The wind blew gently; the ice and snow accumulated through the winter had long since melted, turning into gurgling streams that nourished the yellow-brown soil.
Song Xizhi left the small pavilion in the lake and walked for a distance. After passing through a stretch of deep green woods, his vision suddenly opened up. Looking out, he saw the lush green grass growing in clusters, thriving and spreading wantonly with the power of the spring breeze—utterly without restraint.
He spotted Qiu Tong in the distance, coughed once, and called her over.
Seeing Song Xizhi return, Qiu Tong immediately stopped joking with the young monk and walked toward him. Noticing Song Xizhi’s pale face and weak, listless appearance, she whispered, “The sun is about to set; we must get back before the city gates close. Yunxun Temple is built in the suburbs and is quite far. It will take a long time by carriage.”
She’s just annoyed that my health is poor and I’m slow, Song Xizhi thought, glancing at her.
Qiu Tong felt slightly uncomfortable and instinctively shifted her gaze away, lowering her head.
As Song Xizhi boarded the carriage, he remarked faintly, “That little Master just now was quite fair-featured; his looks are rather good.”
Qiu Tong’s heart jumped. A row of fine needles slid into her hand as she said with a smile, “This maid was only curious to see someone so young leave home to become a monk, so I asked a few questions. As for his looks, I am dull-witted and didn’t notice.”
Song Xizhi picked up a piece of osmanthus cake and popped it into his mouth. The soft, waxy fragrance of osmanthus immediately filled his mouth as he gave a muffled hum in response.
Qiu Tong leaned her body in, listening intently.
“The little monk is indeed decent-looking, it’s just that his head… is too bald. It’s a bit of an eyesore.” Song Xizhi set down the cake and took out a handkerchief to wipe the crumbs from the corner of his mouth. In short, it was a “bald aesthetic” he simply could not appreciate.
Leng Huaping burst into laughter, her eyes narrowing into crescent moons.
Hearing the ringing laughter from outside the carriage, Song Xizhi pressed a hand to his forehead, leaned back to relax, and let out a soft sigh. “Ah, baldness—the eternal pain of men.”
Thud! The horse let out a sharp neigh and collapsed to the ground. Song Xizhi grabbed onto the side with his right hand to steady his center of gravity.
Shing! Shing! Shing!
Long swords were unsheathed. A group of masked men formed a circle around the carriage, surrounding it so tightly that not even a drop of water could leak through.
“Who goes there?” Qiu Tong shouted sharply.