A Daughter of the Marquis Household

The woman flew into a rage upon hearing this, realizing that the other person was calling her a tigress. Seeing the two of them at such loggerheads, Qingdu, who was standing to the side, offered some well-intentioned advice: "You two might as well rein it in for a moment. Since you both came to divine your fortunes, you might as well wait until after you draw your lots before arguing. If you keep bickering like this, people will say these lots are utterly worthless."

Zhang Ling stepped back first, playing the spectator watching the commotion from a safe distance, genuinely wondering what kind of earth-shattering fortune this fierce young woman would draw.

The elderly abbot handed the bamboo lot cylinder on the incense altar to the woman. Upon receiving it, she gave it a vigorous shake until a lot dropped to the ground. Picking it up, she read aloud: "Heart like towering cold, the bitter sea is hard to cross."

Handing the wooden lot back to the abbot, she frowned and asked, "Abbot, what is the meaning of this lot?"

After examining it, Qingdu explained, "This lot implies that the young lady indeed has destined romance in your life, but crossing the bitter sea entails quite a long road ahead. However, once you reach the very end, it will open up to a bright and blossoming golden union."

Hearing the interpretation, the woman felt a trace of disappointment, but knowing there was still hope, she lacked the hollow despair of a dead heart and remained as calm as before.

While she was still daydreaming about where to seek her destined match, Zhang Ling laughed bluntly: "Has the young lady still not understood? It means you are proud and lofty, yet your ambitions exceed your abilities while you look down upon ordinary men. As for gentlemen, they all favor graceful and modest ladies; even if you forced a union, it would be nothing more than a fleeting dew-drop romance. Finding a gentleman with something wrong in his head—isn't that as distant and hopeless as can be?"

Fury surged within the woman, who longed to give this sharp-tongued man a severe beating to vent her hatred. She retorted sarcastically, "Whom I seek for a husband is none of your business. I would rather grow old alone than ever compromise. Look at you—those who come to the temple to divine their official careers almost never get a single hit. I advise you to turn back before you go astray."

Zhang Ling chuckled: "Don't trouble yourself on my account, young lady. I never intended to stake my life on a bamboo lot anyway. Destiny and such things are best grasped in one's own hands; I merely came to see if these lots are accurate or not."

The woman handed the lot cylinder to Zhang Ling, snorted, and turned away. Zhang Ling shook the cylinder, but unexpectedly, two lots fell out. Stooping down, he picked them up and read:

"Mountains and rivers like paintings, people like songs; laughing through the myriad states of the mortal world."
"Wielding authority to plan for the people, with upright and uncorrupted public sentiment."

Looking at the wooden lots, Zhang Ling laughed lightly: "Abbot, your divination lots are truly inaccurate. First it says no official post, and then it says soaring career prospects."

Qingdu hurriedly took the wooden lots, wrinkles deepening on his temples, and interposed, "Please, young master, draw another lot."

Helplessly, Zhang Ling continued, and once again, two lots fell out.

"Morning dew and setting sun pass the years; laughing off heroes as mere dust and smoke."
"A single leap to the imperial examinations, joyfully riding the auspicious clouds."

Qingdu frowned tightly and explained, "This is truly strange. In the past, even if two lots were drawn, they should have been roughly consistent. The young master's lots are utterly erratic. Perhaps the young master simply does not believe in Buddhism, and all matters of fate are in one's own hands. If one wishes to divine this, probably only someone proficient in divination could calculate it for the young master. Forgive this old monk for my shallow learning; I cannot perform the arts of heavenly prognostication for the young master."

The woman, who had been pacing back and forth nearby without leaving, overheard this and grew curious. She walked over and asked, "This humble girl didn't quite understand. What on earth does the abbot mean by this? Does this fellow have an official career or not?"

Zhang Ling glanced at her and said petulantly, "Why haven't you left yet, young lady? Do you have to see me make a fool of yourself before you're satisfied?"

