Chapter 104

Chapter 104

Every year on the day the exam results were posted, people would gather early outside the examination hall, eager to deliver good news to successful families and claim their rewards. Though the provincial exam’s “osmanthus list” didn’t draw as much attention as the metropolitan exam’s “golden list,” the messengers weren’t particular. Any passing result meant easy money, however small, an unexpected bonus.

Some clever individuals even inquired beforehand about which prominent families had candidates taking the provincial exam, memorizing names of those from high-ranking or wealthy households. Once the list was posted, they’d seek out those names first. If they found a match, they’d rush off immediately, ignoring the rest.

Ming Xia and Ming Zuo, for instance, were quietly noted by many due to their grandfather’s status as a Grand Secretary. When the list revealed both brothers had passed, the messengers’ eagerness was boundless—they outran even the Ming family’s own runners sent to check the results.

After announcing the brothers’ rankings to the Ming household’s gatekeepers, the messengers waited confidently. Sure enough, within moments, someone arrived with red packets and two baskets of freshly minted copper coins, distributing them first to the messengers and then to the onlookers, spreading the celebratory joy.

Surrounded by their family’s congratulations, the brothers were naturally delighted, though with a hint of mixed feelings.

"If only I’d ranked just one spot higher—now I’m stuck at the very bottom," Ming Zuo grumbled.

His frustration didn’t end there: though his cousin was only a year older, Ming Xia had secured the 28th spot, while he barely made the cut at the very bottom. Once the news reached their parents, he dreaded seeing their disappointment.

But Mrs. Ming wouldn’t tolerate such self-deprecation on such a joyous occasion. "What does it matter?" she chided. "This isn’t like the palace exam with its tiers—just being on the list makes you a bona fide provincial graduate. If you belittle yourself now, how will you face your fellow graduates later?"

Ming Tang laughed. "You’re fussing over a slightly higher rank, while others would give anything to be in your place. Stop pretending to complain when you’ve won the prize!"

In exams without strict rankings, passing was all that mattered. To Ming Tang, this outcome was perfectly practical. Given their youth and Ming Zuo’s low ranking, she suspected their father wouldn’t let them take the next spring’s metropolitan exam. By the time the next one rolled around three years later, who would care about Ming Zuo’s provincial exam rank?

Ming Zuo soon came around, realizing that passing—even at the bottom—was far better than failing while his cousin succeeded. Being last still beats failing by miles.

His spirits lifted, he reverted to his playful self. By the time classmates arrived to congratulate them, he’d already downed a few cups of light wine in celebration. Fortunately, years of sneaking sips from adults had built his tolerance, leaving him sober enough to socialize.

Results day was always a grand occasion, and many confident scholars waited in nearby taverns for the news. After spreading the joy, they’d mingle with fellow examinees, networking for future opportunities—especially useful if any became jinshi in the next exam.

Ming Xia and Ming Zuo stood out because of their youth and their grandfather’s vague feedback after the exam. His vague comments had left them uneasy: Was their writing so poor he didn’t want to discourage them? Too embarrassed to wait out in public and risk embarrassment if no news came, they’d stayed home.

But now, as certified provincial graduates, all worries vanished. When classmates invited them out to celebrate, they eagerly agreed, changing into fresh clothes and heading out after Mrs. Ming’s approval.

The brothers, both strikingly handsome and obviously young, drew envious glances as they walked out surrounded by well-wishers. The taverns were packed with scholars, and the pair stood out instantly among the crowd.

Ming Xia, the elder, impressed with his calm demeanor and thoughtful speech, while Ming Zuo, though ranked last, charmed with his cheerful, carefree attitude. Many admired his grace and sought their friendship.

After a day of socializing, they returned at dusk. Minister Ming, familiar with such post-exam revelry, simply ensured they were looked after and let them be.

The next day was the "Deer Cry Banquet," which all successful candidates from the capital attended. Dressed in their finest clothes, the brothers headed to the Shuntian Prefecture office—a place they knew well but had never entered. Surrounded by fellow graduates, including some from yesterday’s festivities, they exchanged quiet jokes, bonding further.

The banquet wasn’t just for the graduates. The examiners, finally free after a month of grading, came to enjoy the feast and see the fruits of their labor.

Seated according to their rankings—Ming Xia near the front, Ming Zuo at the very back—they listened to the prefect’s lengthy speech. Ming Zuo, who’d assumed the banquet was purely for eating, hadn’t eaten beforehand and now sat hungry and drowsy, discreetly rubbing his face to stay alert.

