A faint trace of sandalwood still lingered in Master Kongwen’s meditation room when they returned. The old cushions were quiet; the only sound was the soft scrape of sandalwood smoke curling toward the rafters.
Hearing them, the monk, seated on his meditation cushion, opened his eyes. His gaze swept over Madam Mo and Yuanbao, then softened into a warm smile.
“Amitabha. I heard birds singing of good news this morning—seems today we have honored guests. Please, sit.”
Madam Mo flushed with embarrassment and returned his smile. “Sorry to disturb your practice, Master. I feel uneasy coming several times, but I had no choice. Something strange has been happening to my daughter these past days—something no ordinary person should face. I feared only you could help.”
“Oh?” Master Kongwen’s curiosity was piqued. He looked again at Yuanbao. “Little one, have you encountered some kind of...fortune?”
The word “fortune” made Yuanbao start. She lowered her head to avoid the monk’s eyes.
Madam Mo, however, unaware of her daughter’s private thoughts, assumed they’d come to the right place. She turned to Yuanbao. “Yuanbao, tell Master Kongwen again everything you can see.”
Yuanbao hugged her sleeve and quietly told the monk about her ability to “read qi” with her eyes.
“I can see a faint golden light around Master Kongwen,” she added, trying to sound helpful. “It must mean your Dharma is deep and your merits great.”
Though the monk kept his composure, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. Madam Mo’s heart leapt; she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Master, will my daughter’s eyes ever return to normal?”
“Amitabha.” The monk steadied himself with a quiet chant before speaking slowly. “Little benefactor, what you have are not simple eyes. They are a celestial eye—something people cannot call forth by their own will. With such sight you can see fortunes, read life’s fortunes and fates. In time, people will flock to you.”
Madam Mo’s concern wasn’t for how impressive it would make her daughter. She only wanted to know why this had happened. Her voice trembled. “But how could she—suddenly—gain such a thing? Will it harm her lifespan? Will it bring misfortune—will it—”
Her voice broke. Mother and daughter shared a painful silence. Yuanbao felt guilty; she regretted telling her mother about her eyes, having only increased her worry.
Master Kongwen looked at them both and said, “I believe this came from your daughter’s wandering soul finding a chance while it drifted. Such things happen when a soul ventures beyond.”
Yuanbao’s breath caught. The old monk’s explanation matched what Xiao Ba had said earlier—he wasn’t as ordinary as he appeared.
Hearing that her daughter’s soul had been involved only made Madam Mo more fearful. “Fortune and misfortune are twins,” she said. “In this world, such a gift can draw danger. I beg you, Master—help her. I only wish for my daughter to live a safe, long life.”
Master Kongwen sighed. “There is a way to close those eyes. But that sight is bound up with her soul. If you force it away you may damage her spirit and she could return to the dullness she once had. Even so, Mo Madam—do you want me to try?”
To harm her daughter’s soul? The question made Madam Mo hesitate. She looked at Yuanbao’s clear, bright eyes and felt a bitter resistance. The girl had just regained something that made her clever and alive—Madam Mo could not bear the thought of losing it and seeing that light go out from her daughter’s face.
Seeing her mother’s anguish, Yuanbao squeezed Madam Mo’s hand and tried to comfort her in a small, steady voice. “Mother, don’t worry. If Yuanbao keeps quiet, nobody will know.”
Madam Mo’s throat trembled. “Master, truly, there is no other way?”
Master Kongwen considered for a moment. “It’s not without other options.”
Madam Mo’s face brightened at once. “Oh? What else?”
Yuanbao pricked up her ears.
“Apprenticeship,” Master Kongwen said. “Find a master powerful enough to shelter her for life—one whom no one dares to touch. That would solve the matter.”
So simple? Madam Mo faltered. “But you are a venerable monk—”
“Kindhearted words, but destiny matters.” Master Kongwen smiled faintly. “I and little one have no master-disciple bond, nor am I strong enough to fully protect her. Mo Madam, you must seek a greater master.”
Madam Mo’s hopes dimmed to confusion. “But the world is vast—where would we find such a person, one who also has the right affinity with my daughter?”
“Your daughter is blessed. Fate will point the way. If your heart is sincere, the one you need will appear soon.”
At this, something stirred in Yuanbao. She looked up at Master Kongwen and caught a trace of amusement in his eyes. Her ears warmed; she tightened her grip on her sleeve.
The matter remained unresolved, and Madam Mo could not help feeling disappointed as they took their leave. They descended the monastery steps together, the sandalwood scent drifting behind them.
No sooner had they gone than Master Kongwen called toward the doorway, “Cang, since you’ve come, why not step inside and finish the last game with me?”
A tall figure pushed open the meditation room door and stepped in. Master Kongwen paused at the sight—Cang Xuan’s face looked unfamiliar, a mask or a new guise—but he smiled and gestured, “Cang, please sit.”
Cang Xuan settled onto a cushion beside him, poured himself a cup of tea from the low table and said wryly, “Master, your hearing is as sharp as ever.”
“Cang came for the Huangxing?” Master Kongwen asked plainly.
Cang’s hand stilled. He feigned casualness. “Were all your words to me spoken sincerely, Master?”
“If his ability rivals mine, he can tell for himself,” the monk replied.
A flush of irritation rose in Cang Xuan. He had not expected Madam Mo to come to Foxing Temple for her daughter, nor that the child would have another strange change. A celestial eye—an opportunity even he could not obtain—had landed on her. That it slipped beyond his control left him with an inexplicable unease.