The woman laughed brazenly: "That's right, I'm here to see you make a fool of yourself. What can you do about it?"

Qingdu truly wished not to make an enemy of this young woman, but seeing the two of them endlessly bickering, he had no choice but to speak plainly: "This young master is actually already an official, and none other than the Right Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate."

The woman's bright eyes flickered as she asked directly, "You are Zhang Ling?"

Zhang Ling merely smiled without a word. The woman continued, "My name is Hou Siyue, and my late father is Hou An. My dad often mentions you, but look at you—not once have you been to see him in all this time."

Zhang Ling felt a headache coming on. How had he managed to provoke such a tough nut to crack?

He forced a smile and said, "So it is Miss Hou. Please forgive any offense given just now."

Hou Siyue curled the corners of her lips into a cold sneer. "An apology is too late now. Tell me how you're going to compensate me."

Zhang Ling smiled bitterly: "How about I treat you to a meal, and we call it even?"

Hou Siyue shook her head. "I've heard that people from your academy are exceptionally formidable, so fight me."

Zhang Ling looked at the monk Qingdu and said, "Abbot, this is a sacred Buddhist ground. Fighting and making a ruckus shouldn't be allowed here, right?"

Qingdu smiled faintly. "If the two of you can shake hands and make peace afterward, livening things up a bit is quite harmless."

A slight smile touched the corner of Hou Siyue's mouth. Before Zhang Ling could react, she thrust her hand forward preemptively.

Zhang Ling leaned backward and grabbed her wrist with one hand. Seeing this, Hou Siyue raised her leg and kicked directly toward Zhang Ling's groin—how utterly vicious.

Zhang Ling struck out with one palm and pivoted to dodge, leaving Hou Siyue to execute a backward somersault in mid-air. Just as she was about to steady her breath and land, Zhang Ling saw how slow her movement was and seized the opening to rest the hilt of his saber right against her shoulder.

Hou Siyue angrily demanded, "Who told you to use a saber?!"

Zhang Ling smiled calmly: "Even without the saber, you'd still lose. Your attacks are swift, but you've learned too many flashy, superficial moves. They're fine for sword dances, but as for actual fighting—forget it. Against a true expert, you'd lose your life in a single move."

Hou Siyue said angrily, "That old man of mine—I knew he never taught me anything good."

Zhang Ling bluntly replied, "You can't say that. General Hou was probably afraid that if your martial arts were too good, no one would dare to take you off his hands."

The anger that had just reached Hou Siyue's lips was swallowed back down. She sighed and said, "Fine, you win."

Zhang Ling cupped his hands and smiled: "Then are we even now?"

Hou Siyue gave a mischievous smile. "Even? You ruined my destined husband, so shouldn't you compensate me with yourself? Besides, my dad is extremely fond of you, so you might as well come back with this young lady and be our son-in-law."

Zhang Ling chuckled heartily: "What kind of nonsense is that? Although I am no gentleman, I am still worldly; graceful and modest ladies are loved by all, but such a rare and exotic treasure as Miss Hou is better left to someone else."

With that, Zhang Ling made off in a flash. He had already resorted to his lightness kung fu countless times; if not for his slightly deficient internal energy, his mastery of lightness skills alone would have been enough to hold his own against a grandmaster of the first rank.

Seeing this, Hou Siyue hurried in pursuit, leaving the elderly abbot to heave a long sigh of relief. He had finally managed to send these two ancestors away.

Zhang Ling ran at a leisurely pace, while Hou Siyue had to exert every ounce of her strength just to catch a glimpse of his retreating back. Only now did she realize how formidable the martial arts of the man ahead truly were, unaware that Zhang Ling's lightness skills simply surpassed all others.

After wandering back and forth through Qingchan Temple a few times, Zhang Ling finally found Yang Jun in the western corridor. The little chubby fellow had found a string of candied hawthorns from goodness knows where, eating leisurely while taking inventory of his remaining pocket money. Suddenly seeing the young master walking up from behind, he saluted and greeted him.