Chapter 51
Chapter 51: Buddhist Scion Lectured on Scripture, and the Suitors All Had Their Own Schemes
Lin Yu Jiao couldn’t contain herself. She edged up to her mother, turned sideways, and raised her round fan to hide her mouth, whispering with bubbling excitement.
“Mother—look at this. Shouldn’t we call Cousin out to take a look?”
The Second Madam didn’t even lift her eyelids. She sipped tea with practiced calm and flicked her daughter a single warning glance that meant: sit down, breathe, stop embarrassing me.
So rash. Where was her decorum?
She set her cup down and leaned toward the First Madam, lowering her voice to a perfumed thread.
“Sister-in-law, these young ladies are all quite good. We should have Qing Xuan come out and judge for himself.”
“It is a viewing, after all. Both sides should see each other. That’s only proper, don’t you agree?”
The First Madam had already spun a hundred schemes. Now her lips curved in a smile that said she’d been waiting for exactly this suggestion.
She gave Matron Zhou a sharp glance.
“Go invite the eldest young master.”
Matron Zhou bowed to leave, but the First Madam called her back, pausing to think.
“Tell him… the young ladies have questions about Buddhist teachings. Ask him to come explain.”
She knew her son.
If she said matchmaking, proposals, or viewing, he wouldn’t step past his courtyard gate.
But Buddhist teachings? That was another matter entirely.
Matron Zhou understood and hurried to the Auspicious Cloud Residence.
She entered the study and found Lin Qing Xuan seated behind his desk, prayer beads sliding quietly through his fingers, a sutra open in his hand. His presence was cold and clean, like snow that had never been stepped on.
Matron Zhou performed a deep bow and repeated the First Madam’s words exactly.
Then, as if remembering something after the fact, she added with deliberate care, tone still respectful.
“Miss Xiao Man is serving in the Drifting Cloud Hall as well.”
For a breath, Lin Qing Xuan’s fingers stilled on the beads.
He lifted his gaze. In those deep eyes, a ripple surfaced—small, but real.
“Matron, go on ahead,” he said calmly. “I’ll be there soon.”
Matron Zhou withdrew, sighing inwardly.
If she hadn’t mentioned Xiao Man, this master likely wouldn’t have moved a single eyelash.
Meanwhile, in the Drifting Cloud Hall, perfume drifted and laughter rose, bright enough to shake the beams. Noble ladies clustered around the First Madam and Second Madam, praising and teasing, sparkling with practiced charm.
Then Lin Qing Xuan stepped in.
Just one step.
The laughter froze. The perfume seemed to cool. Even time felt as if it caught.
He wore a moon-white monk’s robe. His posture was straight as pine, his face so beautiful it looked carved rather than born. A cold, distant aura rolled off him like invisible frost, pressing down until no one dared breathe too loudly.
His gaze cut through the hall without pausing on a single jeweled hairpin. It skimmed over every blooming smile and every coy glance—
And landed precisely on the corner, on Xiao Man, who was doing her best to become a shadow.
“What are you doing here?”
The words were calm, emotionless. Still, they hit the room like a stone dropped into still water.
Xiao Man’s scalp went numb. For an instant, she wanted to vanish into the floor.
All eyes snapped to her at once, then back to him, then back again—quick, sharp, hungry.
Zhao Lü Liu’s eyes went bright. In her head, sketches exploded into life. She gripped her handkerchief so hard it nearly tore.
Sun Qian Qian stole one look at that face and immediately had new thoughts. Yesterday she’d fought her mother, refusing to come. Now she felt grateful she had.
In her mind, she began chanting shamelessly: [Buddhist Scion, look at me. Buddhist Scion, look at me…]
Qian Shuang adjusted her collar without thinking, then smoothed her hair by her temple, doubt flickering beneath her poise: [Who was he speaking to? Was that meant for her?]
Lin Yu Jiao clutched Qiu Ru Ying’s sleeve like a lifeline, trembling with excitement as she whispered in her ear.
“Ying Ying, look! Besides being a bit cold, my cousin is flawless. That face, that build—he’s a living bodhisattva walking the mortal world!”
Qiu Ru Ying’s cheeks warmed. Yet she didn’t look at Lin Qing Xuan. Instead, she glanced at the flustered Xiao Man and spoke softly.
“If he can guide me through the difficult parts of the Surangama Sutra, that would truly be a blessing.”
