Chapter 13: Thirteen: Hello, Little Junior Sister

Thirteen: Hello, Little Junior Sister

Is the Master here?

We haven’t seen each other in years… is it in this river?

Ouyang Rong had a thousand questions to ask, yet felt the eerie sense of his Master paying a home visit… no, it must be related to Auntie!

Ouyang Rong handed the kitchen items to Xiu Fa and instructed him to watch over them, then led the way back to Sanhui Courtyard.

But halfway along the path, they encountered several duty monks who gently reminded them that they had just seen Zhen Shi and their Master Xie Xun heading toward the Sutra Recitation Hall; Ouyang Rong and the others prepared to change course.

“Young Master, Young Master, your clothes—your clothes!”

“I know! I’ll go change. You can go ahead.”

Ouyang Rong looked down—he had been busy in the kitchen and borrowed a loose gray monk’s robe from the Xiangji Kitchen monks; his original moon-white scholar’s robe was unsuitable for rolling up sleeves and working.

Now his gray robe was filthy, and his face was too—he was unfit to meet his strict, propriety-bound Master.

Ouyang Rong did not change course; he continued back to Sanhui Courtyard.

At the courtyard gate, he saw the room was silent. He pushed the door open, turned straight into the inner chamber, washed his face with clean water, wiped it dry, picked up his discarded moon-white scholar’s robe, shook it out, and prepared to put it on—when suddenly, a round, glossy bead slipped from between the robe’s folds and rolled to the foot of the bed.

Ouyang Rong was not surprised. He set the robe aside on the bed and bent to pick it up.

It was the night-luminous relic he had kept in the small inner pocket of his chest; last night, while studying it, he discovered that under moonlight, the little thing glowed brilliantly—he had almost mistaken it for an actual night pearl.

By the bedside inside the chamber, Ouyang Rong’s hand had just reached for the bead when he heard faint footsteps from the study outside. He assumed it was Auntie’s maid, didn’t look up, picked up the bead, blew off the dust, and examined it closely for dents or cracks.

But the next second, the “maid” who stepped out from the study spoke:

“What are you doing?”

Her voice was like frost-clear ice, falling into the ear like sipping rice wine at dawn—cold, yet with a soft, glutinous warmth.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” This was his room. Hearing this accusatory female voice, Ouyang Rong almost laughed.

But when he turned around, a tall, slender young man stood at the study door—his face pale, his chest muscles enormously broad, making Ouyang Rong pause in bewilderment; such massive pectorals clashed utterly with his slender frame—how had he trained like this… wait.

This was a woman dressed as a man.

Ouyang Rong realized at once, inwardly cursed himself—he had mistaken her formidable assets for chest muscles.

Yet this woman held a scroll in hand, standing at the door; the afternoon sun slanted behind her, casting a dazzling glow. From Ouyang Rong’s angle, bent over beside the bed, her pale face was hard to make out clearly.

“What are you staring at? Put it down.” The woman outside frowned.

“Why put it down? Is it yours?”

“No, it’s not mine.” She shook her head.

Ouyang Rong nearly thought the original owner had come looking. Hearing this, he exhaled in relief, slipped the night-luminous relic into his bosom, frowned at this woman who seemed hostile, and then heard footsteps outside the courtyard—familiar, unmistakably Yan Liulang’s.

A gentleman avoids standing beneath a crumbling wall. Ouyang Rong glanced sideways at her, feigned a nod of greeting, then hurried past her out the door, ready to join Liu Lang.

But the next instant.

Thud~

A solid, muffled thump, accompanied by a muttered “Damn!” from someone’s mouth, shattered the afternoon stillness of Sanhui Courtyard.

Ouyang Rong collapsed onto the courtyard floor, gasped sharply, rolled over, and touched the faint footprint on his back, glaring at the woman inside.

“My Lord!”

Seeing a person fly out of the room, Yan Wuxu first reacted, then roared in fury—the massive, broad-shouldered man drew his blade and charged into the room!

“Who dares harm my Lord? I, Yan Liulang, will fight you to the death!”

The next second—*thud*—Yan Wuxu also flew out, landing beside Ouyang Rong.

