Rong Shuang didn’t have much to pack; early the next morning, he slung a small bundle over his shoulder and set off, with Li Yan, the Inspector-General of the Office of Inspection, personally coming to escort (or rather, escort under guard) him. 

Old Ge, Laifu, Wangcai, and Rong Yaozu stood at the door, bidding him a tearful farewell.

“Your Excellency, may you have a safe journey!” 

“Sir! Even after you’re gone, we’ll take good care of the entire Rong Manor!” 

“Sir~~~~”

“Woof—”

For a moment, Rong Shuang felt as if he were on the Road to the Underworld. 

Li Yan, who had simply come to see them off: “……”

Rong Shuang waved a couple of times and followed them out.

Lingfu Temple was first built three hundred years ago during the reign of Emperor Wu of the Yan Dynasty. Its predecessor was Fuhui Temple, a sacred site of Buddhism at the time. After several renovations and reconstructions, it still retains the appearance of an ancient temple from those days. 

By the time Rong Shuang arrived, the sun had already set. He tightened his grip on his small bundle, dismounted, and jogged along behind Li Yan. He asked in a low voice, “Buddy, His Majesty didn’t give you any other assignments, did he?”

Li Yan’s face remained stern, his tone distant yet polite: “This subordinate does not understand what Lord Rong means.”

Rong Shuang let out a sigh: “Ah.” 

“You remember that night, right? Just that night.” 

He gestured with his hands: “That wooden box—the one you were holding.” 

“It left me a bit traumatized.”

Li Yan: “Traitors and rebels deserve to die a thousand times over.” 

Rong Shuang shuddered.

He held up four fingers: “But I’m not like that. I’m the most loyal person there is—you have no idea. I’m incredibly patriotic, and I have absolutely no connection to the Prince of Qi.”

Li Yan was silent for a moment, then said in a businesslike tone, “I will report this to His Majesty.”

Rong Shuang patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” 

Then he asked, “Should we report this?” 

Li Yan replied, “It’s part of my duty—I’ll report everything.” 

Rong Shuang: “Oh~.” 

Li Yan: “?”

Rong Shuang: “If you’re going to report everything, then I’d like to add a few words. I think our Majesty is benevolent, magnanimous, a good judge of character, diligent in governing, devoted to the people, self-disciplined, dedicated to public service, far-sighted, a man of great vision and strategic acumen, and committed to reform—he’s simply a model ruler! Actually, I’d be more than happy to be His Majesty’s loyal dog. It’s just that lately, the atmosphere has been tense, so I don’t really have a choice. Sigh, such is the misfortune of being born in the wrong era—an individual’s choices are but a grain of sand in the torrent of history. As a lowly person with little influence, there’s nothing I can do. If I could, I’d still prefer to retire to my hometown and spend the rest of my life tilling the land in peace.”

Li Yan’s ears: #@￥%……￥#￥

Li Yan’s mind: Be His Majesty’s loyal dog. Got it. 

They climbed the steps, walked past a small bamboo grove, and finally caught sight of Lingfu Temple: its eaves curved upward, ancient cypresses soaring into the sky, creating an atmosphere of solemnity and dignified elegance.

The vermilion wooden doors stood open on both sides, and Abbot Mingjue, accompanied by several young novices, had been waiting at the entrance for quite some time.

“Amitabha Buddha.”

Rong Shuang quickly returned the Buddhist greeting: “Amitabha, Amitabha.”

Li Yan delivered the emperor’s edict to Mingjue, nodded, and then took his leave without further ado.

Mingjue was a kind-eyed, bald monk. Upon seeing Rong Shuang, he smiled warmly and said with concern, “Lord Rong, you must be exhausted from the long journey by boat and carriage. Your quarters have already been prepared. Please follow me.”

No one had ever been so kind to Rong Shuang since he’d been transported to the ancient world; for a moment, it truly felt as if he’d found his own father. He happily followed along: “All right, all right. Thank you so much, Master Mingjue!”

Meanwhile, Li Yan rushed back to the palace that very night to report. Upon hearing the news, Ying Wujiu sneered, “Him? A loyal dog?”

Li Yan furrowed his brow and carefully searched through that segment of #￥%&￥.

Three seconds later, he nodded: “That’s exactly what Lord Rong said.”

“What do you think?”

Li Yan thought for a moment and replied honestly, “This subordinate feels… that Lord Rong seems a bit different from before.”

Ying Wujiu relaxed his body, crossed his long legs, and leaned back. 

His long, powerful fingers tapped lightly, and his gaze suddenly shifted to the other side.

“Huang Lian, what do you think?”

Huang Lian’s heart skipped a beat; he hurried forward and knelt down. “Your Majesty, this servant is slow-witted and cannot discern anything else, but it seems to me that Lord Rong appears… appears…”

“Seems what?”

“He’s become quite stingy.” 