When the ceremonial deer song ended and the feast began, Ming Zuo dug in eagerly, relieved to see the top scorers being called to compose poems while he ate in peace. He silently vowed to aim for the very middle in the next exam—just secure the title, rankings be damned.

But the officials hadn’t forgotten the Grand Secretary’s grandsons. After praising the top candidates, they called the brothers forward for a chat.

Talking to officials was nothing new for them—they’d grown up surrounded by bureaucrats, and their aunt’s husband was the next Duke of Dingguo.

The officials naturally had no intention of making things difficult for them. After all, these were their own handpicked students, sharing the traditional bond between examiner and examinee. Moreover, those who could serve as examiners inevitably had ties to the Ministry of Rites, so it was only fitting that they wished to meet this pair of young scholars from the Minister of Rites' household.

Seeing them in person only heightened their feelings of insufficiency: How was it that despite being scholars and officials themselves—though their ranks might not match Minister Ming's—and despite their extensive knowledge and years spent educating their own descendants, their own children had failed to achieve such remarkable success?

Ming Xia found it rather odd: The way these officials spoke carried a strangely envious tone, as if a mere provincial graduate like him could somehow inspire admiration from such high-ranking figures.

Ming Zuo, however, remained blissfully unaware. He was simply delighted by their praise, such as being called a "youthful talent" or "the youngest successful candidate in this year's examinations." Truly, these officials knew how to flatter! He had only ever fixated on the fact that he was just a year younger than his elder cousin yet ranked far behind, never considering that his youth alone was an achievement.

Though their moods differed, both responded to the officials' questions with ease and cheer. The inquiries were routine, and they answered with respectful yet poised brevity before returning to their seats to continue the feast.

This brief exchange, however, drew the attention of those who hadn't previously known the brothers. By the time the banquet ended, the more socially adept among the graduates promptly extended invitations for further camaraderie, with the Ming brothers naturally being the most frequently approached.

Of course, while some genuinely admired their noble upbringing, unassuming nature, and scholarly prowess, others couldn't help but harbor suspicions: Were these two truly so gifted that they could both pass the exams in their teens, with one even ranking impressively high? Especially with a grandfather overseeing the Ministry of Rites—though they knew proper recusal protocols had been followed, suspicions of special treatment inevitably arose.

Some kept such thoughts to themselves, but one man carelessly blurted them out, implying their success was due solely to family connections. The atmosphere instantly chilled, and others hurried to intervene before he could make even more pointed remarks.

Frowning slightly, Ming Xia pretended not to grasp the insinuation. Drawing himself up straight, he replied solemnly, "You speak truly, brother. It is indeed through the privilege of our lineage that we received esteemed tutors from childhood and could devote ourselves wholly to study, free from mundane distractions. There is no shame in acknowledging this. Now, as provincial graduates, should we one day serve the court, we must strive to ensure others, too, may have such opportunities—to study, to take the exams, and thus repay the emperor's grace without squandering the efforts our family has invested in us."

Ming Zuo, however, grinned and threw an arm about the man's shoulders, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "I’m not as eloquent as my elder cousin, but you’re right—our family did play a role in our success this time."

The crowd tensed: Was there truly some underhanded arrangement?

Ming Xia, already anticipating his cousin’s next words, turned his head slightly, unable to bear watching their reactions.

Ming Zuo continued, "This was our first attempt at the exams, and we were terribly nervous—afraid we’d blank out despite our preparation. Our aunt suggested we simulate the exam conditions at home. So, for two months beforehand, we locked ourselves in replica examination cells to practice. By the time the real exam came, it felt utterly routine, and we wrote our essays just as we always had."

He sighed dramatically, tightening his grip. "Truly, it was all thanks to our family. Otherwise, who’d have the leisure to build replica exam cells just to... torment us with practice tests?"

Though he left it unspoken, the other graduates paled at the implication. Enduring such an ordeal once every three years was trial enough—emerging as though half-dead each time. Yet these two had voluntarily subjected themselves to it for months beforehand. Their family must have been merciless to inflict such torment on young boys.

One more delicate scholar gasped, "Two months in those cells? I’d have lost half my life before even reaching the exam!"

