Chapter 23: Master, Isn't Grandfather Dashing?

Chapter Title: 023 Master, Am I Handsome?

Back quarters of Fahua Temple.

Steam rising from the bath barrel, the aroma of braised pork filling the air.

Fang Rulai lounged against the edge of the barrel, chewing on braised pork, a smug grin on her face. “Braised pork only tastes good when you actually eat it! Tsk tsk, adding arsenic as seasoning? Just smelling it is enough to turn my stomach—only a fool would eat it! Hmph, trying to trick me? Idiot!”

“You really didn’t eat any of it?” Jietang, keeping watch outside for Fang Rulai, felt a lingering fear. “The braised pork was poisoned, but what about the other dishes? Are you sure the rest weren’t tampered with?”

“Relax. Do you think my powers are for show? I carefully sensed each plate before eating. And honestly, the dishes were quite good. I was going to bring some back for you all, but then that big yellow dog showed up!” Fang Rulai punched the water in frustration. “It better not cross my path again! Otherwise, I’ll hang it above the braised pork, let it watch but not eat, torment it with hunger!”

“Alright, what’s the point in competing with a dog now?” Jietang remembered Fang Rulai returning in women’s clothes. “Do you really think that by ruining the reputation of the Daoist temple, Fahua Temple will regain its place in the public eye?”

“Of course! You know the old abbot mentioned more than once that in previous dynasties, even before that, Fahua Temple was the imperial temple. It was only because some Daoist boasted about making an elixir of immortality that the emperor’s attention shifted, and the temple’s status rose.” Fang Rulai chewed her pork with determination in her eyes. “So, I believe, if the Daoist temple’s reputation falls, Fahua Temple will shine once more.”

“Even so, isn’t it too risky for you to expose your true identity?” Jietang worried that the secret of Fang Rulai’s daughterhood might leak.

“It’s absolutely worth it! You see how the Daoist temple at the mountain’s front grows stronger every day. If we do nothing, we might not even have food soon. Besides,” Fang Rulai snorted coldly, “he’s put my life in danger again and again. If I don’t fight back, you might be waiting for my corpse instead.”

Jietang jumped in shock. “What? You mean the mastermind behind the assassins is from the Daoist temple?”

“I’m afraid it’s more than that.” Fang Rulai set aside the pork, her gaze darkening. She recalled the noble figure of Master Ke, the twisted demon who showed her the imperial brush, her own senses of the former emperor and a certain consort’s conversation, and rumors about Kong Kongzi, the former head of Qitian Daoist Temple trusted by the late emperor and the crown prince.

She thought, if she was right, Qitian Daoist Temple’s ultimate patron was the current crown prince, and the Ke master who saved her two nights ago must be the second, sickly prince, one of only two sons of the late emperor.

Was she now entangled in the imperial power struggle?

“Who else could it be?” Sensing the silence inside, Jietang pressed for an answer.

Fang Rulai clenched her fists—she couldn’t say. The less one knows about imperial succession, the safer. She changed the subject. “I heard the temple’s been getting more visitors recently?”

She hadn’t been completely forthcoming as she was during her first attack, hinting that the powers behind the scenes were immense. Jietang made a mental note to investigate later and followed her lead, “Yes, your thousand kowtows had some effect. People have started coming to offer incense these days. By the way, Mu Zhijun, the head of Chuguan Pavilion in the city, said that following your advice brought him a dream of the Buddha…”

“Mu Zhijun… Mu Zhijin?” Fang Rulai paused, meaning he was alive?

“Yes, that’s him. He’s telling people he’s closing for a month to renovate as instructed by the Buddha.”

Fang Rulai saw through it—most likely he was recovering from injury.

Thinking of Mu Zhijin brought Zhu Xishi to mind, and Jietang asked, “Where’s Zhu Xishi? You said she was with Mu Zhijin when you left, but you haven’t mentioned her since you got back.”

Fang Rulai only mentioned teaming up with Guan Shiyin to discredit the Daoist temple, omitting the ambush with Mu Zhijin on the mountainside. As such, Jietang didn’t know she hadn’t yet seen Zhu Xishi.

As Fang Rulai considered how to gloss over this, suddenly came the sound of “clatter, clatter.”

Their defense mechanism had been triggered.

An attack!

Fang Rulai sprang up, grabbed her monk’s robe, and dashed outside. “Come, let’s see!”

At the back wall, the first arrivals, including Jierou, were gathered in a circle around something.

Hearing Fang Rulai’s footsteps, Jierou turned first, complaining, “Abbot, you lied! This blood pudding isn’t edible!” It was made entirely of human blood.

Fang Rulai smiled awkwardly, about to comfort him, when a voice spoke before her, “Want blood pudding? Come to the Guan residence tomorrow, eat as much as you like!”

That was Guan Shiyin!

Why was he here?

Fang Rulai’s confusion quickened her steps. She strode to the trench, leaned over, and was stunned.

Jierou and Jietang’s efforts had created a trench over two men high, now crowded with bodies. All lay prone, dressed in black, faces masked, but each bore a vivid slash of crimson at the neck—a shocking sight.

Fang Rulai felt she ought to jump down and unveil the masks of each corpse, to see who they were.

But no matter how she commanded herself, she couldn’t move. Because, upon seeing the lone figure standing among the black-clad corpses, her mind went blank.

The one standing—Guan Shiyin.

Dressed in dazzling purple: purple headband, purple collar, purple sash, purple boots. He looked like a string of grape hyacinths, his brilliance accentuated by the dull gray trench and the black corpses.

Fang Rulai thought, damn, so flamboyant and gaudy—not her type at all. Yet she couldn’t look away.

The purple headband framed jet-black hair, beneath the collar a firm chest, the sash outlining a perfect curve, the boots revealing long, taut legs.

He was nothing like the over-the-top demon she’d seen in wedding robes last time. Now, every inch radiated masculine strength.

Seeing Fang Rulai’s unmoving gaze, Guan Shiyin flicked his hand and hair, turned forty-five degrees, and sent her a seductive glance. “Master, am I handsome? Compared to that flower-obsessed Mu Zhijin or the sickly Ke, am I not the most dashing?”

Thanks to dear zengfengzhu and Stinky Egg Haha for the flowers—Qingye is truly grateful.

Thank you to dear Chao Jinlu Kui, chenqing2008, and Sunflower Bloom for the suggestions—Qingye chose the nickname “Flower-Obsessed Mu” to match “Guan the Fool.”

Thanks to dear 2568751845 and 13916714944 for their valuable feedback. Qingye will strive to improve.

Thanks to Hongyi for the careful annotations; everyone’s nicknames are noted, but the full IDs seem more formal for acknowledgments.

Finally, thanks to all who have bookmarked and commented—your support is Qingye’s greatest reward! Qingye is working hard!

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