Chapter Eleven

The inexplicable Miss Ming this time was to go pray at Lingmiao Temple, which sat on Yunxiu Mountain three li north of the city.

Lingmiao Temple was far less popular than the Grand Xiangguo Temple; it had no famed reputation for answering prayers for marriage or children. It simply sat amid gentle hills and placid waters, its scenery unusually serene. Among the people it even had a playful nickname: “the temple with tasty vegetarian meals.”

Mingtan had chosen it precisely for its secluded tranquility, so she wouldn’t have to pray for blessings or keep a low profile, and so she wouldn’t occasionally run into the noble young women from the capital who came to offer incense.

Now that the scandal at the Duke’s residence had spread, there was no reason for Ming Chu and Shen Hua to be unaware; besides, Concubine Liu was still her father’s bed companion, so Ming Chu might even know about the setup that led to her falling into the water.

Originally Madam Pei had arranged for her to be seen off early the next morning; Ming Tan guessed that when the household came to bid her farewell, Ming Chu would certainly not miss the perfect chance to taunt and mock her.

Therefore, she did not intend to give Ming Chu that opportunity—she notified Madam Pei that night, and before dawn at the fifth watch, she set out early with her plain dress and green hairpin.

When they arrived at Lingmiao Temple, the monks had just finished their early rites. After all, it was a place of Buddhist seclusion, with morning bells and evening drums and the faint drift of chanting. Standing on this mountain, one could not help but feel a good deal calmer.

Because the Pei family had made arrangements in advance, a guest attendant monk was already waiting outside the temple gate for Ming Tan and the others.

Seeing Ming Tan, the attendant monk pressed his palms together and said, “Amitabha, female benefactor, please follow me.”

“Thank you, Master,” Ming Tan replied with a proper return of greeting.

The temple was tranquil. Walking behind the attendant monk, she saw ancient trees scattered along the path and koi swimming in a liberation pond, creating a uniquely rustic and serene atmosphere.

By the time the female guest reached the side room where she would stay, it wasn’t as exquisitely elegant as the Shui Courtyard, but it was still fairly spacious and clean—Mingtan could barely accept it. Before she could scrutinize it further, a young novice brought in a coarse blue robe.

Mingtan paused, and asked hesitantly, “Master, this is—”

The receiving monk answered kindly, “All short-term pilgrims staying at the temple must wear this robe. Donor, please don’t worry; the garments are clean and brand new.”

Ming Tan: “…”

Is that really a question of clean or brand new?

Earlier, prompted by Suxin, she had painstakingly pared down her belongings, greatly reducing her clothes and utensils, yet no one had informed her that Lingmiao Temple would still issue garments during a short stay—truly a thunderbolt from a clear sky, catching her completely off guard!

Her momentary daze was interrupted when the host monk went on to explain many of the strict rules and precepts that short-term visitors must observe, and at the end, kindly added, “Benefactor, you must be tired from travel; please rest for a while. I won’t trouble you further. Amitabha.”

Mingtan still hadn’t quite collected herself. Only after a while did she touch the garments brought to her and speak, words heavy with thought.

Everything else could be managed, but these clothes—broad at the shoulders, sleeves too long, with no waistline, the colors and fabrics all without merit—let alone Suxin’s green calyx, even a third-rate maid from the Hou residence would be dressed a hundred times more carefully. How on earth was she supposed to wear this?

Mingtan sat there staring blankly. But having entered the temple she had to follow its customs; she had no other choice, and it was impossible to stay in the side room and never go out.

For meals, everyone had to go to the dining hall to receive their portions; there were no attendants, and nothing could be taken out.

By the time of the midday meal, the little miss’s stubbornness was finally overcome by the realities of an empty stomach. Reluctantly she allowed Lü E to help her change into these clothes.

Since birth, Mingtan had never dressed so simply. Even her sleeping garments had always been chosen from soft fabrics, with intricate hidden embroidery, tailored to her measurements. Sitting in the room in this outfit, she felt that nothing about it was right.

“This plain look—how can you be seen?” She scanned the woman in the mirror with some displeasure and frowned.

Lü E: “Miss, rest easy; there’s no one to be seen around. I kept an eye out when we arrived—there aren’t many worshippers coming to this temple in a day.”

Ming Tan: “…”

Suxin cleared her throat lightly and glanced at Lü E.

Lü E realized what she’d said, berated herself with a slap to her mouth, then hurriedly added: “No, no, I mean, plain cloth and a simple blue gown only make your figure and features stand out more. As the saying goes, ‘lotus born of clear water, untouched by artifice’—isn’t that exactly you, Miss?”

Mm.

Pure water gives rise to the lotus; naturally free of ornament.

Those words indeed struck a chord in Ming Tan’s heart.

Very well—usually refined and proper, a rare moment of simplicity only made her appear even more fresh and pure.

Thinking of that, her previously unhappy mood suddenly brightened.

