Today was a grand occasion at Huangjue Temple, marking the Bodhisattva’s enlightenment day. It also coincided with the wedding of the Ninth Princess, who had been procimed suitable for a diplomatic marriage by Master Zhang. At such a time, Master Yuanhui publicly made his remarks in front of the devotees. Firstly, this further cemented the impression of the Ninth Princess’s supposed ominous fate in everyone’s minds. Secondly, it likely stirred up resentment and aversion toward her among Zhou Weizhao and the other imperial grandchildren.

  After all, Master Yuanhui had deliberately proposed a solution to her supposedly unsolvable fate, which required an exceptionally noble destiny to suppress it. This btant insinuation would undoubtedly lead the imperial family and even the entire court to believe that the Marquis of Changning’s household was resorting to any means necessary to secure new alliances.

  It was truly a case of trouble coming from nowhere. Lady Yu let out a cold snort, her expression darkening considerably. “Master Yuanhui was once a virtuous monk, a highly respected figure. But for someone who repeatedly harbors malice toward a young girl, how can he be considered worthy of practicing Buddhism?!”

  Song Chuyi had some impression of Master Yuanhui. He was indeed capable—in her past life, it seemed that Prince Duan had followed his advice, ambushing the crown prince on the official road. Over several days and nights, they hollowed out the mountain path, burying the heir apparent, who was rushing back to the capital for mourning rites, in a ndslide. Moreover, Yuanhui was no ordinary monk. Despite his fame and reputation, he was particurly zealous about power, aiding Prince Duan’s rise to the throne. Later, he shone brightly in the court and ascended to the esteemed position of Grand Secretary of the Jianji Pace, even entering the inner cabinet.

  This monk, whose scheming nature could intimidate even figures like Shen Qingrang and Han Zhi, was profoundly skilled in astrology and destiny. He had willingly served as Prince Duan’s right hand, remaining unwaveringly loyal even after the prince’s death and the dramatic shift in political tides.

  First Lady Cui’s face grew even more clouded with worry. “No matter how much we compin here, it won’t change anything. Who can match Yuanhui’s silver tongue? The st time, his words completely contradicted Master Zhang’s, and even His Majesty dismissed it by merely stating that the paths of Buddhism and Daoism differ…”

  At this point, the only solution was to finalize Song Chuyi’s marriage quickly. This would not only prevent further malicious gossip but also quell the growing rumors and specutions surrounding the Earl of Changning’s household and Song Chuyi herself.

  Yuanhui had truly presented the Cui family and the Song household with an enormous predicament. First Lady Cui felt so stifled that her chest ached. Just as she was about to suggest leaving, a servant announced that Master Yuanhui had requested an audience.

  First Lady Cui, already brimming with anger, wished she could burn a few marks onto Yuanhui’s glistening bald head. Her eyes widened with fury as she immediately refused, “No! I won’t see him!”

  If avoiding him had already caused so much trouble, who knew what would happen if they actually met?

  Ah Fu, the servant, turned to leave but soon returned with a troubled expression. “Master Yuanhui said he does not seek an audience with the county princess but requests to see the Sixth Miss.”

  “Still no!” First Lady Cui’s breathing grew bored, her chest tightening even more. “He just spped us in the face in front of all the noblewomen of the capital, and now he wants to see us? What for?! Tell him no!”

  Even the usually composed First Lady Song appeared angry. Over the years, her growing maturity meant she rarely lost her temper, but this time she was thoroughly infuriated. Yuanhui’s few words had brought endless trouble to Song Chuyi and the Marquis of Changning’s household. She could feel the veins on her forehead throbbing with anger.

  Ah Fu pursed his lips and was about to leave again when Song Chuyi’s calm and gentle voice broke the tension. “I will see him.”

  “Chuyi!” Lady Yu, rubbing her temples, tried to stop her. “What good will it do to see him now? He’s already made his statements in front of so many people. Even if you argue him speechless, no one outside will know, and you’ll only upset yourself.”

  But Song Chuyi understood that Yuanhui was not someone who would come without reason. If he sought her out at this moment, he undoubtedly had something important to say. Although she didn’t know what it was, listening wouldn’t make things worse.

  She smiled faintly and instructed Ah Fu, "Invite the master to the adjacent chamber and prepare tea."

  Master Yuanhui maintained his benevolent and serene appearance, his rge prayer beads polished smooth and shiny. When Song Chuyi lifted the curtain and entered, he acted as if he hadn’t noticed her, absorbed in rapidly counting the beads one by one with downcast eyes, remaining silent.

  He was the one who requested the meeting, yet now behaved like a gourd with its mouth sealed shut. If it had been anyone else, they might have stormed off in irritation. However, Song Chuyi remained composed. She calmly seated herself in the first chair to the right, her expression unruffled and free of any trace of anger.

  Patience in the face of provocation was no great feat, but as time passed, and even the monks outside had finished their chanting duties, Song Chuyi didn’t budge. She hadn’t even shifted her posture.

  Yuanhui was mildly surprised. He finally opened his eyes and looked at Song Chuyi. Inwardly, he admitted to himself that at her age, he had never encountered anyone with such remarkable patience—especially not someone who, after having their reputation repeatedly tarnished by him, could still endure being treated so coldly. This kind of temperament...

  The st few years of Song Chuyi's previous life had been spent in lonely survival. Other than her maid Luyi, even a mosquito would have been rare company. This endurance had become ingrained in her very being. Sitting for half an hour was nothing; even if she had to spend three days and nights alone, she wouldn’t feel lonely.

  Yuanhui gnced at the top of her head, pressed his palms together, and murmured a Buddhist chant. His gaze, now filled with pity and compassion, rested on her. “The Buddha said, ‘In one flower lies a world, in one leaf a bodhi.’ Sixth Miss, you do not belong to this world…”

  Last time, he had cloaked his words under the guise of her destiny. This time, he spoke directly of her origins. Even with her steady composure, Song Chuyi couldn’t help the quickening of her heartbeat. She pressed her lips together and cast him a gnce.

  “Since you possess such a destiny and such karma, you ought to follow the tides of fate and the will of heaven,” Yuanhui continued, avoiding her gaze. “Why stir up chaos, why alter fate? Sixth Miss, burdened by your aura of resentment and hostility, you will not st long. To defy the heavens is to court disaster. Though you revel now in flowers and prosperity, in fire and splendor, you must understand: retribution always comes.”

  Song Chuyi let out a soft ugh, her eyes clear and unfathomable, devoid of any fear or dread.

  “Follow the tides of fate and the will of heaven? And how is that any different from my st life? It would only mean reliving the same nightmare from the beginning.”

  Yuanhui suddenly chuckled, shook his head, and pressed his palms together once more, chanting “Amitabha.” His gaze darkened as he slowly closed his eyes again.