Soon, someone proposed visiting the Ming residence to see these infamous cells. The group made their way there in a group and, upon finding the replicas nearly identical to the real ones—even more dilapidated—regarded the brothers with newfound awe.

To endure such conditions regularly and still appear so lively, coupled with having a renowned general as an uncle... These two might be young, but they were clearly possessed of greater fortitude. Crossing them might mean facing fists they couldn’t hope to withstand.

The earlier skeptic slunk to the back of the crowd, no longer daring to question their merit. However diligent he was, he’d never willingly torture himself with mock exams. Meanwhile, others began seriously considering the practicality of the method—after all, they might have younger relatives in need of such... encouragement.

As the group pondered which family members to subject to this "aid," Ming Xia smiled faintly and added, "Gentlemen, why not try it yourselves? The metropolitan exams are but half a year away. Even the most unflappable among us could use every advantage."

Before they could react, Ming Zuo chimed in, "With sleep, meals, and daily necessities, we barely have half the day left for study. Then there’s the New Year—hardly a time to lock oneself away with books. So really..."

Those facing the next examination broke into a cold sweat, suddenly feeling the relentless pressure of time.

Those who’d been eager to "share" the method with their families now wavered: If they didn’t practice it themselves, how could they endorse it? But subjecting themselves to such misery was another matter entirely.

What had begun as a celebratory gathering had devolved into a collective panic over the impending exams. Only when someone loudly suggested that everyone drink to their heart's content to alleviate the tension and anxiety about the upcoming metropolitan exam, did the atmosphere become lively again.

As the instigators of this mass intimidation, Ming Xia and Ming Zuo were naturally compelled to drink their share despite their youth. By the time they returned home, they were quite drunk.

The next day, they slept until noon.

Given their exhaustion and it being a day of leisure, Minister Ming waited until afternoon to summon them to his study. There, he meticulously reviewed their exam essays, praising their strengths and noting where they fell short. Stroking his beard, he remarked, "You are still young and inexperienced. Though well-taught and versed in the classics, your writing lacks the essential 'vital force' that comes from lived understanding."

To Ming Zuo, he said, "Your elder cousin fares slightly better—perhaps because he pays attention to household affairs, lending his writing more substance. Yours leans too much on assumption, but this is a minor flaw easily remedied with broader exposure."

Seeing their attentive expressions, the minister nodded, then delivered unexpected advice: "Our dynasty’s literary excellence has long been dominated by the south. While you distinguished yourselves in the provincial exams, Ming Xia might at best place in the third rank in the metropolitan exams next year, and Ming Zuo would likely struggle. My suggestion? Postpone your attempts. Use the next few years to travel, observe local customs, and assist your father in his duties. Return with him to the capital in two years, then devote yourselves fully to preparing for the exams."

Hearing this suddenly, Ming Xia and Ming Zuo were naturally greatly surprised, but more so at their grandfather's early mention of sending them out to travel.

Since rising to higher official positions, Minister Ming had always placed great emphasis on nurturing his descendants, fearing they might become complacent in wealth and achieve nothing. From their childhood, he had intentionally taught them about agricultural matters and even mentioned the idea of sending them on travels.

But the exam results had just been posted, and now they were being "banished from home" by their grandfather—by the Mid-Autumn Festival, they'd likely still be traveling.

Yet Minister Ming spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, so the two dared not say, "Let us stay home for the festival before leaving." They could only agree and then return to ponder what to bring on the journey.

Minister Ming, of course, would not simply let two half-grown boys venture out alone. Not only did he personally select sharp and trustworthy senior servants from the household, but he also wrote a letter to borrow two exceptionally skilled martial guards from Ming Tang.

Ming Tang had guessed that the two brothers might be sent traveling as soon as she learned of their rankings. When she received Minister Ming's letter, she smiled knowingly, tapping the letter thoughtfully, thinking to herself, *This is so like Father.*

Now essentially co-managing the Pei household, the guards were extremely eager when they learned that the Crown Princess wished to select two escorts for her brothers' sons' journey. Hong Ying, tasked with choosing the guards, was even taken aback by their enthusiasm.

However, since the destination was the official posts of Ming Tang's two elder brothers—a peaceful territory—and they were accompanying two barely adolescent young masters, martial skill alone was not the sole criterion; experience also mattered. This being Hong Ying's first time handling such a task, she hesitated despite Ming Tang's instructions. After careful deliberation, she presented her choices to Ming Tang, who nodded in approval, finally putting Hong Ying at ease.

