The boy was clearly unhappy about being kicked, but he did not dare lose his temper with Wang Zhenfeng. Rubbing his calf, he muttered, "What kind of girl would my brother like? The same type every man likes."
She kicked him again without hesitation. "How would I know what kind of girls men like?"
He sucked in a breath and began counting on his fingers. "Big chest, nice curves, long legs, slim waist. If she's under one seventy, my brother won't even glance at her. She has to cook well and look presentable in public. Our family used to be well-off, so we definitely can't have just one child. At least three."
He paused, then added with dramatic seriousness, "And my brother looks like someone who's never lifted a finger. He definitely won't help raise the kids. He can't even go out to work. So if you want to marry him, you need to be pretty, capable, able to earn money, and basically raise the children yourself without bothering him."
Su Qingyi expected Wang Zhenfeng to kick him again.
Instead, she actually listened.
Her expression turned awkward, but she did not immediately reject the idea. She even seemed to be weighing it.
Su Qingyi's eyes widened.
"Who exactly is his brother?"
With that list of conditions, someone was still considering it?
"Jiang Jingye," Zhou Xu replied thoughtfully from beside her, clearly entertained by the spectacle.
Su Qingyi paused only briefly before recognition dawned. "Him? That's not exactly an upgrade."
Though she had not been back in years, she still remembered him from primary school. Short. Fond of pretending. In middle school he had joined the so-called Funeral Love clique and grown from one point five meters to one point six purely by virtue of his hairstyle.
The fact that girls still liked that type was astonishing.
She watched with undisguised disbelief.
At that moment, Wang Zhenfeng spotted her.
Her face immediately darkened. She had ridden without a helmet for years without incident, yet today, after Su Qingyi reminded her, she and Jiang Yue had been stopped by traffic police and fined twenty yuan each.
"What are you staring at? Let me tell you, even if you're interested in Brother Jiang, he won't like you."
Su Qingyi clasped her hands in mock surrender. "Please spare me. I'm old. I can't handle this kind of ordeal."
Zhou Xu laughed aloud.
Wang Zhenfeng flushed instantly at the sound.
After all, this was Zhou Xu. A recognized young talent in the county. His family was wealthy. Even if one ignored his reputation, there was still the Audi Q7 he had just purchased. When people are poor, wealth naturally carries its own filter.
No one spoke further.
Su Qingyi had no interest in being part of the spectacle. After bidding Zhou Xu goodbye, she turned and walked away.
Wang Zhenfeng did not follow.
Instead, she dragged her friend off in another direction.
Su Qingyi, sensible as ever, did not ask where she was going.
She returned to the main hall.
The deep interior echoed with the soft strike of chimes. Lamps flickered before the solemn Buddha statue. Incense smoke drifted outside the doors.
She slowed her steps.
The Buddha sat high above, gaze lowered. Solemn, yet compassionate.
A presence that seemed to look down upon her, yet also listen.
Without thinking, she pressed her palms together and bowed.
At that moment, the temple chime rang again.
She glanced toward the sound and saw the elderly woman striking it smiling gently at her.
Su Qingyi froze.
This kind of quiet kindness was something she had never encountered in Beijing.
She looked up at the Buddha again, stood there for a long moment, then bowed once more.
When she stepped out of the temple, she paused and turned back.
The ancient structure stood deep within the bustling city, untouched by its prosperity. The upturned eaves cut against the sky with quiet dignity.
Something in her shifted.
She turned and walked back inside.
She had never believed in incense offerings. People said worship was simply a way of bargaining for one's own desires.
As for her desires, she had always believed it was better to rely on herself than on heaven.
Instead of spending time lighting lamps, one could use that time to work harder.
But when she had met the Buddha's gaze just now, she had suddenly felt that having faith was not a bad thing. At least when prayers went unanswered, one could still have something to anchor the heart.
She walked toward the lamp-offering table.
Another elderly woman was tending it.
Her eyes moved across the eternal lamps and lotus lamps before settling on the tallest and most elaborate one.