Ying Wujiu’s eyes held a faint smile as he stared at him: “Is that so? I thought you’d say that Lord Rong’s tea tastes better than the tea in the palace.” 

Huang Lian broke out in a cold sweat, knowing he couldn’t escape the Emperor’s watchful eye. He threw himself to the ground with a thud and confessed meekly: “Your Majesty! Lord Rong’s home had nothing but hot water! Not even stale tea! This servant thought I still had to return to the palace to report to Your Majesty, so I didn’t linger. Heaven and earth are my witnesses! This servant did not drink a single sip of that hot water at Lord Rong’s home, Your Majesty!” 

Ying Wujiu leaned back casually and, after a long pause, let out a leisurely chuckle: “It’s just a cup of tea. I never said you weren’t allowed to drink it. Look how scared you’ve become.” 

Huang Lian trembled uncontrollably.

“Stand up.”

How could Huang Lian dare to stand up? The Emperor said nothing more, leaving him to remain on his knees.

Hot water, plain congee, steamed buns, a loyal dog. Is he planning to play the victim all the way through? 

Well then, let’s see if he even lives long enough to keep it up until the end. 

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Rong Shuang slept soundly in the meditation hall and awoke the next day to the lingering sound of the temple’s morning bell.

The young novice at the door spoke softly, “Sir, it is time for the morning sutras.”

Immersed in the temple’s incense-filled atmosphere, Rong Shuang, too, took on a touch of that otherworldly, reclusive air. He tied back his long hair, fastened his dark blue hemp robe, opened the door, and stepped outside. 

He said to the young novice, “Amitabha Buddha.”

The Zen room where he stayed was very secluded; it was said to have been specially prepared for high-ranking officials and nobles from the capital. The main hall for chanting sutras was also located within this courtyard—a private, single-room dwelling with its own gate and courtyard.

Rong Shuang took the sutra and knelt on the small straw cushion… trying to read the characters.

Ugh.

Amitabha, Amitabha—my apologies, my apologies. But these characters were really a mouthful.

Rong Shuang scratched his head and cheeks as he held the sutra, reading it character by character—so much so that his tongue nearly tied itself in knots.

Thank goodness Ying Wujiu hadn’t sent anyone to watch him recite the sutras and offer prayers; otherwise, if his lack of skill had been discovered, Ying Wujiu would have pinned a whole bunch of charges on him. 

Who knows, he might even have to be forced to grovel and apologize before the Buddha with his neck in a stranglehold.

Rong Shuang pictured that scene in his mind—and to be honest, Ying Wujiu really was the type to do something like that. 

Never mind, never mind. 

Rong Shuang quickly began mumbling the sutras again.

Half a shichen after finishing his morning sutras, a young novice monk brought him his vegetarian meal. Sitting on the veranda of his meditation room, he ate while gazing out at the vast, desolate mountains beyond the temple.

“Mountains of gold and silver are no match for green mountains and clear waters—what a wonderful place this is.” 

“Good, really good.”

After finishing his meal, he cleared away his bowl and chopsticks, then helped the young novices sweep the temple grounds, looking every bit the sincere laborer. 

That afternoon, he accompanied two monks up the mountain to carry water and forage for wild vegetables. 

Life at the temple was certainly austere, but it was also truly peaceful. 

Rong Shuang, carrying a bamboo basket and holding a hoe, was busily digging up vegetables on the hillside. 

To others, they were nothing more than bitter wild greens, but in Rong Shuang’s eyes, they could be summed up in three words: free. 

Two monks followed behind, watching the young man till a ten-li stretch of land all by himself, and exchanged bewildered glances. 

Oh, this.

No one had told them that the Senior Grand Secretary from the capital had gone mad.

That evening, Rong Shuang returned home with a full load. That night, his vegetarian meal was made from the wild greens he’d dug up that day; the monk in charge of preparing the temple’s vegetarian meals was quite skilled; though it wasn’t greasy, it tasted surprisingly good. 

Rong Shuang was completely full.

Ami Tofu, Ami Tofu—the temple really was the perfect place for a slacker like him. He was a true genius to have thought of coming here to avoid the spotlight.

If he handed over the money when the time came, and Ying Wujiu decided not to kill him, could he stay at the temple for the rest of his life? He might as well just become a monk—he wasn’t going to be a marquis anyway.

The more Rong Shuang thought about it, the more feasible the idea seemed. He spent seven or eight days living peacefully like this—chanting sutras, doing labor, digging for wild vegetables, eating vegetarian meals—and he’d even forgotten about the divine light that had descended from the heavens.

At long last, he finally remembered.

But before he could make any arrangements, the news had already reached Lingfu Temple. Two pieces of news.

Good news: The Purple Star shone as brightly as a pearl, with righteous energy radiating northward—a highly auspicious sign. 

Bad news: It’s so auspicious that even “Ying Wujiu” is coming to the temple to pray for blessings. 