Once the selection was settled, Ming Tang sent both men and horses to the Ming residence the next day. Mrs. Ming, though reluctant to see the youngsters depart, understood the benefits of the journey. Torn between reluctance and duty, she oversaw the packing of their belongings.

Only upon seeing the guards sent by Ming Tang did she realize her husband had already written to their daughter and even arranged for escorts. Mrs. Ming's heart grew even more unsettled, and she seized every opportunity to make veiled jabs at her husband.

Minister Ming, advanced in years, endured his wife's reproaches—"You didn’t discuss this with me beforehand—were you afraid I’d stop you? If so, why not keep it a secret from start to finish? You underestimate me too much."—and though he explained that he hadn’t wanted to trouble Ming Tang, his wife remained unconvinced. He could only treat her words as a breeze brushing his face, pretending not to hear.

As the departure date neared, Minister Ming himself grew somewhat reluctant. After returning from work, he would summon his grandsons to impart advice whenever a thought struck him. Unaware of his own repetition, Ming Xia and Ming Zuo privately agreed: *Grandfather really is getting older, adopting the habits of the elderly—getting forgetful and repeating himself in bits and pieces.* Henceforth, they became even more obedient in his presence, adopting an attentive and memorizing demeanor to reassure him.

Minister Ming, indeed, felt greatly comforted. His enthusiasm for work grew, and though he kept a poker face among his fellow Grand Secretaries, deep down, he felt fortunate. Though his tenure in the Grand Secretariat was shorter and his seniority lesser, forcing occasional concessions in discussions, outside official matters, his descendants far surpassed theirs.

One day, after the court session, he returned to his office in the palace to handle documents. Just as he focused, Minister Qian, seated opposite him, suddenly arrived uninvited, pressing down the memorial in his hands with a smile. "Why are you still reading these? His Majesty has summoned the Grand Secretaries for discussion—shouldn’t you hurry?"

Having shared the courtyard long enough to grow familiar, Minister Ming took no offense at the interruption. Closing the memorial, he rose in confusion. "His Majesty summoned us? I’ve received no word."

As they stepped out, Minister Qian suddenly slapped his forehead. "Ah, I was discussing matters with Elder Yu earlier—that’s where I heard the news. Perhaps Eunuch Wang went to others first, so you weren’t informed."

Before Minister Ming could question further, they encountered Wang Shen.

Wang Shen, too, wore a bright smile, bowing deeply to the two Grand Secretaries. Knowing they would exchange news, he said nothing further, simply leading the way to the imperial study.

Behind him, Minister Qian promptly explained to the bewildered Minister Ming: "A 800-li express dispatch just arrived from Shaanxi—thanks to Elder Yu, I saw it first. The Tatar Third Prince gathered thirty thousand troops, attempting to take Weinan by a detour. But Crown Prince Pei’s dispatched scouts had already learned of it, springing his trap. Commander-in-Chief Wan of Yulin struck with a flanking attack from the rear, and the combined forces not only routed the enemy but also took the Third Prince prisoner in person. Minister Ming, you’ve gained quite a son-in-law!"

Minister Ming listened, both astonished and unconsciously pleased, quickening his pace. While deeply happy for Pei Yue, his mind raced through precedents, preparing to propose appropriate protocols should His Majesty suggest any ideas.

By the time they reached the imperial study, the other Grand Secretaries had already gathered. It was there that Minister Ming read the full report, learning more details.

As the senior ministers silently envisioned the battle, some even marveled at the report’s writer—who began by confessing fault: failing to notify the capital earlier was due to the urgency of the moment, and fear of interception during the fighting. Only after securing victory had they sent word.

*How sly a fox Pei Yue is,* Minister Ming mused. According to the report, less than a month had passed since the battle—barely over a month including the messenger’s travel—yet such a great victory had been achieved. And still, he preemptively apologized, leaving no room for criticism.

The rest of the report was equally strategic—succinct where necessary, detailed where required—refreshing the weary ministers like drinking iced water during summer's hottest days. Reading it felt like enjoying a well-written military chronicle, so clear that one could almost imagine commanding the troops oneself.

After finishing, it was easy to see why His Majesty was so eager, unable to conceal his satisfaction with Pei Yue. While the mopping-up operations likely continued, His Majesty had already summoned the Grand Secretariat to discuss rewards—specifically for Pei Yue, whose contributions were undeniably foremost.

