di Jiang, hearing Shuxiang fully comprehend her meaning, laughed softly in delight. Feeling exceptionally pleased, she unconsciously hummed a tune, swaying her head gently. After some time, finding the windowsill uncomfortable, she stretched lazily and climbed into bed to dream…

That night, in her dream, she heard Wu Jingyi’s laughter.

Wu Jingyi caressed the plum blossom mark on her palm and smiled at herself: “I never realized she was so beautiful.”

In her dream, Di Jiang nodded to Wu Jingyi: “Yes, the plum blossom mark was once your nightmare, but now it is your talisman. From this day forward, it will shield you from worry, illness, and harm from mountain spirits and ghosts.”

“Who exactly are you?” Wu Jingyi knelt reverently before her, asking: “Your features seem familiar, as if I’ve seen them somewhere before, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot recall. Please tell me your dharma name so I may honor you in my home, ensuring your incense burns eternally and your legacy lasts for generations.”

But Di Jiang only shook her head, confused: “I too wish I knew who I am…”