“Old monk, aren’t you supposed to be able to divine and calculate? Then tell me, when will my feet grow bigger?”
“Why would you want them to grow? Other young ladies endure great suffering just to have a pair of pretty, tiny feet.”
“I don’t want those so-called pretty little feet. Natural feet are healthy.”
“Sixth Miss, yours *are* natural feet. Could it be your mother is forcing you to bind them?”
“Old monk, monks don’t lie. Are you playing word games just because I’m young?”
“Sixth Miss, this old monk does not lie. Tell me, is what I’ve said untrue?”
“Hmph! Dodging the question and talking in circles. I’ll go tell Second Grandmother that you’re bullying me.”
“Fang’er, Fang’er, it’s not that I won’t tell you—some secrets of heaven cannot be revealed. Spare this old monk.”
“Haha, that’s more like it.”
At five years old, Lin Fang no longer wore her hair in a single upward ponytail. Instead, her thick, curly black locks were braided into countless tiny plaits, each adorned with red ribbons that cascaded freely down her back. She wore a red outfit with a white gauze overdress and thick-soled embroidered red shoes, her feet appearing especially delicate. Her chubby, childlike face was framed by a smooth forehead, from which dangled a string of millet-sized white pearls—a stark contrast against her dark hair and red ribbons. Her large eyes sparkled with mischief, and her rosy lips trembled slightly, as if at any moment, a peal of silver-bell laughter might escape.
In her left hand, she carried a small cricket cage, woven for her by the skilled Lin Wu. In her right, she held a blade of tickle grass, its tip just brushing against the neck of Huiyuan, the monk. Her sweet, childish voice carried no threat, yet the old monk dared not move. With his abilities, evading a five-year-old girl should have been effortless—yet he refused to try.
Ever since Huiyuan had revealed the secret of Lin Fang’s rebirth three years prior, the little girl had made a game of tormenting him. She would bring harmless yet irritating things to tease him, and if she failed once, she’d try again. If he didn’t let her have her way now, she’d only grow more relentless. That woman Tong was truly detestable—instead of teaching proper medicine, she’d passed on all sorts of devious tricks. Worse still, Huiyuan’s own medical skills, though respectable to others, always fell short compared to Tong’s, especially when it came to unconventional remedies.
Lin Fang tossed the tickle grass into Huiyuan’s medicine basket and wobbled over to sit on a nearby rock. “Then tell me, when will the blood tumors on my face disappear completely?”
Quickly hiding the tickle grass at the bottom of the basket, Huiyuan exhaled in relief and settled onto another rock. “Fang’er, these things cannot be rushed. As I’ve said, fate moves in its own time. You shouldn’t come up the mountain so often—though it’s not high, those tiny feet of yours must struggle. If you need me, wait until I crave a snack. I’ll come down myself.”
“It’s fine. My feet are small, and that’s that. If I don’t exercise them, how will I ever move freely? What’s the difference between that and being crippled?”
Three years ago, following Huiyuan’s advice, Lin Fang’s father, Dalang, and her mother, Li Cuimei, had brought her to see the monk. Terrified, Lin Fang had initially resisted, wanting to throw a tantrum like any child to avoid the meeting. But she was, after all, an adult in a child’s body. After calming down, she realized Huiyuan already knew about her. Hiding now would only delay the inevitable—better to face it head-on. If the worst happened, perhaps she’d die again and wake up in her past life, able to start over. With this grim resolve, she followed her parents up the mountain to Huiyuan’s retreat.
The mountaintop featured a small, naturally leveled clearing, just spacious enough for a modest courtyard. The three structures within were peculiar—a towering tree grew straight through the center of the main house, its trunk as thick as a monk’s embrace, its crown forming a natural canopy. Lin Fang pondered: a tree inside a house formed the character for “trapped” (困). Replace the tree with a person, and it became “imprisoned” (囚). Was the old monk heedless of symbolism, or was there some profound intent?
Claiming he needed to perform blessings for Lin Fang, Huiyuan asked Dalang and Li Cuimei to wait outside. Expecting some mystical ritual to expose her true nature, Lin Fang was stunned when the monk simply asked, “Sixth Miss, did you know how to make oil-splashed noodles in your past life? Make me some someday.”
