The spring light was beautiful, with warm, moist grass fragrance in the wind. Just after the Cold Food Festival, it was the perfect time for spring outings.
But alas… The flowers were before his eyes, but the person who should appreciate them was not.
Yan Xiaohan had gone to Jingchu, and Fu Shen found no interest in staying alone in the city, so he retreated to his villa. He was enjoying his leisurely days when a tightly covered horse carriage suddenly stopped at the villa gate that evening.
The curtain lifted, revealing a large box. In the firelight, a cold metallic gleam seemed to flash at the box’s corner.
Days later, outside Jingzhou.
About two days’ journey from Jingzhou, Prince Qi’s group left Heshan Inn early in the morning, planning to reach the next inn that evening.
Unexpectedly, heavy rain fell, and the river rose rapidly, flooding the original road. They were forced to detour, and the rain grew increasingly heavy, making progress nearly impossible.
The misty water and rain obscured everything. They almost lost their way but fortunately found a dilapidated temple in the countryside that could provide some shelter. Yan Xiaohan, protecting the drenched Prince Qi, rushed into the main hall. Seeing the decaying statue and cobwebs, he was at least relieved the building could withstand their presence.
Attendants found some broken door pieces from the backyard to use as firewood and started a fire.
With the fire and hot water, their previous panic gradually subsided. Yan Xiaohan methodically arranged their luggage and provisions. His silhouette standing backlit in the doorway was inexplicably reassuring. Although Prince Qi was a pampered royal, he was quite resilient. After changing out of his wet clothes, he was still in the mood to examine the dusty statue while holding hot water.
Yan Xiaohan approached, “Your Highness?”
“Sir Yan,” Prince Qi said, “Do you know which deity is worshipped here?”
Yan Xiaohan squinted, barely making out a female immortal with a high clay and wooden hairstyle and long, elegant eyebrows. Humbly, he said, “Please enlighten me.”
“The gate’s plaque is mostly damaged, but still somewhat readable,” Prince Qi pointed, “It says ‘Fan Xian’.”
“
Yan Xiaohan, raised in a Buddhist environment, had never heard of “Fan Xian” and asked curiously, “Which deity is this?”
