Chapter 101: Destiny’s Design

“Why?” Bai Yuchen grew anxious, desperate to know the truth. Yet, at that moment, the elder Bai steadied himself and said calmly, “Go upstairs…”

“Dad!” Bai Yuchen quickly grasped his father’s arm, his voice urgent. “Since we’ve come this far, why not continue speaking?”

The elder Bai’s expression darkened, and he withdrew his attention. Bai Yuchen persisted, clutching tightly. “Go upstairs…” The elder Bai’s piercing gaze was laced with anger.

That shout echoed through the entire hall. Bai Yuchen felt shaken; the grip of his hand slowly loosened.

The next day, when Ye Shenghan saw Bai Yuchen again, he appeared exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes. He rested his hand against his forehead, eyes closed. Ye Shenghan didn’t disturb him, only placing a warm glass of milk on his desk.

Ye Shenghan felt a twinge of guilt, knowing Bai Yuchen had been running around at his side all this time.

Looking around the spacious one hundred square meters of “Shengqi,” Ye Shenghan felt immense satisfaction. This would be a new beginning for the Ye family. Glancing at Yuchen, he saw a brother who had shared both hardship and joy.

And yet…

Leaning against the edge of the desk, he fell into thought—there was still someone he longed for, someone he deeply cared about, a woman.

The morning light filtered through thick glass, casting soft patterns over the dark carpet, like a delicate veil draped around him. He took out his wallet, gently tracing the girl’s face in the photograph. From a hidden compartment behind it, he retrieved a golden talisman.

“The Great Compassion Mantra is the boundless mercy of Avalokiteshvara.”

“Keep it by your pillow; I’ll chant it for you these next few days.”

He admired the woman’s kindness and compassion, staring at the photo of the girl whose eyes shone like clear water, sparkling faintly. Though her youthful face was tender and innocent, she would grow into a graceful, ethereal beauty. The one constant was the purity in her eyes.

Ye Shenghan sighed softly. It was the weekend—he wanted to give himself a true rest. Casting a thoughtful glance at Bai Yuchen, he picked up his car keys and drove toward Qingning Temple on the outskirts of Nanjiang.

Nanjiang, outer suburbs.

At the summit stood a golden Buddha statue, gleaming brilliantly in the morning light. The Buddha’s aura illuminated the surroundings, majestic and imposing. The nine hundred and ninety steps spiraled upward. Ye Shenghan nodded reverently, looking up as he ascended. Along the way, countless worshippers streamed past. The Buddha’s crimson lips parted slightly in a serene smile, gazing peacefully upon the devoted.

Beneath the statue knelt a slender figure—Linglan. She pressed her palms together, chanting prayers, though her heart felt unsettled.

After praying, she rose and entered the temple, brushing past the steady flow of visitors. Unbeknownst to her, she passed just inches from a certain figure.

Ye Shenghan knelt and prayed silently.

Linglan stepped through a side entrance. Incense smoke curled around her as the temple bells tolled melodiously.

Inside the grand hall, elaborately carved beams and painted rafters framed countless Buddha statues, each with a unique expression and posture.

Some sat cross-legged with hands folded in prayer; some had half-closed eyes, holding sutras.

Linglan knelt on both knees and, after three bows, folded her hands and whispered, “Bodhisattva, please tell me—what am I to do?”

She felt her resolve weakening.

The woman’s slender brows furrowed slightly, yet her heart remained calm. She was truly afraid—afraid that the more she learned about Mo Zhicheng, about his past, the more she would be… lost.

Linglan sighed and slowly opened her eyes, looking upward. The Buddha’s glare was fierce, eyes flashing cold light. She froze, a chill running through her.

She decided to seek a fortune slip to divine her fate.

“Master, could you help me interpret a fortune slip?” Linglan asked softly.

The elderly master, his face etched with the marks of time, took the slip carefully. A glance revealed the inscription: Wang Zhaojun and the Foreign Tribe.

The master nodded solemnly. “This is a bad omen. Zhaojun and the foreign tribe signifies discord and unfulfilled wishes.” He asked, “What would you like to know, young lady?”

Linglan hesitated, though she knew she should not hope too much, yet she could not help but ask, “Love.”

The master’s eyes held meaning as he said, “Zhaojun and the foreign tribe is like a bird separated from its flock. There is a poem that says: ‘Alone, I walk between twin mountains; lonely love turns and twists; the Yangtze offers no letter; the beloved departs, never to return.’”

Linglan was puzzled. “Master, could you explain further?”

“You seek love, but according to this slip, it will not come to fruition. Your fates are different. Even if you force a union, though it may succeed for a time, eventually you will part ways, each going your separate paths.”

Linglan was stunned.