"This lamp is offered for a full year," the woman explained kindly. "You may write the name of the person making the offering. If it's for a child, you pray for academic success. If it's for yourself, career advancement."
"What if they're older?" Su Qingyi asked.
"Then peace, health, and longevity," the woman replied casually. "Is it for an elder in your family?"
"No."
If it were her grandfather, giving him cash would be far more practical than offering a lamp.
In Beijing, she had never owed anyone.
Except once.
To that person, she might have been just another carpenter. He might not even know her name. But without his commission, she would never have been able to repay sixty million in debt.
He had been the best client she had ever encountered.
Once the blueprints were finalized, they were never altered. Even if the finished product did not match expectations, he would simply pay to have it rebuilt.
Cost was irrelevant.
On the Second Ring Road in Beijing, where land was worth fortunes, he had demolished a house valued in the hundreds of millions and rebuilt it entirely in Hui-style architecture.
Outside the gates lay the capital's busiest district. Inside, there was absolute stillness.
Bamboo shadows layered across white walls. Light and shade intertwined like another world.
For the first time, she had seen Phoebe zhennan wood stacked casually in a courtyard like wholesale lumber.
She had once believed the circles she moved in were the peak of Beijing society.
Only then did she realize the people who truly represented Beijing never appeared on any rich list.
Though she had never met him in person, she could sense from the house and his preferences that he was a serious yet kind elderly gentleman.
He was never harsh with workers.
He paid ten times the market rate.
He allowed those who worked for him to focus completely.
She genuinely hoped he would live to one hundred, free of worry.
Even knowing where he lived, visiting would have been presumptuous.
Offering a lamp felt like the only appropriate gratitude.
"I'll take this one," she said.
The attendant picked up a blessing slip. "What name shall I write?"
Su Qingyi hesitated briefly.
Then, steady and composed, she answered, "Lu Jingcheng."
The attendant repeated it softly and began writing.
At that exact moment, a young man walking past paused.
He turned.
Su Qingyi looked up instinctively.
That single glance stunned her.
She had met many people considered exceptionally handsome. None compared.
His face was cold, expression nearly absent. His eyes carried neither joy nor sorrow. He radiated a quiet detachment from the world.
Yet his features were strikingly deep.
Sharp bone structure. Clean lines. A contrast between restrained ambition and utter indifference.
He seemed both formidable and completely untouched by desire.
She stared for two full seconds before recovering.
She offered him a polite smile.
He did not react.
"Which characters for Jingcheng?" the attendant asked.
She turned away. "The Jing from scenery. The Cheng from success."
She was not even entirely sure those were correct.
When she looked back, he was gone.
Almost unconsciously, she searched for him.
He stood taller than those around him. Upright. Slender. Distinct.
A young monk followed behind him, ordinary in comparison.
Her gaze fell to the strings of prayer beads wrapped around his wrist. One hundred and eight beads, loosely coiled. They rested against the back of his pale hand, hanging from long fingers.
Her heart sank.
No need to ask. Clearly a monk.
Such a young and beautiful man. What could have driven him to take vows?
Her heartbreak lasted all of three seconds.
She shook herself free of it.
After placing the nearly meter-tall eternal lamp in the hall, she stepped outside.
Sunlight broke faintly through the clouds, tracing their edges in gold.
She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, then opened them.
Under the horse chestnut tree ahead stood the same man.
He wore a black cotton-linen shirt fastened with traditional knot buttons. His jawline was clean and sharp. Red prayer ribbons tied to the branches stirred gently in the wind.
For a moment, she did not know whether it was the wind moving, or her heart.
He resembled the Buddha in the main hall.
Solemn. Compassionate.
Gazing upon all beings, yet listening.
She had the strange illusion that he was easy to approach. That even if he disliked someone, he would refuse gently.
Then she saw the prayer beads again.
Her heart broke for the second time.
She pressed a hand lightly against her chest and forced herself to look away.
And then she noticed something else.
A small kitten had climbed down from the tree trunk and was mewing at the ground below.
His expression did not change.
He simply bent, lifted the kitten carefully with one hand supporting its belly, and set it gently back on the ground.