—Though none dared connect it to His Majesty, last year’s border unrest had seen the defeat of a previously praised general, leaving His Majesty privately displeased.

Now, Pei Yue—a scion of nobility, directly appointed to the Imperial Guard without prior experience, and handpicked by His Majesty—had proven himself brilliantly. It was as if the shadow of His Majesty’s past misjudgment had vanished, restoring his image as a discerning patron of talent, promoting talent outside conventional channels.

Considering this, and knowing the Minister of Rites was Pei Yue’s father-in-law, some even worried His Majesty—in the heat of the moment and with Minister Ming’s tacit approval—might rashly heap upon him rewards beyond convention.

The facts proved that although the emperor was emotionally stirred and overflowing with pride for Pei Yue, he had not yet reached the point of being carried away. After everyone had read the battle report and understood the situation, he laughed heartily and pointed at Minister Ming, saying, "Pei Yue has achieved such a great feat and even captured the Third Prince of the Tartars. I have decided to have him return to the capital to present the prisoners of war. You shall oversee the ceremony. Refer to past precedents, but do not make it too simple—so as not to compromise the dignity of the court."

Minister Ming bowed slightly. "During the reign of Emperor Taizu, there were also generals who returned to the capital to present captives. The Ministry of Rites still retains records of the ceremony's protocols. I will have them follow the regulations of that time and ensure we do not disappoint Your Majesty's trust."

The emperor nodded. "At the founding of the dynasty, resources were limited across the board. Following the old regulations is fine, but if anything seems too shabby by today's standards, you may upgrade it as appropriate."

Minister Ming bowed again to accept the order.

The other ministers waiting nearby couldn't help but glance sideways. Minister Qian of Revenue, in particular, thought to himself: *Precisely because the dynasty was newly established and not yet prosperous, and there was a need to reassure the people after a victory, the ceremony for presenting captives back then was likely already at or near the highest standard, except for the materials used being of lesser quality. Now, with permission to modify the items as needed, the ceremony is sure to be extravagantly grand.*

*It seems His Majesty still holds the Pei family in great trust. As for the current Duke of Dingguo—what a pitiful figure he has become, fading into such obscurity that no one even remembers him.*

Once the discussions on the ceremony—meant to showcase the nation's strength to the world—concluded, the matter of personal rewards for Pei Yue followed. As he listened to his colleagues' suggestions and the emperor's responses, Minister Qian couldn't help but feel speechless: *Not a single person has mentioned the Duke of Dingguo even once in all this time—and he is Pei Yue's own father!*

Just as this thought crossed his mind, someone finally brought up the Duke of Dingguo. Minister Qian focused intently, only to be stunned moments later: *No matter how euphemistically phrased, the underlying meaning is clear—the Duke is old and long retired from worldly affairs, so why not have him relinquish his title to his son sooner and grant the eldest grandson the title of heir apparent? It's said Pei Yue has always held his late elder brother's posthumously born son in high regard. Bestowing the title of heir apparent early would also signal the court's appreciation and regard for Pei Yue.*

For Minister Zhang of the Ministry of Justice—a man known for his uprightness—to suddenly voice such a suggestion was nothing short of shocking. Given that he was related by marriage to Minister Ming and could be loosely connected to Pei Yue, his words were unexpected yet not entirely surprising to Minister Qian. What truly made him shake his head inwardly, however, was that no one immediately objected.

*Does everyone really just want to heap rewards upon Pei Yue without restraint?*

Fortunately, at this critical moment, the emperor remained steady and ultimately rejected Minister Zhang's proposal. "Pei Yue is still young. For him to inherit the title at this age would make it seem as if he's been arbitrarily elevated in seniority—that would not do. Traditionally, honors extend to wives and descendants. His mother and wife already hold their respective titles and require no additional honors. However, his young nephew, whom he has raised as his own, would be a fitting recipient. As for the rewards for Yulin, draft a proposal and present it to me later."

In this era of slow information exchange, once the battle report reached the capital via express military dispatch, news of the great victory at the border spread swiftly among the well-connected households of the capital—almost immediately after the imperial cabinet's meeting adjourned. Many discreetly emphasized that the primary credit for this victory lay with Pei Yue.

Minister Ming, knowing his daughter would be worried, sent a messenger with detailed updates since the battle report had arrived and Pei Yue would soon return to the capital for the captive presentation. When Ming Tang received the news, she was momentarily stunned and nearly interrupted the messenger, rising at once to take him to Mrs. Pei.