The brightening lasted only a moment before Lǜ È awkwardly tried to comfort her: “This temple seems rather quiet from what I can see. Stay here for a while and rest assured, miss, you needn’t grieve.

“As for the Liang son of the household… he appeared a decent fellow before, but who would have thought he’d be so faithless and cold-hearted. Truly blind to miss’s virtues, he’s wasted such a fine woman. Don’t worry, miss—once we return to the capital, the marquis and madam will surely find you another suitable and pleasing match!”

Ming Tan: “…”

She, however, felt no sorrow.

Liang Zixuan was nowhere worth her sorrow.

It was just that the ugly deeds Liang Zixuan had done with the Lady of the Duke of Ling had dragged this innocent person into taking some of the consequences, and she felt quite displeased about it.

Since she was displeased, she wasn’t going to let anyone else have it easy either.

Coming to pray for blessings had been a rushed decision, but before leaving, she hadn’t forgotten to arrange a little spectacle for the Duke of Ling’s household—

Changguo Duke’s Mansion, inside Bai Minmin’s courtyard, Zhou Jingwan stood before the writing desk, pen in hand, laying down characters.

The Zhou family was a renowned scholarly household; for centuries, both main and collateral branches had produced countless literary geniuses and famed statesmen. Zhou Jingwan’s father had placed second on the imperial examination and now held the third-rank Hanlin Academician post—his prospects were boundless.

Raised on such erudition, Zhou Jingwan was herself regarded as a highly accomplished young lady among unmarried women of official families. Her small regular script for hairpin inscriptions was composed and serene, yet when one examined the content closely—

“This sentence is far too flowery. Wanwan, write it more plainly. When I go to the teahouse to listen to storytellers, those narrators aren’t nearly this restrained,” Bai Minmin stood nearby and offered her pointers.

Zhou Jingwan put down her pen, studied it for a long moment, and felt that such matters insulted decency—hinting at them like this was already very improper. She felt uncomfortable and asked softly, “Then how should it be put plainly?”

Bai Minmin: “Isn’t that simple? You just write that the Duke Ling’s household head and the second branch master’s newly taken concubine committed adultery! You can tie it to Liang Zixuan’s affair too—call it like ‘when the beam is crooked, the rafters will be crooked,’ a family legacy of infidelity!”

Zhou Jingwan: “…”

Before Ming Tan left the city to pray for blessings, he specially sent a letter to the Chang Duke’s mansion, asking Bai Minmin and Zhou Jingwan to polish a tale together and get a storyteller to good and thoroughly spread these scandals about the Duke Ling’s household.

These scandals were things Ming Tan had earlier asked Bai Jingyuan to investigate; they all involved the Duke Ling’s household. Originally they were meant to be used to discredit the Duke after a smooth annulment.

Now that the annulment couldn’t proceed smoothly and the scandals had leaked, she added fuel to the fire. First, to vent the anger of being plotted against, abandoned, and implicated. Second, to cement the fact that everyone in the Duke Ling’s household was of poor character. Third, to find an opening to protect her own reputation.

“Forget it, asking you to polish up these filthy matters was indeed asking too much,” Bai Minmin thought for a moment. “Just hand it over to the storyteller; you can write a few complimentary lines about A-Tan.”

Zhou Jingwan breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in agreement.

A-Tan was already flawless in her mind; of course she would do that.

“By the way, A-Tan also told me to put everything else aside—what’s most important is to praise her beauty,” Bai Minmin paused, muttering a little helplessly, “truly shameless.”

Hearing this, Zhou Jingwan couldn’t help but purse her lips into a faint smile.

But to her, A-Tan was naturally beautiful, so praising her would not feel insincere. She picked up her pen and in an instant composed a paean.

While Bai Minmin and Zhou Jingwan were busy helping Mingtan with arrangements, Mingtan, hairpins unset and dressed plainly, went to the monastery’s refectory.

The refectory made no distinction between mistress and servants; everyone ate at the same tables. Mingtan had always treated her personal maid with kindness and saw no problem with it. But Suxin Lü’e dared not dine with her young mistress and insisted on waiting outside the refectory, planning to go in only after Mingtan had finished.

Mingtan did not press the matter.

She had left early that morning and hadn’t had time for breakfast, so she was genuinely a bit hungry now. Having heard that the Lingmiao Temple’s vegetarian fare was delicious, she felt a flicker of curious anticipation as she took her seat.

But after she took a dainty little sip, neither spitting it out nor swallowing it, she truly couldn’t understand how the coarseness of the rice and the blandness of the vegetables had anything to do with deliciousness!

She intended to leave her seat, but a young novice monk stepped forward to stop her, gently admonishing, “Amitabha, benefactor, one must not leave food when taking the meal.”

“…”

For a moment she forgot this rule.

The young novice looked at her kindly, watching her like that until she reluctantly sat back down and slowly took up her chopsticks.

She forced herself to swallow a small bite of the fasting meal, sneaking a look at the little novice monk—who, to her surprise, was still watching her!

