After the ghost-hunting master descended the mountain, his fame spread throughout the capital.

Upon hearing this, Jiang Dusheng simply nodded casually and made as if to turn and leave.

Master Huiming felt a slight sense of relief, and the fingers that were twirling the prayer beads became lighter.

Unexpectedly, Jiang Dusheng stopped abruptly after taking a step, and a faint voice drifted over:

"Master, could it be... that you've taken money from someone and are planning to sell off your worthless disciple?"

"Pfft...cough cough cough!"

Master Huiming nearly choked on his own saliva, his eyes widened, and his white beard stood on end.

"Forgive me, forgive me! When have I ever lied?!"

Jiang Dusheng simply looked back at him quietly.

Master Huiming saw that her eyes were clear and unwavering, and remained unmoved.

He sighed deeply, his cloudy eyes filled with helplessness and pity:

"For the past eighteen years before the Buddha, you have barely managed to suppress the evil spirits within your destiny and body through the power of incense and prayers. However, this method is like a dam trying to hold back a flood; it is not a long-term solution."

"If I cannot find that person or the only path to liberation before the age of twenty, even if the Buddha were to reappear, I, your teacher, would be powerless to help."

Jiang Dusheng stared intently at him. "After finding that person, what is the path to liberation?"

Master Huiming simply gazed intently at her, his eyes seemingly piercing through her form and landing on a more distant line of cause and effect.

He slowly shook his head and said, word by word:

"It cannot be spoken, it should not be spoken, it need not be spoken. One should observe the nature of the Dharma realm, for everything is created by the mind. Ultimately, you must walk your own path to find the answer."

He stepped forward, his withered hand gently patting Jiang Dusheng's shoulder, his tone regaining its usual open-mindedness:

"Go. Remember, Bodhi has no tree, nor is the bright mirror a stand. All forms are not forms; this is the truth."

Jiang Dusheng, looking as if he had suddenly understood, turned and walked out.

Only as he stepped across the threshold did he pause slightly, leaving behind a light, airy remark:

"I'll ask one last time tomorrow. I hope you'll think it over carefully tonight and decide whether or not to tell me the truth."

She paused, "Otherwise, I really would stay in the temple and never leave. It would only be a little over two years, just enough time to eat, drink, and wait to die peacefully by Master's rice jar, accompanied by the morning bells and evening drums."

Huiming watched her slender, upright figure disappear through the palace gate, shook his head helplessly, and a trace of worry flashed deep in his eyes.

Just then, a maidservant cautiously announced from outside the door, "Young Miss, Master, Madam, and the young masters have all arrived."

Jiang Dusheng gave a faint "hmm" and opened the door.

The lights outside the door were bright, illuminating a group of people.

Besides Song Suya, there were three other men standing there.

The middle-aged man at the head of the group was dressed in a dark blue brocade robe. His refined appearance carried the air of authority that comes with long-held power. He was none other than her father, Jiang Mao.

His gaze fell on Jiang Dusheng with a complex mix of scrutiny and unfamiliarity.

Song Suya quickly stepped aside to introduce them, her voice deliberately light and cheerful, trying to break the stagnant atmosphere.

She first pointed to a man on the left with a dignified and gentle demeanor, "Dusheng, this is your elder brother, Jiang Zhiyuan."

Jiang Zhiyuan was dressed in a moon-white robe with cloud patterns. He stood tall and straight, and a jade pendant of excellent quality hung at his waist, which made him look even more elegant.

He nodded slightly, his gaze gentle yet probing, displaying the natural refinement and composure of a young master from a prominent family.

Song Suya then led another young man to the right.

His face resembled Jiang Zhiyuan's by five or six points, but he lacked a certain composure. His brows carried a hint of youthful spirit, but at this moment, they were filled with undisguised scrutiny.

"This is your second brother, Jiang Zhiheng."

Jiang Dusheng's gaze lingered briefly on the three people's faces, as if glancing over a few insignificant decorations.

