Chapter 24: Silk and Subtlety

Although the Master and disciple were to meet, the Abbot first had to receive Madam Shen with proper respect. A fourth‑grade rank meant little in the capital, but in the provinces one’s official rank stood out—after all, a prefect was only fourth‑grade.

The temple arranged two adjoining pavilions for the Yin family: Third Master Yin and his wife, with Yin Zhi, in one; Madam Shen and her son in the other. After paying respects to the Abbot, they were escorted by the Head Patriarch.

They strolled through the gardens, chanted sutras, and drank tea. Then Madam Shen graciously dismissed the other ladies and spoke privately with the Head Patriarch and her trusted steward. By the time she returned to her pavilion, all was settled and she went in to rest.

Shortly thereafter, Shen Jiyun arrived. He waved away his maids and entered.

Madam Shen knew he had something to say. Sure enough, Shen Jiyun spoke first: “So you have taken a liking to Fourth Cousin Yin.”

Madam Shen had come with a clear purpose—her leave from the capital was limited. Although Third Master Yin had told Jiyun, “Your Fourth Cousin has strong ties here; she can ease matters,” Jiyun saw through it all. His mother had spent over two weeks in Huaixi and singled out Yin Zhi, the Fourth Branch’s fourth daughter.

Madam Shen brightened. “What do you think of her?”

“That matters not to me,” Jiyun said coldly, “I’ve said it—I will not marry.”

Yet this matter fell under parental authority and custom, not his alone.

“Very well,” Madam Shen’s face hardened. “If you insist on refusing, I will send word to your father at once. But by the time we return, he will have everything arranged.”

Shen Jiyun bristled—he hated being powerless as events moved without his control. He clenched his fist beneath his sleeve.

Madam Shen noticed his pursed lips and softened. “Your father and I do not wish to trouble you. This is a plan that benefits all. Fourth Cousin is a steady, kind child—quiet, unselfish. I have searched diligently for someone of gentle character. If I’d chosen someone sharp‑tongued or jealous, poor Feng Luoyi would have suffered.”

She watched her son inhale sharply and felt a pang of sympathy—but this matter could not be decided by him alone. Before their departure, her husband had set one clear rule: acts of benevolence do not override the family’s order. To save Feng Luoyi was charity; to upend the household for her sake was not allowed. If the Feng daughter were lost, it would sow discord between father and son—something Madam Shen, as wife and mother, could not permit.

Steeling herself, she said firmly, “This matter is not yours to decide. We will await the Master’s divination. If all is well, I will finalize the match.”

Shen Jiyun, gifted though he was, was still a boy—untried in official duties, his self‑cultivation not yet complete. His maids could sense the conflict in his stride as he left the pavilion.

Youth’s passions are always more intense—more simple, more single‑minded.

He strode out of the courtyard and exhaled deeply. Glancing to one side, he saw two figures disappear around a corner. One of them, he realized, must be…

He reached the neighboring pavilion’s gate. The gatekeeper maid hurried forward in ceremony: “Young Master.”

“Did Fourth Cousin just leave?” he asked.

“Indeed, Fourth Miss,” she replied.

“Where did she go?”

“Fourth Miss is the Head Patriarch’s named disciple. She went to pay respects to her Master—she had not properly met him for some time. With daylight still good, she wished to call on him. Young Master is welcome to enter, but I can notify him if you wish.”

“No need,” Shen Jiyun said. He turned and headed toward that corridor’s bend.

Although his mother had repeatedly stressed this matter was not his to decide, the boy remained determined—he had promised to protect her, and he would not relinquish that vow without effort. Parents may govern, but at least one must strive for one’s promises.

The Head Patriarch was busy through the day; only after Madam Shen was settled did he have a free moment, allowing Yin Zhi a private audience.

Although the Yin household had made offerings each season, nearly a year had passed since her last meeting with the Head Patriarch.

“Master,” Yin Zhi said with a respectful bow, “I am overjoyed at your healthy appearance. I have long missed our meetings.”

The Head Patriarch glanced at her and murmured, “Amitābha”—his gentle refrain. Although always seeming remote and detached, the Master practiced far deeper self‑cultivation than anyone guessed. At this moment, his heart brimmed with joy: a long‑standing worry had resolved itself only moments ago.

For some time, he had lamented his disciple’s stalled betrothal and regretted agreeing to her unlikely request. Now, that very knot would untie itself—today, a new match was taking shape.

He did not betray his inner excitement. When Madam Shen had requested a divination for his son and Yin Zhi, he seized upon the chance. He had counseled her at length—if she did not marry too early, she would be unharmed. At eighteen, marriage would be safe, and all parties would rejoice.

Madam Shen had smiled in relief at that counsel, yet the Master had discerned a subtle shift in her purpose. When she asked him in private whether the Feng daughter’s wish had influenced her—he watched her face light at the suggestion that long ago she might have prayed for a tanhua grandson—he realized she had not the slightest inkling of Madam Shen’s plan.

That very evening, when she spoke freely of her concern that the young cousins might fall prey to youthful infatuation, he detected both her candor and her protective heart. They chatted of the sisters’ blossoming curiosity—a normal sign of adolescence, he thought—but her own unclouded gaze betrayed a rare innocence. At seventeen, she ought to be more aware of such matters than her younger cousins.

Resolving not to reveal her secret, he taught her a few verses of scripture, tested her understanding of the dharma bench, and then politely sent her on her way.

He would not tell her—not yet. She had a bold spirit and an unpredictable mind; if she learned of this match prematurely, what other mischief might she contrive? There was no time for error: such a rare match had to be seized.

He, who had seen the world’s dramas and heard every tale, sensed that Madam Shen and her son were kind at heart. That alone mattered. Youth might agonize over “marry the one I love or the one who loves me,” but an elder knows true happiness lies where one is well provided and sheltered.

At last, after many months of this disciple’s anxious betrothal delays, the Master could sleep in peace once more.

As Yin Zhi and Kui’er returned along the cloistered walk, she turned to her maid. “Has the Master grown plump?”

“Not that I noticed…?” Kui’er tried to recall.

Yin Zhi frowned at a distant figure in the corridor. “Yet his kasaya seems looser today.”

Kui’er glanced too—only to see, at the corridor’s end, a tall, lithe youth standing with hands behind his back, watching the monks pass.

At her approach, Shen Jiyun turned and greeted her: “Cousin.”

Yin Zhi beamed in surprise. “Cousin, what brings you here?”

They had little interaction normally, yet when he saw her just now, he must have waited to bid her a proper greeting.

No matter how one vies with strangers, among kin one must first show respect.

As he drew near, Yin Zhi saw that he had grown into a handsome youth—precise of feature, slender of form—just as she had remembered, yet now fully matured. And she thought to herself, here stood the Fourth Cousin her mother had chosen.