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At this moment, who wants him dead?
When Li Yunli arrived at South Street, Xiao Linjia was already there.
Several disaster relief stations were set up by the government in key locations. South Street, being adjacent to a river, had suffered the worst—almost all farmland and houses beyond it were completely submerged in water.
Disaster victims lined up at the porridge station, holding bowls and ladles, waiting for their share.
Li Yunli arrived alone on horseback, without any pomp or ceremony, so no one gave her any grand greetings.
She noticed that many people in the open area near the porridge station were clutching bedding and straw, likely because their homes had been destroyed, forcing them to rest here.
Winter had already set in. Many people had frostbite, disheveled hair, and faces marked with cold sores.
Xiao Linjia was at the front, directing soldiers to set up tents on a level area to provide some temporary shelter for the refugees.
Meanwhile, the monks from Yongqing Temple were comforting the distressed and tending to the wounded.
Li Yunli observed them—their robes were old and worn. If she were to compare them to the monk in her dream, any of them could match the description of the raggedly dressed Jingkong.
However, one particular monk stood out, wearing robes of a different color than the others. His demeanor was extraordinary, and every movement was steady and composed.
Could he be the abbot of Yongqing Temple?
Li Yunli dismounted and walked toward the monk.
It was as if the monk had eyes on his back—he sensed her approach, turned around, and pressed his palms together in greeting.
“Amitabha.”
Only then did Li Yunli clearly see his face. She had assumed, based on her preconceptions, that an abbot should be an elderly monk.
Yet, this man was young, perhaps only in his twenties, with clean-cut features.
Could such a young abbot be reliable?
She hesitated. “May I ask… are you the abbot?”
“Amitabha. Indeed, I am the abbot of Yongqing Temple. My Dharma name is Qingnian.”
“Master Qingnian,” Li Yunli greeted him with a simple bow, mimicking the Buddhist custom, though she was unfamiliar with it. “I am the Eldest Princess of Chu, titled Nian’an.”
Qingnian remained silent after hearing this, only offering her a gentle nod and a smile.
Li Yunli had never been fond of dealing with mystical monks and Taoists. Under Qingnian’s gaze, she felt as if he could see right through her.
But she had come with a purpose. Forcing herself to continue, she asked, “May I ask, does Yongqing Temple have a young monk named Jingkong?”
Qingnian paused for a moment and counted on his fingers.
“Amitabha. Yongqing Temple currently has 118 monks and secular disciples in practice. There is no one named Jingkong.”
“No one?”
Li Yunli was puzzled.
Qingnian nodded and maintained his serene smile, exuding an air of detachment from worldly concerns.
“Then may I ask, when is the next temple fair at Yongqing Temple?”
“The people of Yongzhou have suffered from the disaster. Many monks have been sent into the city for relief work, so there are no temple fairs scheduled for the time being.”
“No temple fair either? How can that be? Could it be that Master is unwilling to tell me?”
Could it all have been just a dream?
But the feeling in her dream was the same as her previous two dreams, which had later proven true.
If last night’s dream was also real, then a great flood would occur on the day of the Yongqing Temple fair.
Yet the abbot was now telling her there was neither a monk named Jingkong nor a planned fair?
Li Yunli refused to accept this.
“In that case, may I visit Yongqing Temple?”
If the monk didn’t exist, then at least the meditation room she had seen in her dream should be there.
She needed to see it for herself.
“The temple is open daily to worshippers,” Qingnian said calmly. “Your Highness may visit at any time.”
“In that case, I thank you, Master.”
Li Yunli clasped her hands in a gesture of respect, then turned to find Xiao Linjia.
Coincidentally, Xiao Linjia was setting up tents, assisted by a burly monk.
This monk was strong and worked efficiently with the soldiers, quickly and skillfully setting up the tents after just a morning of practice.
As Li Yunli approached, the monk passed by her carrying supplies.
She had intended to call Xiao Linjia but suddenly caught a whiff of osmanthus fragrance.
Her brows furrowed.
“Wait, little monk.”
She called out to him immediately.
The monk put down the supplies and greeted her, “Benefactor.”
“I think I just smelled osmanthus on you?”
“Ah.” The monk smiled. “Many osmanthus trees grow along the path to Yongqing Temple. Visitors often return home carrying the scent—it is a famous sight of the temple.”
“I see…” Li Yunli pondered. “But it’s already late autumn. Are the flowers still blooming?”
“Most have fallen, but the abbot planted a tree in the courtyard. Since it’s sheltered from the wind and near the incense burner, it blooms well into winter.”
“What a rare sight. It seems I must visit Yongqing Temple.”
Li Yunli smirked, then looked toward Qingnian.
The abbot was already surrounded by people eager to hear his teachings.
Just then, she spotted Feng Mu arriving, stepping out of a small sedan chair.
An idea struck her.
Xiao Linjia noticed Li Yunli and set down his work, greeting her with a salute. “Your Highness has arrived.”
Li Yunli, deep in thought, murmured, “A sachet.”
Feng Mu’s sachet was embroidered with osmanthus flowers.
She had mentioned before that most of Yongzhou’s osmanthus trees came from the state government’s seeds.
Xiao Linjia didn’t understand and looked at her belt. “Your Highness, your sachet is still here.”
Li Yunli finally noticed him.
She touched the sachet absentmindedly, only to feel something different inside.
She suddenly remembered—inside the sachet was a talisman pouch given to her by Daoist Wu You when she left the capital!
She wasn’t one to believe in mystical forces, but she had kept the pouch anyway.
She had forgotten about it until now, at this very moment of doubt and suspicion.
She swiftly untied her sachet and loosened its drawstrings.
Xiao Linjia, curious, peered over. “Your Highness, did you lose something?”
Li Yunli pulled out the talisman pouch.
Wu You had stopped her convoy, insisting that all celestial predictions were true and telling her to open this pouch when she had doubts in Yongzhou.
She wasn’t one to wait for the right moment—information was valuable only when it arrived early.
Now that she had doubts, it was time.
She unfolded the paper inside.
Xiao Linjia blinked. “What does it say?”
Li Yunli ignored him and read the note.
It contained just seven words:
“Yongqing Temple, Master Jingkong.”
Li Yunli was stunned, running her fingers over the words.
So Jingkong did exist!
Xiao Linjia was still clueless. “Master Jingkong? Who’s that?”
Without hesitation, he turned to call the strong monk from earlier.
“Hey, Master!”
The monk hurried over. “General, I am not yet worthy of the title ‘Master.’”
“Not important. Do you have a monk named Jingkong at Yongqing Temple?”
The monk scratched his bald head and shook it. “The ‘Jing’ generation would be my junior, but I have never heard of a Jingkong.”
Xiao Linjia frowned. “Are you sure?”
“No need to ask further,” Li Yunli interjected.
Xiao Linjia was perplexed.
The monk carried on with his work.
Seeing Li Yunli walk in the opposite direction, Xiao Linjia hurried after her. “Your Highness, where did that note come from? Who is Jingkong?”
Li Yunli was lost in thought.
Xiao Linjia, ever the soldier, guessed, “Maybe he changed his name for a mission?”
Li Yunli’s eyes flickered.
“You might be right,” she murmured. “Perhaps he no longer goes by that name.”