It means that even when adorned in humble attire and simple hairpins, her natural beauty remains so striking that it cannot be concealed.

“I’ll repeat myself once more,” Xie Qingfa, seated in the passenger seat, said gravely, his gaze intense. “This is the only person I can find right now who can save your son’s life. No matter what she asks you later, you must answer truthfully. Do not conceal anything, and above all, do not offend her.”

In the back seat, the Chen couple and their son, Chen Yiming, listened with caution written across their faces, nodding repeatedly.

The car soon turned into a quiet neighborhood. After the three stepped out, they walked a short distance to a detached villa.

Standing at the door, Xie Qingfa took several deep breaths, as though the tiny dot of the doorbell were some monstrous beast. Only when he had composed himself did he reach out and press it.

There was no sound from inside, but the iron gate swung open swiftly before them.

Beyond the gate lay a small courtyard belonging to the villa, planted with camellias in various hues and pale pink gladiolus. At the center, a wisteria trellis sprawled, vibrant and full of life, leaving the Chen family momentarily stunned.

Since Chen Yiming’s misfortune, they had sought out numerous local masters—some genuine, some charlatans. The only one who had shown any effect at all was this young Daoist priest, Xie Qingfa, recommended by Chen Yiming’s cousin, Chen Yishen.

It was said he possessed the art of manipulating bone and was destined for this path by virtue of his affinity with the immortals. At the very least, his talismans allowed Chen Yiming rare, restful nights.

Yet even Xie Qingfa could only suppress, not resolve, the issue plaguing Chen Yiming.

Fortunately, he and Chen Yishen seemed to share a close bond. Xie Qingfa claimed to know someone truly capable of saving Chen Yiming, though he could not guarantee her willingness to intervene.

The Chen parents spent two agonizing days waiting, before Xie Qingfa brought word of hope.

Having witnessed Xie Qingfa’s abilities firsthand, and seeing the reverence he showed toward this master, the Chen family grew even more anxious, wary of inadvertently offending her.

They had imagined that such a person, if not dwelling in some remote mountain, would at least live somewhere extraordinary.

Yet the courtyard revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

“Xie?” A clear, melodious female voice called from behind the wisteria trellis. “Why are you here so early?”

Everyone turned toward the sound, and a figure emerged from behind the trellis.

At first sight, Chen Yiming understood why Xie Qingfa had warned them so earnestly not to show even the slightest disrespect.

Because the woman before them was simply breathtaking.

Or rather, to call her merely beautiful would be crude.

She seemed to have been washing something moments ago, for she wore a somewhat rustic apron over her shirt, with a few water stains splashed across it.

Chen Yiming had always believed that clothes made the person—even the most stunning beauty required proper attire. The saying “looks good even in a burlap sack” had seemed a mere joke or flattery suited to special occasions.

But today, he finally understood what it meant for “plain attire to fail to conceal extraordinary beauty.”

No embellishment was needed. Even her overly pale lips did not hint at illness, but instead lent her a delicate softness to counter her cool demeanor. Her loosely tied hair, slightly disheveled, only enhanced her unique charm.

Most striking was the red tear-shaped mole beneath her left eye, which, with every movement, imparted a subtle allure.

Xie Qingfa saw Chen Yiming staring dazedly at Ji Ningzhao. Though his expression betrayed nothing, he stomped hard on Chen Yiming’s foot, then called out with a smile, “Sister Ningzhao.”

Ji Ningzhao shook water from her hands and glanced at them. “You’re here, come in. Don’t just stand at the door.”

Xie Qingfa nodded, then pinched Chen Yiming’s side fiercely, hissing, “Snap out of it.”

The villa was not the traditional, antique-style abode the Chen family had imagined. Instead, it was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, oak-colored floors, light ethnic-patterned rugs and paintings, and a white plush blanket draped over a walnut rocking chair. The atmosphere was cozy and lived-in.

The air conditioning was on, not overly warm, but Chen Yiming felt a long-lost warmth and relaxation. It was as if the nameless pressure that had haunted him suddenly vanished.

“Would you like something to drink?” Ji Ningzhao invited them to sit on the sofa in the living room before heading to the kitchen.

Because Xie Qingfa was so respectful toward Ji Ningzhao, the Chen family remained somewhat rigid, despite her casual demeanor.

Besides, the Chen parents’ minds were occupied by their son’s predicament; drinks were the least of their concerns.

Ji Ningzhao brewed a pot of tea and placed it on the coffee table. She glanced at Chen Yiming’s complexion—the darkened brow, the deep shadows beneath his eyes—then turned to Xie Qingfa. “His soul lamp flickers, his spirit unsettled. Why did you wait so long to come to me?”

Her words left the Chen parents uneasy, both looking to Xie Qingfa, who could only offer a bitter smile.

When Chen Yishen first approached him, he hadn’t thought the matter so difficult. Only upon seeing Chen Yiming did he realize its complexity.

To make matters worse, his master was in seclusion at this time, leaving Xie Qingfa nowhere else to turn. Only then had he steeled himself and sought out Ji Ningzhao.

Ordinary people might sense nothing beyond Ji Ningzhao’s cool temperament, but those versed in the mystical arts could clearly feel the unfathomable pressure emanating from her.

It was as if she did not belong to their world at all.

If Xie Qingfa had any other option, he would never have come to Ji Ningzhao, even though his master and she were on somewhat friendly terms.

But his close friendship with Chen Yishen left him unable to simply watch his friend’s kin die.

“Sister Ningzhao, I had no choice. His problem seems simple, but it’s actually very difficult to resolve. Right now, I can only use talismans to forcibly suppress his life lamp, but—”

“But the critical issue is not that,” Ji Ningzhao interrupted, smiling slightly. “His soul lamp flickers because something is consuming his life fire. This thing is deeply entwined with his fate. If that entanglement cannot be broken, he can only watch as his flame gutters out.”

Her tone was calm as she spoke. Her irises seemed lighter than most, and in the sunlight, they had a glass-like, inorganic quality that sent a chill through Xie Qingfa.

“Do you know why he’s still alive, Xie?”

Xie Qingfa nodded, “Ancestral blessing.”

The Chen family was a distinguished scholarly lineage. After prospering in Jiangnan, they built bridges and roads, saving countless lives in chaotic times, accumulating great merit.

In recent years, Chen Yiming’s parents had done much good as well. It was thanks to this accumulation that Chen Yiming survived thus far.

Chen’s father was unaware of Xie Qingfa’s thoughts, but hearing the conversation between him and Ji Ningzhao made him increasingly anxious.

He and his wife had only one son. They had run all over for his sake lately, meeting genuine practitioners who said much the same as Ji Ningzhao.

But those others had drawn their conclusions after questioning and divination. Ji Ningzhao, however, had merely glanced at Chen Yiming since they entered, making Chen’s father all the more desperate to know whether she could resolve the ordeal that plagued them.

Before he could ask, Ji Ningzhao turned to him. “I do have a solution, but first I need to know exactly what happened to your son.”