Chapter Seventeen: Faith

By the time he returned to the villa, it was already close to midnight.

Through the glow from the peephole, Yang Jiekai could tell someone was still awake inside—probably Aunt Wang. He took out his keys, unlocked the door, and stepped into the living room, only to pause in surprise.

Seated on the sofa was not Aunt Wang, but Han Ning—someone Yang Jiekai had never expected to see at this hour.

This woman was a workaholic, but her routine was unfailingly strict. Unless something truly unusual happened, she never stayed up past ten. If she was up this late, she was neither working overtime nor sleeping, but sitting alone on the sofa watching television. Yang Jiekai found it baffling.

“Wife, are you worried about my safety?” he teased, cocking his head.

“Who’s worried about you!” Han Ning shot back.

In truth, Han Ning was indeed worried. The day had been too much—one shock after another. If it hadn’t been for Yang Jiekai, who knew what that scoundrel He Yuan might have done tonight. She felt a tinge of guilt for leaving him behind, especially after he’d helped her so much. After returning home and waiting another two hours without seeing him, her heart grew uneasy. She’d made an excuse about wanting to sit for a while, sending Aunt Wang and Han Wei to bed, but in reality, she was waiting for him.

Yet now, seeing his infuriating face, all her gratitude vanished. The words of thanks she’d considered died on her lips, replaced by a stern accusation: “Where did you get all those explosives today? I’m warning you, if you dare do anything illegal, I’ll be the first to call the police!”

“So you weren’t waiting up for me after all!” Yang Jiekai sounded disappointed. He undid his buttons, then carelessly tossed a loop of yellow powder from his waist onto the coffee table, making Han Ning nearly yelp in fright.

“Get that away from here!”

Yang Jiekai grabbed a can of cola from the fridge, took a swig, then said nonchalantly, “Don’t worry, it’s just cornmeal. Didn’t expect you to be so jumpy.”

“Cornmeal?” Han Ning was stunned.

“What else?” Yang Jiekai finished his drink in a few gulps and tossed the can into the trash, sprawling onto the sofa. “I sensed those people were up to no good, so I grabbed some cornmeal from the kitchen for self-defense. It actually worked—they were scared out of their wits! Ha!”

Han Ning suddenly understood why he’d asked about the kitchen earlier—it was to find cornmeal. “How did you know something was wrong with them?” she asked.

“I just guessed,” Yang Jiekai replied offhandedly. “That’s always how it goes on TV. Things tend to go wrong at times like this. I’m a bit of a coward, so I brought some props for protection.”

Han Ning couldn’t help but laugh at his feeble excuse, but chose not to probe further. After shooting him a fierce glare, she got up and headed upstairs.

“Wife!”

Han Ning, having just reached the stairs, turned back in annoyance. “What is it now? I’ve told you countless times, stop calling me that!”

Yang Jiekai shrugged indifferently. “But you are my wife. Oh, by the way, that contract you signed today must’ve made you a fortune. Since I played such a major part, can I get a share of the profits?”

Han Ning was nearly in tears from anger. The contract’s smooth signing was largely thanks to Yang Jiekai, and she’d felt a trace of gratitude—until he immediately started asking for a cut. Truly shameless.

“No!” Her answer was firm.

Yang Jiekai squared his shoulders. “If you don’t give me a share, I’ll tell everyone you wear a thong!”

“When did I ever wear a thong? I was wearing—” Han Ning stopped mid-sentence, her face flushing red. Why was she even discussing this with him? She muttered “pervert” and stormed upstairs.

Yang Jiekai could only shrug helplessly. After such an exhausting day, he too felt weary, so he went for a shower and slipped comfortably into bed.

He slept soundly until morning. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he heard movement outside—Aunt Wang must already be up making breakfast. Over the past few days, Yang Jiekai had noticed everyone in the house was an early riser, so he’d gotten used to it.

“Aunt Wang, making breakfast?” Still in his boxers and slippers, he called out as he walked toward the bathroom.

“Yes, young master, just a moment. I’m making fried eggs today—almost done,” Aunt Wang replied from the kitchen, her culinary skills always ensuring a novel breakfast.

“Hm? Aunt Wang, what’s this?” Yang Jiekai noticed some incense and candles on the coffee table. It wasn’t a festival or memorial day, so he was puzzled.

“Today is the Anhai Temple Fair,” Aunt Wang replied from the kitchen. “Miss, Han Wei, and I are going to burn incense there. If you want to come, I’ll prepare more offerings.”

