Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Buddhist Scion Faces the Love Trial, Maid Enters a Seductive Dream
She had run herself ragged all day. Silver bled away like water, and it still accomplished nothing.
Xiao Man lay on her bed, pain tugging at her chest in slow, tight waves.
In Old Madam’s courtyard, first-rank maids had their own rooms. Second-rank maids did, too. Third-rank maids like her shared two to a room. It wasn’t large, but it was private and clean. Compared to the rest of the residence, it was already a fine place to sleep.
And Old Madam herself was gentle, with little trouble to give. Allowance and rewards were generous, and her estates and shops all turned profit.
But no matter how good a posting was, it couldn’t endure spending like this.
Xiao Man felt choked with it. Still, she had to eat, and she had to sleep.
She gripped the protective talisman from Azure Cloud Temple, turned over, and shut her eyes.
Sleep took her quickly.
In the familiar thick mist, a sharp voice curled with mockery.
“Idiot. Wasted your money, didn’t you?”
“I’m not a demon, and I’m not some wandering ghost,” the voice went on, smug as ever. “You can look all you like—no one can help you. Even if a Bodhisattva came, I wouldn’t be afraid.”
In the dream, Xiao Man found a thin strand of courage and snapped back, “Boasting. If you’re so capable, why don’t you even have a body?”
“Sister, don’t look down on me,” the voice said, suddenly aggrieved. “I’ve just been lazy in cultivation. That doesn’t mean I’m useless!”
It sniffed, then turned coaxing again. “I’m taking a shortcut, moving faster. I’m also helping that Buddhist Scion. His love trial is hard. If this keeps going, he might fall into devilry.”
“Devilry? That serious?” Xiao Man half doubted. “You—without even a shape—are just trying to fool me again.”
The mist twisted violently.
The world spun.
Then the scene snapped into something else.
Chaos filled the air—distorted noises, wrong sounds that scraped at her skin. Xiao Man saw Eldest Young Master sitting cross-legged in a black-and-red world, his face warped with strain, black qi coiling around him like living smoke.
It was terrifying.
“I don’t want to stay here!” she cried. “Take me out!”
Her stomach heaved. She gagged hard—
—and woke.
Xiao Man lurched over the side of the bed, retching until bitter bile burned her throat.
Dawn was barely a smear of light when the little maids outside began whispering, voices pressed low.
“Did you hear? Eldest Young Master hasn’t eaten or drunk anything for days. He just sits there meditating. No matter how they call him, he won’t wake up!”
“And the Heir Apparent and Madam are frantic. They already sent people to Bright Wisdom Temple to invite Dharma Master Shi Neng!”
That afternoon, Dharma Master Shi Neng was escorted into the residence with solemn respect.
He went to Lin Qing Xuan’s Auspicious Cloud Residence, stood outside the door only briefly, then turned and came back out.
Facing the anxious Heir Apparent and Madam, he pressed his palms together.
“Heart demon is difficult to dispel,” he said. “Yuan Jue must see through it himself.”
He paused, then added, “Yuan Jue has his own destined chance. Do not disturb him.”
After another beat, he said calmly, “Heir Apparent, Madam, Old Madam—Yuan Jue’s affinity with the Buddhist path has not yet arrived. His love trial is not yet passed. You needn’t worry he will shave his head and leave home to become a monk.”
First Madam’s face lit with relief. She grabbed the Heir Apparent’s sleeve as if afraid the words might vanish.
“Thank heavens. My son doesn’t need to become a monk.”
Then she hesitated, confusion creeping back in. “But… this love trial, this love calamity—what are they, exactly?”
Old Madam stood nearby, and something in her finally unclenched.
Good. Good.
She had borne only two sons. Old Eldest had inherited the title. Old Two had lived for years on the borderfields, waging war.
In this vast Heir Apparent’s Residence, Lin Qing Xuan was the only male in the grandson generation—a single precious seedling. And yet he had spent his days talking about leaving home to become a monk.
Old Two was a general, but he had three daughters.
Now, if Lin Qing Xuan wasn’t leaving, the family line could continue. The incense at the ancestral altar would not go cold.
The masters circled Lin Qing Xuan’s courtyard as if drawn by an invisible rope. The maids and old maidservants moved on tiptoe, terrified of disturbing the Buddhist Scion as he wrestled with his love trial.
But none of it touched Xiao Man in Old Madam’s courtyard.
These days, she had unexpected leisure. She no longer served before the masters, and she wasn’t assigned to night duty. She stayed in her room, mending work from the outer yards.
Once dusk fell, she could return and rest.
Her oil lamp burned a bean-sized flame, casting dim, blurred light.
Xiao Man sat at the table with needle and thread, her thoughts tangled into knots. Head propped on her hand, she drifted off.
In the haze, a warm hand found hers. A quiet call brushed her ear.
“Wife.”
Xiao Man jerked her gaze downward—and found herself in bright red wedding robes.
