CHAPTER FIVE — LATE‑NIGHT SCOUTING
"Amitābha."
Master Hui Yuan rose with unexpected swiftness for a man of his age, his robes whispering across the floor.
"Return Miss Tang to her chamber," he instructed calmly. "This old monk shall tend to her."
No one dared object. Tang Ke Xin's condition was far too alarming—blood on her lips, her complexion pale as paper. Even the most sceptical among them could not deny that her injuries appeared grave.
Nangong Yi's expression flickered with something uncharacteristically uncertain. Had he misjudged her?
Ye LanJue, by contrast, remained inscrutable. Only the faintest lift of his brow betrayed that he had taken note of the situation, though his eyes—cold, fathomless—revealed nothing.
---
Once they reached her room, Master Hui Yuan closed the door behind them. The quiet settled like a veil.
"Since you have come," he murmured, his voice low and unhurried, "you ought at least to cherish the body you now possess. How could you treat it with such disregard?"
The words were spoken gently, almost absently, yet they struck Tang Ke Xin like a thunderbolt. She stared at him, wide‑eyed.
"Master… what do you know?"
There were only the two of them in the room. His tone, his phrasing—since you have come—was far too pointed to be coincidence. She sensed there was no longer any use in pretending.
Mu Shaoyi's earlier shove had been light. It should not have harmed her. The blood she had spat had been her own doing, and the master had seen through it effortlessly. But what unsettled her most was the implication that he knew she was not the original Tang Ke Xin.
A master was, after all, still a master.
"What I know is of little consequence," he replied with a serene smile. "What matters is what you wish to know."
He placed two fingers upon her wrist. A warm current surged through her body, soothing every ache, every bruise. Even the wound she had inflicted upon herself healed as though it had never existed.
Tang Ke Xin was stunned. His medical skill bordered on the miraculous.
But her mind clung to the deeper meaning behind his words.
"Master," she whispered, "who was the man from last night?"
If she knew his identity, she could prepare—defend herself—perhaps even survive.
Master Hui Yuan's smile deepened, maddeningly mild.
"If you truly wish to know, there are many ways to discover it. You need not ask me."
Her face darkened.
Yes, she could find him—if she dared. But the moment she sought him out, he would discover her first. And then… she shuddered inwardly. That man would not hesitate to tear her apart.
"This master is truly merciful," she said through clenched teeth.
"Indeed," he replied cheerfully. "Many people say so."
Tang Ke Xin nearly choked. Was this truly the demeanour of a revered monk? The legends had lied.
---
"Then may I ask," she said stiffly, "why the master insisted on sending me back to my room?"
"To treat your illness," he answered, his smile softening.
She understood at once. The original Tang Ke Xin had been known as a simpleton. If she suddenly recovered her wits, suspicion would arise. But if Master Hui Yuan were credited with her improvement, everything would appear perfectly natural.
Perhaps the master was reliable after all.
When he finally departed, Dong'er slipped into the room. Her eyes brimmed with questions, yet she wisely held her tongue. Tang Ke Xin found herself appreciating her maid's intelligence more and more.
She spent the next days feigning recovery, conveniently avoiding the Zen Hall. The investigation uncovered nothing, and Sir Lin's death remained an unsolved mystery. Master Hui Yuan's scheduled lecture could not be delayed indefinitely, so the Crown Prince reluctantly ordered the matter set aside.
Dong'er, ever perceptive, relayed the temple's happenings to her in a casual tone.
"Has anyone been secretly investigating?" Tang Ke Xin asked, though she already suspected the answer.
"No, Miss," Dong'er replied, suddenly solemn. "Do you have any instructions?"
Tang Ke Xin's gaze sharpened.
"Do nothing. Make no move at all."
Dong'er nodded without question, though her eyes shone with admiration. Tang Ke Xin knew the truth: the man she had provoked was far too dangerous. Even remaining still might not save her. If he had not found her in the meditation hall, he would surely try again.
She needed to be vigilant.
---
Night deepened. The temple fell silent.
Tang Ke Xin slept—or appeared to.
The door eased open without a whisper. A shadow slipped inside, moving with the silence of a hunting predator.
Though she did not stir, her instincts sharpened instantly. In her previous life she had undergone rigorous training; even the faintest disturbance could rouse her awareness. She kept her breathing steady, her eyelids still, her body relaxed. Any change—no matter how slight—would alert the intruder.
The figure approached her bedside.
Her heart tightened.
A hand reached toward her left shoulder.
In that instant, she understood everything—his identity, his purpose, and the reason he had come.
During the day, in the meditation hall, everyone had been examined. Even a fool would not escape scrutiny. And this man was no fool. He would investigate every detail.
He gently pulled aside the fabric covering her left shoulder. Then he lit a small fire piston, its faint glow illuminating her skin.
Tang Ke Xin exhaled silently, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Her secret—whatever he sought—was now laid bare beneath the trembling light.
And she knew, with chilling certainty, exactly who he was.