Growing up amid the smoke of battlefields, Yang Jiekai had never believed in gods or spirits. For people like him, faith in one’s own weapon was more practical than faith in anything supernatural—the only conviction was to survive.

He was about to decline when a voice came from the stairs: “Of course he’s coming. Who else will drive us?”

Han Wei had already washed and dressed—in a tight embroidered top and hot pants, her long legs dazzlingly white. She descended the stairs with a playful smile. “Brother-in-law, I heard you did well last night. My sister and I have decided: from now on, you’re the family driver.”

Clearly, Han Ning had told Han Wei about last night, and Han Wei’s opinion of her brother-in-law had improved considerably.

“What nonsense! Who said he’d be our driver?” Han Ning interrupted, coming downstairs. She wasn’t in her usual business attire, but a white dress, its hem brushing her knees, a crystal belt cinching her waist. She looked much softer, less the frosty businesswoman—though her underlying air of distance remained.

“Why waste a free driver?” Han Wei flopped onto the spacious sofa and grabbed a canned drink. Having grown up abroad, she loved soda, yet her figure remained enviably curvaceous.

Yang Jiekai hesitated, but since he had nothing better to do, he agreed. He could use the outing—maybe he’d even bump into a wanted criminal.

Under Han Wei’s insistence, Yang Jiekai reluctantly changed out of his beloved boxers and slippers into a mandarin-collared suit, which Han Wei teasingly dubbed “all dressed up, still a mutt.” After breakfast and a bit of tidying, the family set out.

Yang Jiekai drove, Han Wei sat up front, while Han Ning and Aunt Wang sat in back. Han Wei chattered nonstop, with Yang Jiekai occasionally chiming in, while Han Ning and Aunt Wang remained silent.

Anhai Temple was perched atop Qianshan Mountain in Tianhai City. Legend had it the temple was ancient—over a thousand years old—and the city itself took its name from it.

For once, Yang Jiekai drove slowly—not by choice, but because the crowds heading to the fair were so dense that traffic crawled. What should have been a twenty-minute drive took over an hour before they finally reached the temple parking lot.

Standing before the mountain gate, Yang Jiekai gazed up at the distant temple atop the peak. No wonder it was ranked among the grandest temples in China. Even from afar, its imposing majesty was palpable—the buildings connected, beams interlocked, sprawling across most of the mountaintop.

Beyond the gate, there were still two kilometers of steps to climb—no vehicles permitted—so they began the ascent on foot.

The path was crowded with devout pilgrims. Han Wei, who’d never been here before, looked around with curiosity. Yang Jiekai glanced at Han Ning and saw her face filled with pious reverence. Who would have thought this usually aloof businesswoman was a devout Buddhist?

Following behind Aunt Wang and Han Ning as they toured the temple, Yang Jiekai grew bored and started yawning. He glanced at the map on his ticket and, judging by Han Ning’s habit of worshipping every Buddha she saw, realized they’d be here until sunset.

“Um… Aunt Wang, you all look around. I’ll take a walk outside and meet you at the mountain gate later. The incense smoke is giving me allergies, haha…” He lied through his teeth, right in front of the Buddha.

“Go on, then, don’t desecrate the temple,” Han Wei quipped. Though not a devout Buddhist, she was deeply curious about Chinese culture, having grown up abroad, and followed Han Ning’s example, bowing to every Buddha like a true—or rather, faux—believer.

Aunt Wang and Han Ning, truly devout, paid no attention to Yang Jiekai’s lack of piety.

Awkwardly, Yang Jiekai shrugged and wandered out of the temple.

Compared to the city’s clamor below, the mountain air was peaceful and fresh. Hands in his pockets, Yang Jiekai strolled leisurely around the temple, admiring the towering ancient trees. They reminded him of the primeval forests of his youth, except here, there was no danger lurking—just tranquility.

The Anhai Temple was truly vast; after making a circuit along a lower path, Yang Jiekai realized he’d barely covered a third of it. The trail grew increasingly wild and overgrown, clearly unused for ages.

“Huh? There’s another path here?” He looked around and noticed a nearly hidden trail ahead—easy to miss if you weren’t searching.

With nothing else to do and curiosity getting the better of him, Yang Jiekai parted the grass and vines and followed the path. Twisting and turning through dense forest, he finally reached its end.

“A… Daoist temple?” Yang Jiekai rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Not far from this Buddhist sanctuary stood a small Daoist temple, its gate adorned with a faded Taiji diagram.