Chapter 45: Vitality Has Arrived

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At this moment, Lang Jiuchuan and Shen Qinghe, whose names were often mentioned together, sat facing each other in the study of the Zhao family. Zhao Kun sipped his tea and looked at Shen Qinghe. “These past few days have been hectic. After sending father off, the funeral affairs are finally settled. Only now do I have the leisure to speak with you.”

Shen Qinghe held his teacup and replied, “The teacher’s passing was sudden and unexpected. Fortunately, he departed peacefully, without regrets.”

Zhao Kun fiddled with the teacup lid, lightly scraping it as he said, “To be honest with you, father’s passing was peaceful but not entirely sudden.”

Shen Qinghe was taken aback. What did he mean by that?

Zhao Kun set down his teacup. “The reason I invited you here is because of what the Ninth Miss of the Lang family said to you today—those rather unpleasant words.”

Shen Qinghe’s surprise deepened. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Brother Qining, do you also think that young lady was overly arrogant and sharp-tongued?”

Zhao Kun shook his head with a smile. “That girl’s words, indeed, show little regard for others.”

Shen Qinghe was puzzled. Was that praise or criticism?

“Brother, she certainly has a biting tongue, but she also has something uncanny... well, a bit of a supernatural gift.”

Shen Qinghe was utterly confused. Had all the recent turmoil rattled his mind so much that his usually clear and agile intellect suddenly failed to grasp what Zhao Kun was saying?

Seeing his confusion, Zhao Kun adopted a serious tone. “What I mean is, don’t dismiss her words lightly.”

Hmm, he hadn’t planned to take them to heart anyway, but should he not?

Shen Qinghe frowned. “Brother Qining, could you be more straightforward?”

“In fact, she saw clearly that father’s time was near and spoke of it openly,” Zhao Kun said without going into details. After all, every family harbors secrets not meant for outsiders, and no matter how close they are, not everything can be shared.

Especially since father once risked the family’s misfortune to preserve a lineage that should have been lost. Shen Qinghe was trustworthy and upright, but as the saying goes, only the dead keep secrets. Why burden more people with such knowledge?

Thus, Zhao Kun only mentioned that Lang Jiuchuan had foreseen the patriarch’s approaching end and that she would perceive unusual things.

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“Better to believe it might be true than dismiss it outright. I was surprised she came here today, and even more so that she came straight to you. I fear she truly knows something,” Zhao Kun continued. “Peng’er has grown up under my watch, and father was fond of him too. Naturally, we don’t want him to suffer. Now that his condition shows no improvement, that path seems closed. If one road is blocked, we must try another—even if it means bruising ourselves in the attempt. Though risky, it might be the way to survival.”

Shen Qinghe clenched his fists resting on his lap, lips pressed tightly. “So there’s more to this. I found it strange that the girl, whom I’ve never met, would come directly to me, spouting nonsense and openly mentioning Peng’er’s condition. If she wishes to help him, what does she want in return?”

Zhao Kun tapped the table lightly. “Only she knows. If it’s within reason, and for Peng’er’s sake, why not comply?”

Shen Qinghe had two children. His eldest daughter was already married, but he had only one son. His marriage was harmonious, with no concubines or secondary wives. If something happened, the blow would be unbearable.

“Brother, truly extraordinary people exist only among the Xuan clan; they just dare not reveal themselves,” Zhao Kun said with a meaningful look.

Shen Qinghe’s expression stiffened, deep in thought.

Leaving the Zhao residence, Shen Qinghe glanced at the sky and went straight to Ci’en Temple. Amid the watchful eyes of many servants, he entered the meditation hall where his son stayed.

Madam Shen was inside. Seeing him enter, she came forward, noting his weary face and handing him a bowl of soup. “You were already exhausted from sending off Master Zhao today. There was no need to come here as well.”

“I came to see Peng’er. Is he any better?”

At those words, Madam Shen’s eyes welled with tears. She shook her head slightly and wiped her tears with a handkerchief. “He just fell asleep. You should go see him.”

Shen Qinghe’s face darkened as he gently patted her shoulder and walked toward the bedroom.

Inside, a calming incense burned faintly. Under the orange lamplight, wisps of smoke drifted softly. On the wall hung the six-syllable mantra and an image of the Medicine King Bodhisattva. A talisman for safety was tied at both the head and foot of the bed.

On the narrow bed lay a thin young man, no older than sixteen or seventeen. His cheeks were sunken, his face pale, with dark circles under his eyes, looking weak and listless. Thick quilts covered him, his chest barely rising and falling.

Compared to a few days ago, he seemed even weaker.

Shen Qinghe’s heart tightened. Unconsciously, he stepped back, away from his son.

Madam Shen was shocked. “Master?”

What was wrong with him? Was he not recognizing his own son? Why did he wear such a frightened expression as if seeing a ghost?

Shen Qinghe clenched his hands, his throat making a dry sound. In a hoarse voice, he said, “I’m going to speak with the abbot. Please watch over him.”

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Madam Shen saw his hurried steps and felt some resentment but said nothing. Turning to look at their son’s frail form, her heart ached deeply, tears streaming down uncontrollably.

She hurried to the Medicine King Bodhisattva statue, took three incense sticks and pressed them to her forehead. She bowed reverently three times, placed the incense in the burner, then knelt, murmuring, “Bodhisattva above, if you can protect my son’s safety, I vow to sacrifice ten years of my life. Amitabha.”

The incense smoke rose faintly, casting a hazy glow on the Bodhisattva’s face.

Braving wind and snow, Shen Qinghe arrived at the Great Hero Hall of Ci’en Temple. Abbot Jingci was waiting inside. Shen Qinghe pressed his palms together in a Buddhist gesture, offered no greetings, and got straight to the point.

“Venerable Abbot, my son’s life has been harmed by malevolent energy. Is it because of me?”

“Amitabha,” Abbot Jingci bowed slightly, chanting a Buddhist phrase. “Mr. Shen, do not burden yourself so. Everything has cause and effect, and karma cycles through rebirth. Your heart is righteous and compassionate. The world will repay accordingly.”

Shen Qinghe’s heart sank. Was this truly so?

“Venerable Abbot, is there hope for my son?”

Abbot Jingci lit three incense sticks and handed them to him, smiling gently. “Young Master Shen, life force has arrived.”

Shen Qinghe trembled all over, staring intently at him. After a smile and a slight nod, the abbot left.

Boom.

Deep within the temple, a solemn, prolonged bell toll resounded.

Shen Qinghe regained his composure. He lifted his head. The towering Buddha, shrouded by sandalwood smoke, appeared ever more compassionate. His half-closed eyes gazed upon all living things with mercy, vividly alive.

His heart stirred. He pressed his hands together and bowed deeply, having made his decision.