The master handed her the slip again. She looked at the five characters: “Wang Zhaojun and the foreign tribe—like a bird separated from its flock.”

She and Ye Shenghan—one day, they would part and go their own ways. A wave of disappointment spread across her delicate face.

“Miss…” The master called her back from her reverie. “Do not worry. Though the one you are destined with may not be the one you expect, your fate holds a peach blossom—your true match will come!”

He stopped halfway, studying her closely. From her appearance, he guessed with some certainty that though her background was tragic, her fate was marked by charm. Such a woman often possessed an irresistible allure to powerful men, yet was perpetually hurt by them.

But she was strong-willed and not easily subdued.

Linglan took the slip quietly and whispered, “Thank you…”

Exiting through the left side door, she passed by a man entering from the right side. Their paths crossed in a fleeting moment.

Ye Shenghan knelt in prayer, thoughts fixed on two things: the Ye family and Linglan. She chanted the Great Compassion Mantra for him; he lit the peace lamp in the grand hall for her. The golden lantern bore their names—Ye Shenghan and Ye Linglan—as if to bind them forever.

After praying, Ye Shenghan sought a fortune slip for love.

The master examined it carefully. The man before him was regal and dignified, yet the fortune bore striking resemblance to the one Linglan had received. But the master remained silent.

The slip read: Cao Cao Crossing South of the Yangtze.

“Seeking love?” the master asked.

“Yes,” Ye Shenghan answered softly.

The master’s gaze was profound. “I have interpreted many slips today. If I continue, the accuracy may wane. If you have the heart, perhaps you should come again.”

Ye Shenghan’s eyes flickered in surprise but quickly masked it with a faint smile. “Thank you, Master.”

As he left the main hall, the master withdrew his gaze. His sharp eyes held insight and wisdom as he studied the slip again. A legendary hero leading a million troops across the river—a portent of disaster, ultimate defeat.

The master shook his head, murmuring, “Why promise yet not follow through? Because your fates differ. Do not force what is uncertain. Perhaps people only meet in dreams.”

His words pierced the mystery.

Though once pledged and loved, their fates were incompatible. All was like water and moon reflected in a mirror—any reunion would only be a dream.

******

During the month-long arrangement with Mo Zhicheng, Linglan found their interactions fairly harmonious. The man could not tolerate drinking—whenever he did, he would deliberately provoke her. But Mo Zhicheng was usually very busy, especially at year-end, managing numerous external affairs, mostly charity events. Despite the constant flashes of cameras, he remained low-key, speaking little, smiling quietly.

Linglan accompanied him to several events, happily dedicating herself to charitable causes.

On Monday, she went with Mo Zhicheng to a recently built orphanage on the city outskirts to deliver New Year supplies. She was deeply moved but also subconsciously resistant. Having grown up in an orphanage, she was all too familiar with the environment. Being there with Mo Zhicheng, she feared memories would overwhelm her, causing her to lose composure.

She feared forgetting the identity arranged for her by Young Master Ye and feared losing control before him.

Upon arrival, she surveyed the hundreds of square meters of courtyard, the rows of barren phoenix trees, three five-story buildings, and scattered fitness equipment in the corners.

She noticed a makeshift swing on the horizontal bar, fashioned from rope and wooden planks. A sharp pang hit her heart as childhood memories flooded her mind—vivid scenes of New Year’s approaching, when Mr. Ye and Young Master Ye had visited the southern orphanage. She had stood on that swing, waiting, watching, and hoping…

Linglan's steps faltered. Amid the crowd of reporters and media focusing on Mo Zhicheng, the man noticed her lingering by the desolate phoenix tree, staring at the humble swing.

As she turned to face the bustling crowd, their eyes met—his gaze deep and intense, hers glistening with unshed tears.

She bit her nails to steady herself, refusing to be distracted. She followed the group into the building. The orphanage staff hoped to give the children a quiet environment free from disturbance. Through Linglan’s efforts, only a few reporters were allowed inside.

She knew better than anyone that the first building housed mostly infants and toddlers, some ill and abandoned by their parents.

Linglan looked at the swaddled babies—their round faces and bright, inquisitive eyes full of wonder and curiosity. She smiled gently at them.

“Look at these children—so adorable. But some have congenital defects and were abandoned by their parents outside the orphanage,” the caregiver explained. Her tone invited a sigh of regret.

Linglan glanced sideways at the woman’s lips moving, but could no longer hear her words. Her feet felt heavy, unable to move forward. She squeezed her hand tightly, forcing back the moisture in her eyes.

The pain of abandonment pierced her heart like a thousand arrows, unbearable and overwhelming.

Finally, unable to contain herself, bitterness flooded her throat. She turned abruptly, stumbled through the crowd, and fled to a quiet corner, where she wept silently.