Chapter 52
Chapter 52: Broke the Precepts? One Question Stunned the Whole Hall!
Qiu Ru Ying’s eyes burned with the pure fire of curiosity.
She ignored the dazed, sleepy faces around her, bowed again, and spoke with sincere devotion.
“Buddhist Scion, your words have opened my understanding.”
“I have one more question. The sutra says, ‘When the mind arises, all dharmas arise; when the mind ceases, all dharmas cease.’ What is the relationship between mind and dharma? Does the mind create all dharmas, or do dharmas exist outside the mind?”
The question soared so high it made several young ladies visibly surrender.
They exchanged glances and mouthed silent complaints.
What is she saying?
I don’t understand, but it sounds terrifyingly impressive.
I’m going to fall asleep…
Lin Qing Xuan’s gaze rested on Qiu Ru Ying’s face—calm, deep, unreadable.
“No dharma exists outside the mind,” he said, “and no mind exists outside dharma.”
His voice was cool, yet it carried straight through the room.
“All things are reflections in the mind. This hall, these people—within my mind, they are one scene. Within Miss Qiu’s mind, they are another.”
As he spoke, his eyes slid—unbidden—toward Xiao Man in the corner, head bowed, quiet as a shadow.
“The same event can be joy to one person and grief to another, because each mind projects a different dharma. Cultivation is polishing the mind-mirror until it no longer gathers dust—until it reflects the true form of things, not warped shadows.”
The First Madam didn’t understand the mystic depths, but she understood the shape of it.
Back and forth. Question and answer. Perfect rhythm.
She cleared her throat, pride bright on her face, and spoke loudly enough for the entire room to hear.
“Miss Qiu is truly brilliant, with deep spiritual talent. With my son Qing Xuan, she can be called… a fellow Daoist.”
She drew out fellow Daoist with a meaning that was anything but innocent.
This wasn’t praise. It was a claim.
Lin Yu Jiao nearly burst with joy. She looked ready to rush forward and shove Qiu Ru Ying’s hand into Lin Qing Xuan’s right then and there.
Qiu Ru Ying’s cheeks flushed. Her lashes trembled as she lowered her gaze, caught between embarrassment and the strange thrill of being seen.
The room hovered on the edge of something like a ceremony.
And then—
Inside Zhao Lü Liu’s head, Tuan Tuan chose its moment and shoved a command down like a firecracker.
Now. Stir it up. Tease that heavenly Buddhist Scion. Make him crack.
Zhao Lü Liu sprang to her feet, waving her handkerchief, eyes shining with unfiltered excitement.
“Good Buddhist Scion!”
The First Madam’s brows snapped together. Her heart sank.
Good Buddhist Scion?
Zhao Lü Liu—supposedly proper—had just called her son that?
But Zhao Lü Liu was already swept away, too thrilled to notice the First Madam’s murderous stare. She beamed at Lin Qing Xuan as if she were doing the room a favor.
“I don’t understand the lofty stuff. I want to ask something practical!”
Then she spoke, and the hall detonated.
“Good Buddhist Scion, you’re like an immortal. If one day you return to lay life, take a wife, and enter the bridal chamber… on that long night, will you chant scripture with madam, or perform the rites every mortal performs?”
Silence slammed down.
Sun Qian Qian’s mouth fell open. The melon seed in her fingers slipped, forgotten.
Qian Shuang’s face turned so red it looked painful. She wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
Lin Yu Jiao went white with rage, pointing with a shaking hand.
“Y-you… what nonsense are you spouting?!”
Qiu Ru Ying’s face shifted like a storm—red to white, white to a sickly green. She clenched her fan so hard her knuckles blanched.
It felt like being slapped in front of everyone.
A cup crashed.
The Second Madam’s teacup slipped, hit the floor, and shattered.
The First Madam’s expression went dark—utterly dark.
So this was the “gentle and proper” young lady the matchmaker had promised her?
Lies. All lies.
In the corner, Xiao Man whistled quietly in her heart. [Well. That escalated.]
Every gaze swung to Lin Qing Xuan.
Curiosity. Anticipation. A little gleeful malice.
Everyone waited for the crack.
Embarrassment?
Anger?
A sharp rebuke?
Lin Qing Xuan’s face didn’t change at all.
He didn’t even glance at Zhao Lü Liu again. He lowered his lashes and said, in the same calm voice, four words that fell like judgment.
“Miss, you’re attached to form.”
Light as air.
Sharper than a blade.
Zhao Lü Liu’s face flushed a violent, ugly red. All her thrill died at once, leaving only humiliation, her mouth opening and closing without sound.
And Tuan Tuan—Tuan Tuan fled the instant Lin Qing Xuan spoke, vanishing like a thief who’d done its job and wanted no consequences.
Lin Qing Xuan rose.
He offered the First Madam a small, perfectly proper nod.
“Mother. The lecture is finished.”
“If there is nothing else, Qing Xuan takes his leave.”
He turned and walked out, unhurried, the hem of his moon-white robe slicing a clean arc through the air—cold, decisive, final.
The First Madam trembled with rage. Her nails bit into her palm, pain blooming, but she couldn’t force a word past her teeth.
Lin Qing Xuan was almost at the doorway when he paused.
He turned his head slightly, voice quiet yet clear enough to cut through the ruin behind him.
“Xiao Man.”
“Come back with me.”
Xiao Man followed him out, leaving the hall’s chaos and stares behind like smoke.
In the study of the Auspicious Cloud Residence, ink lingered in the air—faint and clean.
Lin Qing Xuan stopped at the desk, then turned to her.
“If you don’t want to go, then don’t. There is no need to mind them.”
Xiao Man’s mind raced through a dozen obedient excuses. She parted her lips, ready to talk about duty, low status, not daring to disobey—
Before she could, Lin Qing Xuan cut her off.
He looked at her steadily. For the first time, something sharp and unmistakable surfaced in his eyes.
“You are not a slave.”
He spoke each word clearly, as if carving it into stone.
“You are mine—Lin Qing Xuan’s.”
“If you don’t like it, say so boldly.”