Chapter 018
Chapter 18: Flesh Defense Campaign, Day One
The door eased open a crack. Xiao Man hunched, slipped sideways through, then shut it behind her in one quick, silent motion.
A cool breath mixed with heavy sandalwood swept over her and swallowed her whole. It felt both familiar and strange, carrying a pressure that squeezed her chest. Her heart pounded like drums.
She did not dare lift her head. Her gaze fell on a dark wooden floor polished like a mirror, so clean it could reflect a face.
Following the floor forward, she saw a pair of plain white monk shoes set at the edge of a meditation cushion. The uppers were as spotless as fresh snow.
Above them hung the hem of a wide, white monk robe. The cloth was crisp, falling without a single crease.
Xiao Man held her breath and, using the most proper workplace manners, dropped into a deep bow. She kept her voice steady and just the right amount of respectful as she announced: “This maid, Xiao Man, comes by order of Old Madam and First Madam to serve the Eldest Grandson Young Master at Auspicious Cloud Residence, and reports to the Young Master today.”
She stayed bowed, eyelids lowered, staring hard at the white hem and those monk shoes.
The room was so quiet it was scary. She could hear her blood rushing through her veins. She could feel a gaze settle on her, like a searchlight, cool and sharp, as if it meant to see straight through skin and bone.
The hair at the back of her neck stood up.
Time stretched thin.
After a few breaths, that cool voice sounded again. It held no rise or fall, but each word landed clear in her ear: “Lift your head.”
Xiao Man’s heart squeezed tight. [Here it comes.]
She slowly straightened and obeyed.
Her eyes crashed into a pair of eyes as deep as a mountain pool.
Lin Qing Xuan was not cross-legged. He sat upright behind a wide zitan desk. On it lay a few opened sutra scrolls, an inkstone, and a purple-tipped brush. Nothing else. The simplicity felt almost solemn.
He wore a spotless white monk’s robe that set off a face as fine as carved jade. His black hair was tied with a simple wooden pin. A few loose strands fell across his forehead; they did not look messy, only made him seem colder and more aloof.
He was looking at her.
Those eyes were the ones she had stared into again and again in her dreams: deep and still like the cold pond of an old temple, calm on the surface yet hiding a whirlpool that could swallow anything. Only now, there was none of the dreamy heat from that night, none of the red struggle. All that remained was a pure, icy clarity that could read a heart.
He rolled a strand of zitan prayer beads between long, defined fingers. The smooth beads slid one by one under his touch, making a faint, steady rasp.
Their eyes met.
Xiao Man felt nailed to the spot. That gaze pierced straight through her fake calm, past her little plan for a “Chastity Defense Campaign,” past the shame and resistance from that ridiculous spring dream, and even… [dang it] even down to the soul inside her that did not belong to this world.
The air went still. Even the sandalwood seemed to turn thick.
His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, paying no attention to her half-worn blue blouse. All those carefully chosen pale yellow and fresh green touches she had prepared might as well have been air to him.
At one bead, his fingers paused for the smallest instant, almost too tiny to notice.
Then his clear voice broke the silence, flat as a calm lake so you could not tell satisfaction from displeasure: “Mm. Noted. From now on, you will be on duty in this courtyard. The rules, Granny Chen will teach you.”
He drew his eyes back to the sutras on the desk. That short exchange became as if it had never happened. She was only a perfectly ordinary new hire. “You may go.”
Xiao Man all but fled into another bow: “Yes, this maid takes her leave.” She did not dare look into those eyes again. She turned, opened the door, slipped out, and pulled it softly closed. Her movements were smooth, but a thin sweat had already dampened her back.
Inside, the soft rasp of prayer beads seemed slower and heavier than before. Lin Qing Xuan’s gaze did not focus on the sutras; he stared quietly at a point in the air. In the deep pool of his eyes, something hard to name rippled like a pebble dropped into water, then stilled again. He silently chanted Amitabha.
Outside, Xiao Man fumed in her head: [Keep pretending! So proper! In the dream you called me “good sister” so sweet, and even wanted me to call you “good brother.” What a mess of titles! Now look at you, putting on a “who are you, I don’t know you” stone face for show!]
[Still, fine by me. My defense war just fired its first shot today!]
She ran back to her room, dug out paper and brush, and slapped a big poster on the wall: “210 days! Flesh Defense Campaign!”
In her heart she recited her battle slogan: [Free wins in dreams don’t count as a loss; giving up your body in real life is just dumb!]