Shen Zhou accompanied Wen Ning to Bodhi Temple.
The temple was bustling with incense offerings, worshippers coming and going in endless streams.
Following Duchess Xu’s instructions, Wen Ning donated incense money. Then, on a sudden impulse, she wanted to explore the temple.
The scenery inside was solemn and unique. Being there calmed the heart, bringing a sense of peace.
The abbot told Wen Ning that in the Hall of Merit, there was a “wish register,” where worshippers could record their deepest desires. These would be offered before the gods, in hopes that one day their wishes might come true.
Shen Zhou perked up at this, insisting on taking Wen Ning to the Hall of Merit.
As Wen Ning stepped through the doors, memories from her past life surged back. She remembered kneeling before the gods, sincerely praying that Song Yan would succeed, his name shining on the imperial list. Ironically, her prayers had all been answered. Yet in the end, Song Yan had taken her life. Now, she wished only for peace in this life and stability for the nation. Everything else no longer concerned her.
She saw Shen Zhou’s back turned, writing carefully, stroke by stroke, with unusual solemnity. He was cautious, not only writing earnestly but also lingering, afraid someone might see, before finally offering the register back.
Wen Ning thought to herself: Who would have guessed? Shen Zhou, usually carefree and radiant, lacking nothing, also had something he longed for but could not obtain. Curious, she asked, “What did you wish for?”
Caught off guard, Shen Zhou flushed faintly, his handsome face tinged with red, his bright eyes fixed on her. “Do you want to know?”
Before Wen Ning could nod, he said arrogantly, “Not telling you.”
Wen Ning was stunned. His behavior was exactly like that of a three-year-old child—so childish!
Shen Zhou knelt on the prayer mat and solemnly bowed three times.
As they left, Shen Zhou suddenly spoke. “I’ve been having a recurring dream lately. In it, there’s a young woman dressed like a married lady. She stands with her back to me beneath the Bodhi tree. I can’t see her face. She just stands there silently, never speaking.”
Wen Ning stopped in her tracks, puzzled. “Is this from a newly published storybook?”
Wen Ning loved reading storybooks. Shen Zhou often had attendants collect the latest popular tales from the capital, and when he was in a good mood, he would sometimes read them aloud to her.
It wasn’t that Wen Ning couldn’t read. But Shen Zhou’s voice was deep and magnetic, gentle yet cool, like jade shattering—beautiful to hear.
At night, with moonlight spilling like water, the lamp glowing faintly, their shadows stretched long across the room. Wen Ning would pick out a storybook and coax him to read to her.
At first, Shen Zhou refused. But when the little girl pleaded softly, he found he simply couldn’t resist.
Just like now—this strange dream he’d been having, with the faceless woman beneath the Bodhi tree. Every time he dreamed of her, an inexplicable pain tore at his heart. It was his inner demon. Yet facing Wen Ning, he hid nothing, telling her openly.
Wen Ning analyzed seriously: “Heir, the woman in your dream is most likely Qiao Yanxin.”
After all, in his past life, he had loved Qiao Yanxin so deeply.
Shen Zhou’s reply was firm, resolute: “Impossible!”
Wen Ning pressed: “Why is it impossible? You grew up with her. Who else could it be?”
Shen Zhou declared with certainty: “I said impossible, so it is impossible. I know my own heart best.” At that, he didn’t know whether he was angry at himself or at Wen Ning. Without looking back, he strode away.
Wen Ning watched his retreating figure for a moment. Well then!
Some people were so handsome that even their angry backs looked good. She gathered her skirts and ran after him in quick little steps.
Shen Zhou knew Wen Ning was following behind. Though annoyed, he slowed his pace to wait for her. But after a while, he realized the little girl hadn’t caught up. Panic flickered—had she gotten lost again?
He sighed and turned back to look for her. The moment he did, he saw her standing at the temple gate, dimples showing as she smiled, speaking with a young man. Instantly, anger flared. He strode quickly toward them.
Shen Zhou pulled Wen Ning protectively behind him, silently fixing his gaze on the man opposite.
His features were naturally cool, and as the scion of a noble family, he carried an innate air of dignity—an aloofness that made others instinctively keep their distance.
Shen Zhou’s face was stern until he felt a gentle tug at his sleeve. The one holding his robe was Wen Ning. She whispered softly, “Heir, don’t be rash. He’s my uncle.”
Shen Zhou froze.
The man before him looked only a few years older than Wen Ning. But on closer inspection, his brows and eyes did bear some resemblance to hers.
Shen Zhou spoke with difficulty, “Uncle?”
Xu Yuan answered cheerfully, “Ah! Son-in-law.”
Shen Zhou’s feelings were complicated.
Xu Yuan was Wen Ning’s maternal uncle, more than ten years younger than her mother.
When the family was poor, Wen Ning’s mother had married Wen Zheng as a concubine, just to care for her young brother. Later, when Wen Ning’s mother passed away, the still-youthful Xu Yuan had to shoulder the burden of supporting the family. He had no special skills, nor was he well-read. With no other choice, he turned to trade. In those times, merchants ranked lowest among the four classes and were despised by society.
Even Duchess Xu, with her formidable abilities, only gained recognition after becoming an imperial merchant.
Xu Yuan was different. Though a merchant, he was of the humblest kind, often traveling between the Chen Dynasty and other states to resell goods.
In Wen Ning’s past life, Song Yan often used this as leverage, slandering Xu Yuan.
Wen Ning bitterly regretted that she had foolishly believed Song Yan’s words, truly distancing herself from her uncle, her only blood relative in the world. Though Wen Ning deliberately kept her distance, Xu Yuan pretended not to notice, always sending her money.
The Song family was impoverished, and studying required endless expenses. Song Yan did not pass the exams on his first attempt; he failed several times. Each time he failed, Wen Ning would hire famous teachers and buy him books.
Song Yan, concerned with appearances, often went drinking with classmates at restaurants, spending large sums. He used studying as an excuse, doing nothing else, let alone supporting the family. Even Wen Ning’s dowry could not sustain them for long. Fortunately, Xu Yuan frequently sent them silver.
But the Song family was all ingrates. They spent Xu Yuan’s money, yet whenever he came, they never gave him a kind look. Later, when Song Yan finally ranked first in the imperial exams, Madam Song became even more shameless.
Right in front of Xu Yuan and Wen Ning, she slandered their relationship: “What kind of shady uncle is this? Isn’t he just a lover?”
Xu Yuan, furious, rolled up his sleeves, ready to strike. He had traveled far and wide, seen all kinds of people. The saying “a good man doesn’t fight women” meant nothing to him. That old hag dared to bully his niece—he would tear her mouth apart. Just as he grabbed the old woman’s hair, Wen Ning cried and begged him to leave.
Xu Yuan froze. He hadn’t expected Wen Ning to be so foolish. The Song family was clearly a pit of fire. He wanted to take Wen Ning away—surely the vast world had room for uncle and niece to live.
But Wen Ning firmly refused him, nearly driving him mad with rage. Before leaving, he didn’t forget to slap that old hag several times.
“Hmph! That’ll teach her to keep her filthy mouth shut!”
No one imagined that this quarrel, ending in bitterness, would become Wen Ning and Xu Yuan’s last meeting.