Rong Shuang: “……”

Wait, what was he supposed to do now?

He was told he was demoted to lie low, so how come the trouble has found him anyway? What was the point of all that effort to hide, then?!

Rong Shuang went to see Abbot Mingjue, hoping to subtly probe for more detailed information.

Master Mingjue was meditating on the terrace of the covered walkway. Upon seeing him, he stroked his gray-white beard and said with a smile, “Since you have so many questions, Lord Rong, why not sit down and play a game of Go with me?”

Rong Shuang didn’t think twice; he obediently sat down across from him and picked up the chess jar. 

He wasn’t very good at the game, but he could learn on the spot. 

He asked, “Master Mingjue, has the palace said anything about when His Majesty will arrive at Lingfu Temple? How many days will he stay? And when will he return to the palace?”

Mingjue placed a black stone, his expression inscrutable: “When the time comes, he will arrive; when the time comes, he will leave.”

Rong Shuang heard this but seemed not to have heard it.

“Lord Rong, it’s your turn.”

He found a spot far from the black piece and placed a white one there, then sighed like an old man. Mingjue heard him but merely smiled without responding.

Rong Shuang: “Master Mingjue, how much longer do you think I have to live?” 

Mingjue: “A hundred years without a care.”

Rong Shuang suspected this bald old man was just trying to trick someone into playing go with him and wasn’t telling the truth at all. He asked again, “Oh, so what do you think of me as a person?”

Mingjue finally raised his eyes slightly: “A childlike heart is truly rare.” 

Rong Shuang: “……”

Well, if even a giant scourge has a childlike heart, what else is there to say? 

He played a few more moves, leaving the board in utter chaos, until finally he stood up, patted his butt, and ran off: “Master Mingjue, I’ve got to go forage for wild vegetables. Until we meet again, if fate allows!”

Mingjue chuckled, not taking it to heart. He picked up the chess jar left behind by Rong Shuang and began playing a game against himself. 

Incense wafted gently through the meditation hall. When the stick of incense had burned out, Mingjue set down the Go jar and stood up.

It must be time.

Rong Shuang slipped out through the temple’s back gate. He’d heard from the young novice who often brought him vegetarian meals that the southern slope was quite damp, so mushrooms grew there in abundance. Sometimes they would go there to pick some mushrooms to bring back.

Having eaten too many wild vegetables lately, Rong Shuang wanted a change of pace.

Following a few sturdy trees, he made his way up the slope, stopping and starting along the way, and before long he had gathered quite a few.

Seeing that it was getting late, he found a spot to sit down, emptied all the mushrooms into his bamboo basket, carefully brushed off all the dirt, and then gently placed them back.

He hoisted the bamboo basket onto his back, tucked a blade of foxtail grass between his teeth, and turned to head back! 

He turned around.

“Holy crap!” 

A tree root stabbed him in the back, tripping him and sending him tumbling down the slope. Luckily, the slope wasn’t very steep, so he didn’t hurt himself or hit anything—he just ended up covered in mud.

Rong Shuang sat up, plucking the grass from his head while cursing the tree, because the incident instantly reminded him of that time at Qide Hall.

Ying Wujiu’s cold, sarcastic tone clung to him like a ghost.

“Oh my, Lord Rong fell down.”

That’s hilarious.

You’re one to talk.

Get out of my head—get out, get out, get out!

Rong Shuang gathered up the mushrooms and his backpack, still chewing on a blade of grass, and headed back toward the temple. The temple’s back gate was a bit dilapidated; he pushed it open gently, and it let out an annoying creak.

Rong Shuang walked forward, passed through a side gate into the courtyard, and was just muttering to himself when he looked up. Abbot Mingjue had arrived at some point and was sitting at a stone table drinking tea.

There was another person beside him.

Rong Shuang: “???”

Ying Wujiu also looked up.

The young man wore a plain dark-blue robe—the only garment on his well-proportioned frame. His long hair was tied high, and his sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, giving him a neat and handsome appearance. 

However, perhaps due to his experiences on the mountain, he looked slightly disheveled—his face was smudged with mud, twigs were tangled in his hair, and he had a blade of grass clenched between his teeth. Behind him, he carried a basket of mushrooms on his back.

This was a far cry from the image of a corrupt minister steeped in luxury and debauchery he had in his mind; there was none of the stench of money and power clinging to him. Instead, he appeared ethereal and spirited, truly resembling a young monk who had withdrawn from the world. 

His gaze grew heavy, and his movements were slow and deliberate.

He surveyed him from the top of his head to his eyebrows and eyes, down to the tip of his nose, and finally to his full, crimson lips. 

His gaze carried a probing intensity bordering on exploitation, inch by inch, as if he intended to devour her with his eyes. 

A long while passed.

He let out a scornful chuckle. 

“Lord Rong, where have you been?”