5 005

Song Jinhao’s impulsive decision to head up the mountain today stemmed largely from a mix of embarrassment and indignation.

She was to marry Zhu Mingxuan at the end of the year. As a woman on the cusp of becoming a wife, finding herself dreaming of another man—and of such scandalous, intimate scenarios at that—was utterly improper. She could not control her dreams, but her waking mind clearly told her that she held no such wayward feelings for Sheng Congyuan.

Therefore, she must be bewitched!

The temple on Mount Yuntai sat at the peak of the southern ridge. The journey was not short, and the road was rugged. The carriage swayed and jolted for over an hour before reaching the destination. The bumpy ride left Song Jinhao’s delicate frame feeling quite unwell, and when she stepped out of the carriage, her face was set in a scowl of obvious displeasure.

As for the culprit behind her arduous journey and physical suffering, it was, naturally, Sheng Congyuan, who appeared in her dreams all too often. She had no prior grievances with him, yet she had already harbored a deep grudge against him in her heart.

The Taoist temple was tranquil, solemn, and magnificent. The tall vermilion archway bore the name "Yuntai Temple" in sweeping, dragon-like calligraphy, said to have been inscribed by the late Emperor himself.

Mingqiu whispered, "My Lady, the Taoist priest is in the Lingqing Hall. I have already made the arrangements."

Song Jinhao nodded slightly. "You may wait here." With that, she stepped into the temple grounds.

In the front courtyard, a massive, towering tree caught her eye. Red silk ribbons fluttered in the wind from its branches, and the wooden plaques attached to them occasionally clattered with a crisp sound. This was the famous "Marriage Tree" of Yuntai Temple, said to be exceptionally efficacious. The temple was bustling with incense year-round, and there was no shortage of people coming to pray for blessings or have their fortunes told.

Eager to exorcise her "curse," Song Jinhao did not linger and headed straight for the Lingqing Hall.

After passing through several halls in the front courtyard, she found the priest waiting for her inside.

"Please sit, benefactor. Tell me what has been troubling you lately."

Only when she was seated and about to pour out her heart did Song Jinhao begin to feel a sense of tension. If she were to tell anyone about this, even she would find it absurd and preposterous. Yet, as the words reached her lips, a vague, ominous premonition stirred within her—as if some strange occurrence beyond ordinary understanding had truly taken hold of her.

After a moment of silence, Song Jinhao spoke slowly: "I have been having strange dreams lately."

***

An incense stick’s time later, Song Jinhao walked out of the Lingqing Hall, clutching a stack of yellowed, rune-covered paper with skepticism. The priest had told her that placing one under her pillow each night would prevent those uncanny dreams from invading her sleep.

Could it be that simple?

Song Jinhao was unconvinced, yet she had no choice but to try. She truly did not want to have those dreams ever again.

As she walked, she tucked the talismans into her sleeve. Looking up, she saw a young woman emerging from the Red Immortal Hall, her face flushed with joy, holding a red silk ribbon and a wooden plaque.

The feelings Song Jinhao had just suppressed bubbled up again. When she thought of Sheng Congyuan, she was both embarrassed and furious. When she thought of Zhu Mingxuan, she could not help but feel a twinge of guilt and hesitation.

Her marriage to Zhu Mingxuan had been arranged by Song Ning. At that time, Song Jinhao had been filled with a desperate longing to return to the capital. However, Song Ning was unable to leave, and it was impossible for her to travel such a long distance alone. As it happened, Zhu Mingxuan and his family were passing through on their way to the capital. Perhaps the Zhu family had intended this all along, or perhaps it was truly a coincidence.

Song Jinhao didn't care; she only knew that if she agreed to the marriage, she could return to the capital with the Zhu family. To her, Zhu Mingxuan was a childhood sweetheart who had grown up alongside her, and the Zhu family were relatives whose roots were well-known. There was no earth-shattering, soul-stirring passion between them, but it was a steady, natural progression. She had never envisioned what kind of man she would marry, but she was already of the age where marriage was expected.

She envied the decades of devotion between her parents and the mutual support between her brother and sister-in-law. So, when this marriage was presented to her, she felt it was only reasonable to marry a man like Zhu Mingxuan. He was not particularly outstanding, but he was gentle and steady. As the youngest daughter of the Song family, pampered and wealthy, she didn't crave some breathtakingly noble man. Zhu Mingxuan, with his gentle temperament and his history of humoring her since childhood, seemed an excellent candidate. Furthermore, this marriage was her ticket back to the capital. She had long since grown weary of Yuxiang City; how could she refuse?