She showed no excitement as one would expect upon seeing a close relative; she simply nodded as a greeting.

She then silently stepped aside, making way for the entrance to the room, and said calmly, "Please come in."

Jiang Zhiheng frowned slightly without making a sound.

His younger sister is truly... extremely rude.

The group entered the room in silence, and exquisite dishes were quickly placed on the round table.

The atmosphere at the table was eerily somber, with only the soft clinking of cups and saucers audible.

Finally, Jiang Mao cleared his throat and broke the uncomfortable silence.

His gaze fell on Jiang Dusheng, with a formulaic concern, as if he were treating a guest who needed to be comforted:

"Dusheng, it's good that you're home. If you need anything in the future, or if you want to buy something, just tell your mother."

Jiang Dusheng nodded and said succinctly, "Okay."

Song Suya cautiously added, trying to ease the tension:

"Dusheng, your sister is still feeling unwell. We were afraid she might pass on her illness to you, so she didn't come to dinner with us tonight. We'll arrange for you two sisters to meet another day..."

"It's alright," Jiang Dusheng replied, his expression showing no sign of concern.

Jiang Zhiheng, who had been silent all along, focused his gaze on her faded plain dress, which seemed out of place amidst the room full of gorgeous clothes and brocades.

His brow furrowed even more, his tone laced with barely concealed skepticism: "Although your family hasn't visited you all these years, they've been sending your monthly allowance to Nanchansi Temple. How come... how come you're dressed like this..."

He paused, his unspoken question obvious: How could he be dressed so simply, almost to the point of destitution?

Jiang Dusheng didn't eat much; he had already put down his chopsticks.

She took out a clean, simple handkerchief and gently wiped the corner of her lips, saying, "Because I used them all for charity and good deeds."

She looked up, her eyes clear and bright. "My master said that only by accumulating enough merit can I suppress this ominous fate and find a glimmer of hope."

Upon hearing this, Jiang Zhiheng's expression stiffened slightly. The question he had prepared was stuck in his throat, and he didn't know how to respond for a moment.

Jiang Zhiyuan, who had been silent all along, spoke up at the opportune moment. His voice was warm and mellow, carrying a soothing tone, attempting to defuse the awkwardness:

"These years... I've made you suffer alone in the temple, it's been so hard for you."

Jiang Dusheng nodded, confirming his statement: "Indeed."

Then, in a calm tone, as if telling someone else's story, she slowly spoke:

"In the first month or two," she continued, her gaze sweeping over Song Suya's face, which had instantly lost its color.

"I always sit on the stone steps of the temple gate from the first light of dawn until the sun sets and the mountain shadows swallow the last rays of the sunset."

She paused, her voice as soft as a sigh, yet it struck a chord deep within: "Later I realized you would never come again. And so... I got used to it."

She raised her eyes, her clear gaze sweeping over everyone present. "Naturally, we won't wait any longer."

After he finished speaking, the room fell silent.

The candlelight seemed to have frozen, and the air was so heavy it could bend a person's spine.

Song Suya bit her lower lip hard to keep from letting out a sob.

Jiang Dusheng seemed completely oblivious to the suffocating atmosphere.

She stood up gracefully, her demeanor impeccable. "Please enjoy your meal, everyone. I'll go for a walk to digest my food."

Having said that, he turned and left without waiting for a response.

As soon as she left, Song Suya could no longer hold back her tears, which streamed down her face like a burst dam. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

"It's us...it's us who have let this child down. We owe her so much..."

Jiang Zhiheng couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Even if we were in the wrong first, her attitude is still far too rude! From the moment we met until now, she hasn't even called us 'father' or 'brother'."

Jiang Mao and Jiang Zhiyuan exchanged a glance.

Jiang Mao's eyes were filled with deep guilt and helplessness, while Jiang Zhiyuan's expression was complex and difficult to describe.

In the end, all the emotions of the father and son could only be expressed in a sigh.