A bridal chamber surrounded her, festive and glowing, red candles blazing.
The groom lifted her veil.
They drank cross-cupped wine.
Warmth surged through her, mixed with an unfamiliar flutter that made her mind go soft and heavy.
A low voice sighed at her ear. “You’re beautiful.”
She forced her eyes wider, trying to see him clearly.
That flawless, unreal face was Lin Qing Xuan.
The red robes made his features even more striking. Those eyes that were always distant now shone, filled with a deep, tender devotion.
He called her name.
“Xiao Man.”
Her heart jolted.
His long fingers traced her lips, then her brows and lashes, so gentle it felt as if he were handling something precious beyond price. He drew her into his arms with a tenderness that stole the breath from her lungs.
Xiao Man stared at that dangerously handsome face and forgot to resist.
[He’s so gentle.]
The thought bloomed wild and reckless.
It was only a dream. If she sank into it, what did it matter?
Tomorrow she’d wake, and no one would know. It would be nothing but a shameful, ridiculous fantasy.
As if guided by some unseen force, she lifted her head and lightly bit his earlobe.
Lin Qing Xuan shuddered, his breath turning ragged.
They were too close. Their breaths tangled. The world blurred at the edges until only their heartbeats remained, loud in the silent night.
His gaze burned, as if it meant to consume her whole.
Heat rose like a tide and swallowed Yao Xiao Man’s awareness. And Lin Qing Xuan—this Buddhist Scion tasting love for the first time—lost control within the dream’s sweetness.
The dream turned thick with warmth, with closeness that felt too real to be false.
When daylight came, Xiao Man bolted upright, her heart galloping.
She looked down. She was back in coarse sleepwear, soaked through with sweat, clinging to her skin.
Heat still lingered in her body, the memory of the night leaving her burning with discomfort.
She had dreamed something so shameless.
And the other person in that dream had been the spotless Buddhist Scion of the residence—Lin Qing Xuan.
Xiao Man hugged her quilt, buried her face, and wished she could vanish on the spot.
But the dream was too clear.
The heat of his chest, the rough drag of his breath, the faint calluses on his fingertips as they traced her skin—worst of all, that hoarse whisper at her ear, again and again:
“Xiao Man…”
Shame and a secret sweetness braided together into a net that wrapped around her throat.
She scrambled out of bed and wiped her hot cheeks and neck with a cloth, hands shaking. Only then did she lean against the bedpost, gulping air, forcing herself to calm down.
The sky was barely light when the residence erupted.
Noise poured through the paper window like boiling oil.
“Eldest Young Master is awake!”
“Heaven bless us—Eldest Young Master finally woke up!”
The little maids ran about spreading the news, their footsteps bright with joy.
Xiao Man’s hands slipped on the washbasin. Water sloshed over the rim.
Awake?
He was truly awake.
Then last night’s dream—
Could his waking have something to do with it?
The thought struck like lightning and left her dizzy.
“Did you hear? Eldest Young Master not only woke up, he ate half a bowl of medicinal congee!”
“Old Madam and Madam kept watch all night. They can finally relax.”
Outside, Chun Yan and a few maids chattered, voices overflowing with relief.
Chun Yan’s eyes flicked toward Xiao Man. A cruel smile tugged at her mouth.
“Well, if it isn’t Xiao Man. Eldest Young Master is fine, so why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Another maid snickered. “Exactly. It’s the happiest day in the residence. Why are you the only one sulking?”
Xiao Man gripped the basin until her fingers ached. She forced a smile that looked more like pain and hurried away, head down, as if running from teeth.
A happy day?
For her, it sounded like a sentence.
All morning, the residence bubbled with almost manic joy. Even the stewards seemed kinder.
Then the afternoon brought a sudden chill.
After seeing Old Madam, Madam, and the Heir Apparent, Eldest Young Master returned to his courtyard and shut himself in again.
The gates were locked. He would see no one.
The residence went quiet as if someone had dumped cold water over it. Servants gathered in corners, whispering.
“What’s going on? He just woke up—why go back into seclusion? Is it really like Dharma Master said, passing the love trial?”
“Didn’t the imperial physician say he was already fine?”
The sudden twist made Xiao Man’s chest loosen with a ridiculous, desperate kind of relief.
Before she could stop herself, her feet carried her to the wall outside the Auspicious Cloud Residence.
The high wall cut off everything. The gate was sealed tight. Not even a breath of sound leaked out.
It was silent as an abandoned temple.
That cool, distant man—he was behind that door.
And that silence, for the first time all day, soothed her.
Xiao Man peeked cautiously from the corner and stole a glance at the locked gate.
Nothing.
She leaned back against the cold wall, her pounding heart slowly settling.
It was a dream.
It had to be only a dream.
How could someone like him…?
Yao Xiao Man forced herself to believe it, again and again.
Offending the Buddhist Scion in a dream… shouldn’t count as blasphemy. Right?