Yet, after the engagement was set, she repeatedly imagined misconduct on Zhu Mingxuan’s part and dreamt of other men. This was certainly not a good omen, and it left her heart unsettled.

After a moment of hesitation, she turned toward the Red Immortal Hall. Unlike the cold, quiet Lingqing Hall, this place was lively. A few people knelt devoutly on prayer mats, and the rattling of the bamboo fortune sticks echoed softly. The air was thick with incense, and a young Taoist was distributing red ribbons and wooden plaques to the faithful.

Deep down, Song Jinhao didn't believe that hanging a ribbon or a plaque on a tree could ensure a lifetime with the person of her choice. What if that person was already married? What if they loved another? What if many people prayed for the same person? So many variables could not be dictated by a piece of silk or wood. But, as they say, it exists if you believe it, and it does not if you don't; it was merely a comfort for the heart.

She mocked herself internally for walking in here despite her disbelief, yet she found herself kneeling straight and proper on the mat. With hands clasped and eyes shut, she prayed silently: *Then let me pray for a smooth marriage with Zhu Mingxuan, and that we may grow old together in harmony.*

After three pious bows, she picked up the fortune-telling canister and began to shake it. The sticks rattled, and one fell to the ground. Her fair fingers picked it up, and as she moved her thumb to reveal the bottom, two black characters came into view:

—*Great Misfortune.*

Song Jinhao was startled; her grip loosened, and the stick fell again, landing face-up, still clearly displaying the words. The inscription on the stick was obscure, and beyond the verdict of "Great Misfortune," she would need a priest to interpret the rest. But since it was already "Great Misfortune," what was there to interpret? Whatever the meaning, it certainly wasn't good.

Regaining her composure, she picked up the stick with a numb expression and placed it back into the canister.

The young Taoist who had been handing out the ribbons and plaques offered a routine reminder: "Benefactor, you may take your stick to the side hall for interpretation. It is just to the left of the main hall." He then noticed she had no stick in her hand. "Have you not drawn your fortune yet?"

Song Jinhao shook her head. "I only need the ribbon and the plaque." It was just a formality, a source of psychological comfort; a stick of great misfortune was better left behind.

The young Taoist said no more and handed her the requested items.

Leaving the Red Immortal Hall, Song Jinhao saw several people under the Marriage Tree reaching up to hang their wishes. She glanced at the ribbon and plaque in her hand, sighed almost inaudibly, and headed toward the tree.

Under the tree, she wrote her and Zhu Mingxuan’s names on the plaque. Her handwriting was elegant and neat, the two names placed side by side, as if this could bind their invisible red thread together.

The others who had left the hall before her had finished hanging their wishes and departed, leaving Song Jinhao alone. She looked up at the dense, towering canopy. Because the tree had stood for centuries and held countless wishes, there was almost no space left on the lower branches.

She scanned the area, then lifted her skirt and stepped nimbly onto the stone platform surrounding the trunk. The added height allowed her to reach higher branches. With one hand holding the ribbon and the other reaching out as far as she could, she hunted for a spot.

She stood on her tiptoes, stretching her body, but she was still a finger's length away. Pursing her lips, she gathered her strength and gave a light leap. She caught the branch, and the surrounding foliage rustled, the sound of wooden plaques clashing together filling the air.

This posture was still a bit difficult for her. She struggled to stabilize herself, her hands moving quickly to tie the ribbon. She didn't notice that she had shifted to the very edge of the stone platform. Her balance faltered, and the branch swayed violently under her weight.

*Just a little more.*

Suddenly, a sharp *rip*—

Song Jinhao’s eyes widened in panic as she watched the ribbon she had just tied catch on a sharp protrusion on the branch. The silk tore, and the support gave way. Losing her balance, she tipped backward, unable to stop herself.

"Ah—" Her cry of terror was lost in the whistling wind.

Her vision blurred. With a dull thud, her back slammed into a hot, firm chest. An iron-like arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the force of the grip causing a sharp ache. A familiar scent washed over her, like an inescapable net, instantly catching her and enveloping her completely.

Her mind went blank, but in her line of sight appeared the clearly flustered face of Sheng Congyuan.

Song Jinhao froze. She could hear a heart beating violently, though she couldn't tell if it was her own or the one pressed against her back. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Sheng Congyuan’s urgent, low voice cut in: "Are you hurt?"

Song Jinhao shuddered and snapped back to reality. Ignoring her lingering panic, she scrambled to pull away from his embrace. She moved too quickly; without his support, she nearly lost her footing again. As she swayed, Sheng Congyuan instinctively reached out to steady her, but as soon as she regained her balance, he withdrew his hands without a trace.