Ouyang Rong widened his eyes, glanced at his fellow victim whose chest now bore a matching footprint, and twitched his lips.

Damn, since I got here, have you ever actually won a single fight? Ouyang Rong covered his face—he was already considering replacing his bodyguard.

Yan Wuxu didn’t know he was on the verge of unemployment. He stared wide-eyed, pointing at the woman slowly stepping out of the room: “My Lord, this… this… isn’t an ordinary person.”

Ouyang Rong mentally cursed, “Obviously.” Who else could knock two big men flying without even letting the eye catch a glimpse of her leg?

Ouyang Rong hadn’t seen how the woman’s long legs had kicked Yan Wuxu out—he’d only noticed the clean hem of her robe fluttering slightly in the wind, and then someone flew.

“And there’s a lookout accomplice? Thief.”

The woman gave a light sniff, stepped out of the doorway, and stood squarely before them, tapping her scroll at them.

Only now did Ouyang Rong fully see the stranger’s face. He couldn’t help but glance twice, then pretended to look away—but lines from ancient texts surfaced in his mind: *Heavenly grace, exquisite beauty, worthy of celestial origin.*

Yet his mouth was unyielding: “What thief? This is my room—you’re the thief, breaking into a private residence.”

Xie Ling’s two smoke-like eyebrows furrowed slightly, then she pondered, and shook her head again.

She had been reading in the study, waiting for someone, when she heard hurried footsteps entering. She assumed it was her long-anticipated, never-met Senior Brother Ouyang—until she stepped out and saw a filthy little monk rummaging through her brother’s belongings, pulling out a precious night pearl. She hadn’t expected monks from Donglin Temple to stoop to such theft.

Xie Ling shook her head. “Turnabout? You’re clearly a repeat offender. Other passing pilgrims might have been fooled, but I know the true owner of this room—it’s where he recovers from injury. How could this be your monk’s quarters? Don’t try to deceive me.”

Hearing this, Ouyang Rong rose at once, ignoring her, and brushed the dust off his body—but halfway through, he realized it was pointless, so he stripped off the gray robe, tossed it on the floor, and turned to Yan Wuxu, who stood protectively before him: “It’s fine. I know who she is. No danger. Hey, who’s protecting whom, anyway…”

Xie Ling watched the “thief” with a look of helpless amusement. She hesitated: “What are you talking about? Quickly… quickly give back the item…” But her voice grew quieter, and the fingers gripping the scroll tightened slightly, betraying her uncertainty.

Ouyang Rong looked up, solemnly: “Is it possible that I am indeed the disgraced Senior Brother? I was just… never mind. The sages were right: a gentleman should keep away from the kitchen.”

“You…” Xie Ling stepped back.

Shuowan , Ouyang Rong walked past her into the inner chamber to change clothes, and added casually:

“On page eighteen, line five of your Buddhist sutra, The Treatise on Rebirth, the first sentence—‘Reciting the Buddha’s name leads to the Pure Land; fearlessness achieves Bodhi’—I wrote two annotations there… Hello, Little Junior Sister.”

Xie Ling immediately flipped to that page—and her fingertip froze.

Silence fell.

Ouyang Rong had just changed into a clean scholar’s robe when he heard the woman, now standing awkwardly in the courtyard, gazing at the sky, say earnestly:

“You’re different from what the rumors say, and different from what Father describes. They all say Ouyang Lianghan is upright, noble, stern, and unbending, with unyielding integrity.”

Ouyang Rong nodded. “You too.”

“Father mentioned me? Back then I was still in Wuyi Alley in Jinling, not studying by his side. What’s different about me? Did they think I lacked the refined scholarly grace of the Chenjun Xie clan?”

“Not at all.” Ouyang Rong kept his gaze steady, serious: “I just never imagined Little Junior Sister would be so… approachable.”

Approachable? Xie Ling turned back, curious to ask more—but then laughter from her father and Zhen Shi echoed from outside the courtyard, and she fell silent.

Soon after, the courtyard grew lively, and Ouyang Rong finally met his Master—the one who “might be deeply disappointed” in him—Xie Xun.

…