“…”

I know I’m beautiful, but there’s no need to stare like that!

Left with no choice, she continued eating the fasting food. The taste was so different from what she was used to that she hardly chewed before gulping it down.

She just had a small appetite; even when she forced herself to feel full, she still left about half a bowl. She looked up pitiably. “Master, I really can’t eat any more of this vegetarian food.”

The little novice saw there wasn’t much left and that she was struggling to eat. He pressed his palms together and said, “Amitabha. In that case, benefactor, go to the small shrine and reflect for the time it takes a single incense stick to burn.”

Mingtan: “…?”

Is this supposed to be a kneeling punishment too?

Alright, she was also a little afraid that Buddha might punish her with retribution for letting food go to waste.

So, under the novice monk’s watchful gaze and guidance, she stepped out the door.

However, the door the novice monk had pointed to was not the main door of the dining hall. After walking for a bit, she found herself disoriented, increasingly lost. All around were halls housing Buddha statues — which one was the small shrine the master had mentioned?

Never mind, self-reflection hinges on sincerity of the heart.

Thinking this, she stepped into the unoccupied main hall ahead and, following custom, knelt on the meditation cushion.

The hall was extremely spacious, with side chambers on both sides. Ming Dan had no inkling; beside the sutra library in the left side chamber there was also a quiet room.

At this moment in the quiet room, the famed young war god, His Highness the Northern-Settling King Ding, was enjoying tea and a scholarly conversation with Master Huiyuan, the itinerant monk whose movements are difficult to trace.

“With the Buddha above as witness, I, the faithful woman Mingjia A-tan, usually eat and dress with refinement and have a small appetite. Eating the monastery’s alms as an occasional thing is truly unfamiliar to me; there is remorse in my heart for leaving leftovers. I beseech the Buddha for mercy and not to descend karmic retribution.”

The quiet room heard that voice; the little monk, about to leave, hurriedly said, “It seems a lay donor from the Ming family has mistakenly come to self-reflection. I will take her to the small shrine.”

That voice was very familiar.

She even called herself A-Tan of the Ming family.

Jiang Xu recalled something, but did not pay it much mind. He merely lowered his eyes to focus on the game, raising a hand to signal it was unnecessary.

Mingtan knelt outside. After finishing her private prayers and sitting quietly for a moment, she recalled what Lǜ’è had earlier said about looking for a suitable husband and thought: since I’m here anyway, I might as well make that wish too.

So she pressed her palms together again and murmured: “Buddha above, besides my confession and offerings, this votary has one more wish. This time the broken engagement was due to my betrothed’s improper conduct, unworthy to match with me, yet I have been mocked and judged by others because of it. When I return to the capital after this affair, I beg the Buddha to bless me so that I may surely find a fitting gentleman.

“The gentleman need only come from a reasonably matched family; he need not be imperial kin, a noble marquis’s line, or from a renowned scholarly household. What I value more are talent and looks. For talent, passing the first rank in the spring imperial examinations would do; his appearance must be handsome—only then would he suit me. Of course it would be better if his family were well-off so life could be more comfortable, but lacking a marquisate is not a problem. He must simply ensure I can have bird’s-nest congee whenever I wish, have several boxes of fashionable clothes from Jinxiu Workshop each season, be able to acquire any new jewelry promptly, and, should I ever have a headache or fever, be able to summon the master physicians of Liangchuntang at once…”

The woman’s voice, incessantly poured into his ears, distracted Jiang Xu so that he couldn’t place a single stone for a long time. Master Huiyuan wore a faint smile on his face; the little novice monk kept his eyes on his nose and his nose on his heart, silently chanting Amitābha.

Half an incense stick later.

“…It would be best if his height were over seven chi. The mother-in-law at home should be of a pleasant temperament; under no circumstances should she be one to impose rigid rules and torment the new daughter-in-law. If there is no mother-in-law, that would be ideal. Relatives should be kept simple—there must not be any childhood-sweetheart-style cousins with deep emotional ties. The petitioner is not an overly jealous person, but taking concubines within the first three years after marriage is a bit premature; it is not conducive to cultivating husband-and-wife affection. After three years, taking concubines should not exceed two; a large household invites trouble. He must not be someone given to frequenting brothels and pleasure districts…”

One incense stick later.

“…Her body should be sturdy too, but sturdy doesn’t mean all muscle. If an accident occurs, being able to withstand one or two blows is enough. Martial training is best focused on the sword—graceful posture—and in that case when he performs a sword dance the wife can accompany him on the qin, and a husband and wife harmonizing is truly blissful. Hmm…that about covers it. I pray to the Buddha to bless me; if I find such an ideal husband, I will rebuild a golden image for the Buddha and add incense offerings.”

Having finished speaking, Ming Tan respectfully kowtowed three times.

Accompanied by the faint echoes of the kowtows, the little novice monk finally exhaled in relief.

—This young lady’s standards for choosing a husband are truly a bit too high.