She stood firm, but her mind was a chaotic mess. The slight ache in her waist and the lingering heat on her back served as constant reminders that she had just fallen into his arms. Breaking through the void of her dreams, the real warmth, the solid frame, and the large hands that had touched her waist—

*Help!* Why was the world so small? How could she run into him here?

Of course, they were only "enemies" from her one-sided perspective. On the surface, Sheng Congyuan had no grievances with her whatsoever.

Song Jinhao gritted her teeth and said with feigned reluctance, "What a coincidence, Young Master Sheng. Thank you for your help just now; I am fine."

Sheng Congyuan lowered his gaze, his eyes landing on the half-torn ribbon she was still clutching. The wooden plaque dangling from it swung, the two names side by side flashing before his eyes, stinging him.

He moved his lips with difficulty, his voice turning cold. "Are you here to pray for marriage?"

Song Jinhao’s fingers twitched. She instinctively glanced at the broken wish in her hand, feeling even more frustrated. She gave a distracted "Mm," her brows knitting together. Even someone without faith could not help but be affected by a series of coincidences and bad omens. Strange dreams, a "Great Misfortune" fortune, and a failed prayer—each might be a meaningless accident, but stacked together, they were impossible to ignore.

"But it’s broken," Sheng Congyuan’s voice cut through her thoughts, intrusive and presumptuous.

Song Jinhao pulled herself out of her musings and looked at him, puzzled. His gaze was deep, his expression unreadable—partly meaningful, partly merely stating a fact. Between them, it was a one-sided rivalry and a one-sided sense of familiarity. But on the surface, they were not close enough to discuss such topics.

She gave a perfunctory "Mm" again, having no desire to converse further. "Thank you again for saving me, Young Master Sheng. I won't delay your prayers any longer; I shall take my leave."

Sheng Congyuan’s face darkened, his hands clenching into fists inside his sleeves. He could clearly feel her cold, desperate desire to avoid him. But it was only to be expected. She had forgotten him, and she was keeping her distance from men. Combined, these factors struck his heart like a giant boulder, dragging him down.

He watched silently as Song Jinhao turned and walked away, her slender figure fading into the distance. It was as if their fate had been slowly slipping away since the moment he missed his appointment with her, until it finally dissipated into nothing.

It should have been this way. She was already betrothed; he had no other choice. Even if he revealed his identity, even if he cleared up the misunderstandings of the past, it could not change the fact that she was about to marry someone else.

*It was so close.* Just as she had been so close to hanging her plaque, he had been so close to reuniting with her before she became betrothed.

Since arriving in the capital five years ago, he had been searching for her. At first, his connections were limited, and he could not openly inquire about a noble girl. Later, he learned that because Song Ning’s mission to Yuxiang City was secretive, and Song Jinhao had left the capital with him that very year, he had never found a trace of her.

No wonder he had no news. Once he learned of her location, he slept only an hour or two a day, working himself to the bone to finish his tasks so he could rush to Yuxiang City. And then came this sudden, painful reunion. He had checked, desperate for a different answer, only to find that the day she set her marriage date was exactly when he had finally discovered where she was.

Fate was cruel. They had been so close, yet he was always one step behind.

Suddenly, the distant, blurry figure stopped. Sheng Congyuan squinted. He saw her raise her hand in front of the mound of incense ash and, without hesitation, toss the wooden plaque—still attached to the torn red ribbon—into the fire. Even from afar, he could imagine the plaque with her name and another man’s sinking into the black ash, the characters blurring and the traces of its existence being swallowed whole.

*What if I were to take her by force?*

A dark, base thought suddenly took root in his mind, surging like an uncontrollable tide, overwhelming his chest. He stood expressionless, his eyes no longer able to catch her retreating figure.

Long after, Sheng Congyuan turned and walked into the temple, into the still-bustling Red Immortal Hall. No one inside knew that the man kneeling before the mat was praying for a wish that defied morality. He was deceiving himself, not daring to shake the canister to draw a fortune that Heaven might not allow.

The young Taoist who handed him a ribbon and a plaque wished him kindly, "May you get what you wish for."

Sheng Congyuan held the ribbon and walked toward the Marriage Tree. With his calm demeanor and steady stride, he looked nothing like a man about to commit a shameful act. He took a long step onto the stone platform where Song Jinhao had stood. The branch she had pulled so desperately was now still.

Using his height, he easily pulled the branch toward him. The names on his plaque replaced the spot where hers had failed to hang. It sat firmly, fluttering in the wind.

Sheng Congyuan’s cold expression finally softened at the sight of the vibrant red. A faint, bitter arc touched his lips. He whispered to himself, a voice filled with self-mockery: "What if... it actually comes true?"