“Oh, I only ate them—never made them. But if you want, I can tell you how.” Only after answering did she realize she’d walked right into his trap. Heart pounding, she stared wide-eyed, waiting for what came next.
“Good. Keep your word. If you recall any other delicious vegetarian dishes, do tell this old monk. In this lifetime, I harbor no lofty aspirations—only a passion for food. A mouth within a house forms the character for ‘return’ (回). The sea of suffering knows no shore, yet turning back brings one to land.”
Lin Fang tensed. “What do you mean, Master?”
“Nothing more than a craving. When I first saw you, your eyes were clear—but not a child’s. Upon closer look, I knew you weren’t of this lifetime. Don’t be afraid. Everyone has past and present lives, cycling through rebirth. But you—you carry memories. That’s unusual. Something must have been so hateful or joyous that the memories couldn’t fade. Tell me, did you once fall unconscious for three days, your soul returning to witness something unbearable?”
“Yes.”
“Will you speak of it?”
“No.”
“Avoidance solves nothing.”
“But it’s too painful. I don’t want to.”
“Fear not—I’m here. Heh, your Second Grandmother is fiercely protective. If anything happened to you, she’d never forgive me. Besides, I’ve heard you knew many vegetarian dishes in your past life. This old monk hungers for them—why would I harm you?”
Before Lin Fang could react, she was back in the moment of her previous soul departure. Curses rang in her ears as she watched the despicable couple’s betrayal. She longed to strike them but couldn’t touch them. In her fury, she screamed at the sky.
“Pfft—”
A mouthful of blood sprayed forth, and Lin Fang collapsed.
Huiyuan carried her out and handed her to Li Cuimei. The girl’s face was deathly pale, her body limp. As Dalang and his wife panicked, the monk merely smiled. “Fang’er is fine. She’ll wake unharmed. Remember—if she faints suddenly again, don’t panic. Stay by her side, keep speaking to her, and she’ll return.”
Dalang and Li Cuimei exchanged alarmed glances. “Master, what do you mean?”
“Heaven’s secrets cannot be spoken. Fang’er is deeply emotional—just remember this.”
Lin Fang slept for three full days. When she awoke, her family stared at her with curiosity, her parents’ eyes brimming with joy. Her mother lifted her before a mirror.
The reflection showed Lin Fang’s face—no longer clustered with blood tumors like overlapping grapes. Instead, they had flattened into a single, faint layer.
Shocked, Lin Fang asked, “Mother, why…?”
Li Cuimei couldn’t stop grinning. “Heh, why else? My treasure has become even prettier.”
“Mother, your eyebrows—!”
Lin Fang suddenly noticed the thick hair between her mother’s brows had thinned. Were they connected in some way?
“My eyebrows?” Li Cuimei was baffled.
Dalang gasped. “Cuimei, your brows *have* changed! These past days, we’ve been so focused on Fang’er, we didn’t notice. Look in the mirror.”
Overjoyed, Li Cuimei whispered, “The master said mother and daughter are linked, guarding each other. Fate moves unseen—so this is what he meant.”
Later, Lin Fang realized her feet weren’t growing in proportion to her height. At five, they remained the size of a two-year-old’s, making walking unstable and painful after short distances. She sighed—why must every flaw from her past life follow her here?
In her previous life, her feet had also been small—size 34 for a height of 165 cm—unsuited for long walks (though she rarely took them). Finding shoes had been a nightmare: adult stores rarely carried her size, while children’s shoes, though fitting, were often too childish in style. Each shoe hunt took days of searching the entire city.
Working in a hospital, she’d heard of many strange conditions—but never one where feet refused to grow with the body. Honestly, if forced to choose between small feet and blood tumors, she’d take functional feet any day. When she asked Huiyuan, the rotund monk only said, “What grows here must shrink there,” refusing to elaborate. So Lin Fang retaliated—when describing how to make oil-splashed noodles, she deliberately added a bitter wild vegetable from her past life, one that, if prepared wrong, was unbearably acrid. She hadn’t expected Huiyuan to actually find it—the resulting noodles were predictably awful.
Amused, Lin Fang made tormenting Huiyuan a pastime. But the monk wasn’t one to always suffer in silence—sometimes, he’d turn the tables. Their antics often left bystanders torn between laughter and exasperation.
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