Up in the rafters, a fluffy head peeked out.
The moment Tuan Tuan recognized that iceberg face, it yanked itself back like it had been burned.
[I’m gone, I’m gone! That Buddhist Scion’s aura is terrifying. If he catches me, I’m locked up again… I’ll come down to cause trouble after he leaves!]
Only Wang Yao looked perfectly at ease. She cracked a melon seed with a neat snap and watched with delighted interest.
Eldest Cousin’s ruin-a-kingdom face paired with a roomful of spring hearts—what a splendid show.
Xiao Man, forced into the spotlight, couldn’t help thinking: [Some people are born to be the center of the world. Even without spotlights in this era, it doesn’t matter. He blinds everyone anyway.]
Lin Qing Xuan ignored the room’s collective flutter. He first saluted his mother and second aunt with impeccable propriety, then looked to the First Madam.
“Mother wishes me to explain scripture here, for these young ladies?”
The Second Madam nearly choked.
That was it. Finished. Completely finished.
Lecturing scripture to a roomful of marriageable noble ladies—this carefully arranged viewing was about to turn to ash.
And then Qiu Ru Ying raised her hand.
Under stunned gazes, she rose, calm and composed.
“Buddhist Scion Yuan Jue, I truly have something I don’t understand.”
Her voice was clear—neither timid nor brazen.
“In volumes nine and ten of the Surangama Sutra, it speaks of the ‘fifty yin demons.’ What is a yin demon? And why are there exactly fifty?”
A ripple crossed the hall.
For the first time, Lin Qing Xuan’s expression shifted—just slightly, a hint of surprise.
He signaled for a chair. A servant hurried to bring it, and he sat with quiet ease. The cold distance around him settled into something deeper, steadier—solemn as a mountain.
He spoke, his voice clean and carrying.
“The yin demons are not external monsters. They are inner delusions, born when a cultivator is obscured by the five aggregates—form, feeling, perception, volition, and consciousness—so the mind’s original clarity is covered.”
“Each aggregate has ten deviations of mind. Clinging to visions of Ming Zhi light, craving the pleasure of stillness, mistaking supernatural signs for realization… five times ten. Together, they become fifty.”
He paused, then offered a simple image.
“Imagine wearing tinted lenses. What you see is no longer the object’s true color. The five aggregates are the filter all beings are born with, and those demonic states are distortions produced by that filter.”
Qiu Ru Ying listened, eyes bright with earnest hunger, and asked again—respectful, unafraid.
“Then when the sutra says, ‘Awaken to delusion and delusion ends; awaken does not give birth to delusion’—how does one apply that in cultivation?”
Lin Qing Xuan nodded, patient.
“‘Awaken to delusion’ means that when a false state appears, you recognize it at once for what it is—an illusion arising from the five aggregates. If, while meditating, you suddenly see Buddha-light filling the world, heavenly maidens scattering flowers, you must understand: this is a phantom born of perception, not truth.”
“‘Delusion ends’ means you neither chase it nor crush it. Thoughts are like clouds—they drift in, they drift out. The sky remains.”
“And ‘awaken does not give birth to delusion’ means maintaining that awareness at all times. Keep the mind like a bright mirror. Then false states cannot take root—like sunlight on the earth, leaving no place for darkness to cling.”
At last he added, almost casually:
“If strange signs arise in meditation, silently recite the Surangama mantra-heart: ‘om a na li pi she ti.’ Take neither, reject neither. Do not invite, do not resist. Pass through.”
The exchange was clear, orderly, strangely compelling.
The Second Madam nodded so hard she nearly looked devout.
Lin Yu Ning, on the other hand, was already bored to death, eyelids drooping.
Sun Qian Qian stared as if someone had cracked her skull open and poured in a new world.
And Zhao Lü Liu—Zhao Lü Liu had turned her handkerchief into a canvas, secretly tracing the Buddhist Scion’s calm profile with a dab of brow powder.
The Second Madam grabbed the First Madam’s sleeve, voice shaking with excitement.
“Sister-in-law—look! Isn’t Miss Qiu far superior? This is heaven-sent!”
The First Madam’s smile deepened. The more she looked at Qiu Ru Ying, the more satisfied she became—like a mother-in-law already measuring a bride’s place at her table.
Xiao Man stood aside like scenery, expression smooth, mind boiling.