Chapter Sixty-Nine: Farewell to Yun Hongliang

It was another beautiful day, the autumn sky high and the air crisp. At Jade Buddha Zen Temple, worshippers came and went in a continuous stream, and the young monks, watching the steady flow of incense money, beamed with delight.

“I want to see your abbot!”

The young monk, startled by the voice, paused. The abbot was not someone you could just meet at will, especially since he was currently in the backyard playing mahjong with a few elder monks—hardly in the mood to receive visitors. Looking up, the young monk saw a man in a traffic police uniform. Though he didn’t know his exact rank, the single bar and two stars on his shoulder marks suggested he was of no small status.

“May I ask, sir, do you have an appointment?” the young monk inquired politely, not daring to be negligent. Temples these days operated in ways quite different from the past, their structure more akin to a company, so the question was perfectly reasonable.

“Just go and inform the abbot that someone named Yun Hongliang wishes to see him,” Yun Hongliang replied, frowning. This young monk looked unfamiliar; he probably didn’t recognize him. If he did, he wouldn’t be asking so many questions. Yun Hongliang had come to Jade Buddha Zen Temple several times recently and had met with the old abbot more than once—appointments were unnecessary.

He had never been one to put his faith in the supernatural, but his daughter had been frail and sickly since childhood. Over the years, he had sought out famous hospitals across the nation, only to be told that her body was simply too weak. An old traditional doctor even advised them to fulfill her every wish, for she might not live past fifteen—medicine would be of no avail.

Faced with such desperation, he had no choice but to turn to superstition. Word had it that a venerable monk resided at Jade Buddha Zen Temple, so last month he brought his daughter and made a generous donation of two hundred thousand yuan. Only then did he secure an audience with the abbot.

The high monk truly seemed to possess some insight. Without having seen his daughter before, he described her condition in detail, even mentioning the bruising that occurred during her episodes.

Thus, Yun Hongliang began to believe. The abbot’s explanation was mysterious—he said his daughter was afflicted by a “Yin Fiend” that had entered her body. If discovered and treated ten years earlier, there would have been no danger, but now the illness was grave and difficult to cure. Only the purest Yang energy could dispel it.

Yun Hongliang was a well-educated man. He didn’t understand “Yin Fiend,” but the abbot’s meaning was clear: his daughter’s illness was not incurable.

He was elated. As long as there was hope, he would give everything he had without hesitation. He immediately inquired about the cure, but the abbot hesitated, finally hinting that his daughter would need to unite with a person of great Yang vitality to be cured.

The abbot said no more and left. Yun Hongliang, unfamiliar with Buddhist terms, had no idea what “unite” implied. Monks loved to speak in riddles, always leaving people confused. He hadn’t given it much thought then. Having received a cure, he simply returned home to tell his wife.

His wife was just as puzzled by the word “unite,” so she searched the term online. Seeing the definition, Yun Hongliang nearly fainted from rage—“unite” meant sexual intercourse. If the abbot had been in front of him at that moment, he would have cursed him to his face. His daughter was not yet fourteen, and here the abbot was suggesting she be cured by lying with a man of pure Yang energy.

The abbot was worse than a beast. No wonder he had seemed so awkward and fled after speaking.

Yet, after calming down, Yun Hongliang realized the abbot likely hadn’t made this up. There was nothing for him to gain. Remembering the abbot’s discomfort, Yun Hongliang suspected the matter was genuine.

He had returned to the temple today to see if the abbot had any alternative solutions. He could not, as a father, hand over his not-yet-fourteen-year-old daughter to such a fate.

The young monk went to report, returning after more than ten minutes—not with the abbot, but with a note.

This situation was as embarrassing for the abbot as it was for Yun Hongliang. The girl’s illness truly had only one cure; otherwise, the old monk would never have forced himself to speak of it.

He had not deceived Yun Hongliang. Cases like this were rare nowadays thanks to modern living conditions, but in ancient times, they were common. That was why there was the tradition of “marriage to dispel misfortune”—essentially, curing a girl’s illness by pairing her with a man of strong Yang energy.

Modern dramas and films have misunderstood this custom, portraying it as mere superstition. But after reading many ancient texts, the abbot knew better. “Marriage to dispel misfortune” was, in essence, a healing method—using a person as medicine.

He opened the note, which read: “Benefactor, there is only one method—do not entertain false hopes. If you choose this path, I can guide you further. The direct male descendants of the Xiao family in the western suburbs possess bodies of pure Yang and can heal your daughter. The human body is the greatest medicine; do not be prejudiced. Once every seven days, for a total of forty-nine days, and she will be cured. Take care in your decisions!”

Reading the note, Yun Hongliang felt a murderous impulse for the first time in his life. The words struck him harder than a terminal diagnosis. Never mind the idea of the human body as medicine—but once every seven days, for seven weeks? As a father, his daughter was the apple of his eye. How could he possibly consent to this? If she were eighteen or nineteen, perhaps he could bear it, but Tingyu was not yet fourteen.

Standing in the bustling temple, Yun Hongliang stared blankly at the crowds, telling himself again and again that it was all a lie, that the abbot was deceiving him. Yet no matter how he tried, the facts remained. The abbot had no reason to deceive him. A living daughter was better than a dead one.

How could he bring himself to do this? And what was this Xiao family like? He could only hope that the male descendants of the Xiao family were close to his daughter’s age. Then, with a little encouragement, perhaps they could fall in love first… and then… the illness would be cured…

A man in his forties, Yun Hongliang wanted nothing more than to weep. What father could possibly bring himself to such a thing?

……

Xiao Cheng spent half the day focusing on his cultivation. When he opened his eyes, it was already noon. After a bout of intimacy with Zhuo Qinglian, he prepared to leave Jade Buddha Zen Temple. The old man surely knew his whereabouts by now. If he stayed longer, he would certainly be caught, and though he could escape again, he disliked trouble. This was no longer a place to linger.

Just as he was about to leave through the main gate, he unexpectedly spotted a familiar figure sitting on the steps, lost in thought. It was the traffic officer who had asked him for an autograph the other day.

Xiao Cheng remembered the man—a traffic cop, but last time he’d seen him, he’d only had a single star on his shoulder mark. Now he had a bar and two stars. Had he changed uniforms on purpose to ask for an autograph? In Shanghai, traffic officers with such insignia were few; he was at least a squad leader.

A thought struck Xiao Cheng. He needed access to last night’s traffic records, and this officer might be able to help. Though Scarlet Security could also investigate, Xiao Cheng preferred to seek information through other means.

“Inspector!” Xiao Cheng greeted him with a smile, noticing the man’s vacant stare and unfocused eyes.

Called back to reality by Xiao Cheng’s greeting, Yun Hongliang scrutinized him professionally. He suddenly remembered that he’d recently asked this young man for an autograph for his daughter. His first impression of Xiao Cheng had been positive—a careful and cheerful young man.

Wait a minute—this lad’s surname was Xiao. Could he be from the Xiao family in the western suburbs the abbot mentioned?

“Oh, it’s you, the racing champion. Do you have time for a meal? Perhaps we could talk?”

Xiao Cheng was slightly taken aback. He’d been planning to ask the officer for help, but instead the officer was inviting him to lunch. Was it really just out of admiration? The officer’s demeanor was calm and composed, with the unique air of a successful man—hardly the type to be a crazed fan.