Rarely did Ming Tang display such visible urgency, let alone while accompanied by an unfamiliar man heading straight for the inner quarters. The maids who crossed their path along the way made way in surprise, unable to help speculating about what had happened.

Mrs. Pei instantly guessed it must concern Pei Yue. Seeing Ming Tang's agitation yet lack of distress, she relaxed and sat with her to listen as the messenger recounted Minister Ming's words in detail.

Both had previously worried about the resurgence of conflict at the border, with Pei Yue at the front lines where weapons showed no mercy. Yet, being too far to intervene, they could do little beyond sending someone to Xi'an periodically. Half a month earlier, they had even received a letter from Pei Yue, written in his characteristic tone. Looking back now, he must have already been engaged in battle or planning an attack—all to reassure them.

As they listened, recalling that last letter, they exchanged a glance. Mrs. Pei became somewhat annoyed. "Does he truly distrust us so much that even while alone abroad, he must go out of his way to ease our worries?"

But since it was already in the past, Mrs. Pei could only sigh softly, her heart aching all the more for her second son. Noticing Ming Tang's similarly joyless expression, she squeezed her hand and asked the messenger, "Did the report mention whether the Crown Prince was injured?"

After a brief pause to confirm Minister Ming had said nothing of the sort, the messenger shook his head. "No mention was made. However, the Minister said His Majesty intends to hold a captive presentation ceremony. Once the battle's aftermath is settled, the Crown Prince will likely depart for the capital and return within a month at the latest."

Both women exhaled long sighs of relief, happiness gradually suffusing their features. Ming Tang unconsciously clasped her hands together in a prayer, whispering a Buddhist prayer, her smile irrepressible as it lit up her eyes and lips. Turning to Mrs. Pei, she suggested, "Mother, shall we visit Hongluo Temple another day to give thanks?"

Though the divination slip she had drawn that day hadn't been very favorable, Mrs. Pei and Pei Ze had both drawn excellent ones. Moreover, Ming Tang had always been inclined to splurge when happy. Now, after half a year of worry, the matter had finally reached a temporary resolution, and Pei Yue would soon return. Her heart felt like a kite in a strong wind—were it not tethered, it might have flown away entirely.

Mrs. Pei, equally exhilarated at the thought of welcoming her child home safely from war, nodded repeatedly. Noticing the messenger still present, she composed herself with effort, wiping her face before chuckling. "When I saw how calm you were that day, I thought you didn't believe much in such things. So you were saving it for now."

Ming Tang flushed slightly, linking arms with Mrs. Pei as she admitted softly, "Don't laugh, Mother, but knowing Yue is not only safe but has also distinguished himself and will soon return—I'm simply too overjoyed. If I don't find an outlet, I fear I won't be able to contain myself."

Mrs. Pei couldn't help but smile. Upon reflection, she realized she felt the same—having once endured heartbreak and then prolonged anxiety, the mere knowledge of her child's safety now sent emotions surging like a tide. Without release, she too would find it unbearable.

The next day, the two visited Hongluo Temple together. After paying respects to the Medicine Buddha and fulfilling their vows, Ming Tang couldn't help but laugh at the sum Mrs. Pei donated: *For all her outward composure and only the slightest lapse in decorum, Mother must be just as thrilled as I am—she's given even more than I, who'd resolved to donate generously today.*

Facing the two staggering amounts of incense money, the monk Yuanfa—his round face beaming—stroked the back of his head, his wrinkles deepening with his smile. Remembering his duty to maintain a monk's detachment from worldly matters, he coughed lightly before bowing deeply, solemnly promising to use the funds to regild the Medicine Buddha's statue. Only as they departed did he bring out a tray laden with assorted consecrated items for them to choose from.

Watching the two noblewomen—radiant with joy, their steps light—disappear into the distance, Yuanfa turned and beckoned to Jing Chen, who had quietly appeared behind him. Ruffling the young monk's head absently, he marvelled at how soft it was.

Then he recalled how the two ladies had specifically inquired after this little monk who had somehow crossed paths with the young lord. *How strange are the workings of fate,* he mused. *A young lord forming a bond with a young monk, or our temple—long famed for prayers for offspring—suddenly seeing the Medicine Buddha's statue regilded first. Who could have predicted it?*