Ye Jiao did, in fact, know a fortune-teller—Daoist Wang Qianshan of Mount Li. When Wang first arrived in the capital, he was quite the sensation. Each day he was busy casting hexagrams, exorcising evil, and performing rites for peace, amassing no small sum in offerings. Now, he had ceased appearing in public and resided quietly in the Prince Zhao's residence, chanting sutras and refining elixirs, awaiting his ascension to immortality. It seemed he had earned enough silver to buy his way to heaven.
Ye Jiao turned to head toward Prince Zhao's estate when Bai Xianyu couldn't help but caution, "It's awfully late—wouldn't it be inappropriate to visit uninvited?"
If they walked briskly, they might even arrive before the drunken Prince Zhao returned home.
"Who said I'm taking the front door?" Ye Jiao waved him off. "Can you climb a wall?"
"No," Bai Xianyu replied, already tiptoeing away, only to be yanked back by Ye Jiao."I need you to keep watch for me," she said.
Bai Xianyu immediately regretted ever bringing up the fortune-teller. How could he have known that Ye Jiao would be so impulsive and relentless?
"Hurry up," he urged nervously as they approached the estate. "I'm my mother's only child—if I'm late, she'll worry."
Before he could finish, Ye Jiao had taken a few steps back, sprinted forward, and leapt onto the wall in a single bound.
"Lady Wu Hou…" Bai Xianyu stood frozen, his worry mounting. "You… don't even know where I live, do you?"
Wang Qianshan had returned to the capital with Ye Jiao from Mount Li. When she escorted Li Ce back to Prince Zhao's estate, Wang had taken the opportunity to stay, claiming the site had exceptional feng shui—rare and auspicious. Li Jing was pleased to have a Daoist guarding the household and arranged for Wang to stay in the westernmost courtyard, far from Li Ce's eastern chambers.
As Ye Jiao slipped into the estate, she immediately sensed that something had changed. There were more guards now, and even hidden sentries, subtly placed. Had she not memorized the estate's layout, she would have been caught long before reaching Wang's quarters.
What on earth was Li Jing hiding that required such formidable protection?
Muttering suspicions to herself, Ye Jiao tiptoed to the door of Wang's chamber, softly announced her presence, then pushed the door open.
In the main hall stood a compact eight-trigram furnace beside a low table and meditation cushion. A teacup still steamed faintly, but the room was otherwise empty. Ye Jiao circled the furnace, unease growing. Someone else was here.
Surely… Wang hadn't refined himself?
She bent to inspect the furnace—empty. Then looked up to see a man clinging to a ceiling beam, trembling violently.
It was Wang Qianshan.
He hadn't changed much, save for a longer beard that lent his youthful features an almost ethereal aura. But his current pose was far from dignified.
"What's this?" Ye Jiao mocked. "Daoist, have you moved to live among the beams?"
He was clearly hiding from her.
Wang gave an awkward laugh. "It's a secret meditation technique. Clears the mind, purifies the heart."
"Get down."
Ye Jiao gave her broadsword a pat.
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, sliding down a pillar. Misjudging the height, he landed with a thud. Straightening his robes, he gestured to a seat.
"Half an hour ago, I cast a hexagram. It foretold the arrival of an honored guest. I see it referred to you, Miss Ye."
Ye Jiao cut to the point, drawing out the silver she had left and pushing it toward him.
"I'm here about my marriage fate. Speak plainly."
"Certainly," Wang said, fetching a sheet of red paper. "If it's compatibility you seek, I'll need the birth dates of both parties—down to the hour."
Ye Jiao didn't know Li Ce's birth details. Not even his birthday. She stared at the paper in frustration, quickly wrote her own, and handed it over.
"Just tell me what kind of man I'll marry."
"A nobleman," Wang replied without hesitation, fingers forming a swift calculation.
"Obviously," Ye Jiao scoffed. "I don't associate with scoundrels. Whomever I marry is bound to be noble."
"No, no, not just noble," Wang's head shook like a rattle drum. "The man you marry will be of the highest rank—peerless among the elite."
Still unsatisfied, Ye Jiao's cheeks flushed slightly. She pointed casually eastward, biting her lip.
"His Highness Prince Chu—will I marry him?"
"That is absolutely impossible," Wang said flatly, without even calculating.
Ye Jiao's blush drained to pale. She snatched back the red paper and slapped it on the table.
"Are you sure? Why is it impossible?"
So you don't want to survive in the capital anymore? Or are you simply tired of living?
Ye Jiao's clear, peach blossom eyes bore a sharp pressure, one that made Wang—despite years of cultivation—tremble inwardly. Yet he still shook his head.
"I swear I'm not lying. There is no chance."
How could this woman, whose fate promised many children and much fortune, marry someone with only ten months left to live?
A wave of despair engulfed Ye Jiao. She felt lost in a fog, unable to tell east from west. There was nothing and no one around her—only uncertainty.
Since Li Ce refused her, she had been full of indignation. But now, all that gave way to helplessness, as if her whole life had been preordained by a birth date she could never change.
So their meeting, their connection, was all a mistake?
So she should let him go, without asking why?
No! She refused to believe it!
Just because he said it was impossible, she should accept it? Who was he to decree her fate—Heaven's own king?
Ye Jiao snorted coldly, and Wang instinctively leaned back, guilt flashing in his eyes.
Wait…
A suspicion stirred in Ye Jiao's mind. Li Ce may not be powerful, but Wang's refusal had come far too quickly. Too decisively.
Something was wrong.
Her drunken haze cleared in an instant. She leaned forward, eyes locking onto Wang's.
"If you don't have the Prince's birth details, how do you know we're absolutely impossible?"
"You do know his birth time, don't you? Have you cast something?"
"Did his refusal have anything to do with you?"
Wang bolted. Ye Jiao grabbed his robe; he shrugged it off and ran half-naked. She blocked his path—her blade gleaming against his throat.
"If you don't give me a straight answer," she said coolly, "you'll be ascending to heaven today by force."
After spending the day with generals, Ye Jiao found violence a rather effective method.
"You can't kill me," Wang gasped, clutching a pillar. "I—I was mistaken. My fortune-telling is mediocre at best. If you don't believe me, fine. But please, don't kill me. After all, we're… on the same side."
"Who's on your side?" Ye Jiao snapped.
"It's true!" Wang jabbed at his own chest. "My master is Ye Xi—your father."
With a clang, Ye Jiao's blade dropped to the ground.
Ye Xi—her father. The father she hadn't seen in twelve years.
Wang began explaining.
"I trained in Daoism at Tiantai Mountain in Jiangnan. Two years ago, my master told me I had learned enough to descend the mountain, so I traveled to Mount Li. Only then did I learn his true identity. But since he had renounced the mortal world, I never dared visit your household."
"He told me his children were all fated for disaster—illness at best, death at worst. Judging from your aura, Miss Ye, you're on the verge of a bloody calamity."
He unfurled a scroll—his monk's credential. It bore the official seal of Jiangnan.
Ye Jiao stood in silence, her expression shifting. Then, suddenly, she laughed coldly.
"He renounced the mortal world, knew we were headed for disaster, and still didn't send a single word of warning. Twelve years gone—he left his home, we lived our lives. And you call us 'the same side'?"
Wang opened his mouth to explain, but all he said was, "We cultivators…"
"Cultivate?" Ye Jiao stooped to pick up her blade and sheathe it. "I've heard enough."