Prince Duan never expected that instead of the imperial physician he summoned, he would end up receiving the very old diviner who once declared he was burdened with too much blood-debt, fated to have no sons, and that even if he did, none would survive.
"Go, ask Miss Feng to bring Little Dumpling over. Today, I’m going to slap that diviner’s face." Prince Duan, hands stained with blood, is a god of war who has taken countless lives. He never believed in fate, yet fate always seems to mock him.
If destiny truly existed, then as a prince born into the imperial clan, shouldn’t he have enjoyed all earthly riches? Why did he have to fight for his future with his life, just like any ordinary man?
If destiny truly existed, and he had killed so many, if retribution was real, why wasn’t the punishment brought upon him, but instead visited on his son?
The National Preceptor says he’s steeped in blood-debt; all of Westlyn says he’s a ruthless killer. But did anyone ever consider—was any of this truly his choice?
As an imperial prince, even if he wasn’t favored, he grew up surrounded by attendants. Before going to war, the most he’d ever killed were ants—he’d never taken a life, never seen blood.
He doesn’t believe in fate, nor does he want to, but the Old National Preceptor’s words have haunted him, casting a shadow in his heart. All these years, he’s lived in unease, afraid those words might come true.
That’s why he lowered his pride. The moment something happened to his son, he summoned the Old National Preceptor right away.
"Westlyn’s National Preceptor?" Serena had never even heard of such a person.
Serena looked at Prince Duan’s butler, confused. The butler hesitated, then explained slowly, "Miss, the National Preceptor has been secluded in the ancestral temple for over a decade. He hasn’t appeared in public for many years. Even the royal family only catches rare glimpses of him now."
The National Preceptor has left the ancestral temple this time at the prince’s invitation, coming specifically for the young heir. Miss, if you and your companions meet the National Preceptor, you may seek his guidance. If you can receive even a single word of advice from him, it will benefit you for a lifetime."
The implication was clear: Serena was lucky, riding on Little Dumpling’s fortune.
"Oh..." Serena suddenly understood, her face lighting up in feigned delight.
Ugh... Pretending to be flattered is truly not easy for Serena.
After all, she’d already met heirs of the Divine Temple—why would she be impressed by Westlyn’s National Preceptor?
No matter how skilled Westlyn’s National Preceptor was, he couldn’t be more formidable than the Divine Temple heirs.
Serena didn’t take this so-called National Preceptor seriously at all. Carrying Little Dumpling, she headed straight for the flower hall. Her indifference was enough to make people drop dead from shock...
The Westlyn National Preceptor, seeing Serena and Little Dumpling walk in, snapped awake from his drowsiness, eyes wide with terror. "You—you two... you’re both already dead. How could this be, how could this be... What are you?"
The Old National Preceptor was so agitated he couldn’t control himself, leaping to his feet and trembling as he pointed at Serena and Little Dumpling, muttering that they were both people who should be dead, who shouldn’t be alive.
His reaction was so sudden that Serena was caught off guard. Little Dumpling, startled, didn’t tremble but his face turned pale, lips quivering, and he burrowed desperately into Serena’s arms.
Prince Duan’s face instantly darkened. He slammed his hand on the table and stood up, about to speak, but Serena stopped him with just a glance.
Serena soothed Little Dumpling, not angry at all. Instead, she pointed at herself and the child with genuine curiosity: "Sir, are you saying the dead people are us two?"
This accusation was child’s play to Serena—she wasn’t surprised at all. Feeling mischievous, she carried Little Dumpling into the sunlight and asked in mock amazement, "Look, we have shadows! Sir, are you sure we’re dead? Are we really not supposed to exist in this world?"
Standing with Little Dumpling bathed in sunlight, Serena’s smile was radiant. Once the boy calmed down, he looked adorably dazed. Serena turned, letting the light blur their features and wrap them in a faint golden glow.
The National Preceptor and Yixuan were still in shock when Prince Duan, feigning seriousness, barked, "Enough nonsense—my son is a celestial child sent down to the mortal world."
As for Serena?
Prince Duan would never admit it, but seeing Serena bathed in sunlight, especially with that smile that could warm the coldest heart, he finally understood why his son clung to her so tightly—his boy had good taste.
"Impossible, impossible, how could this be?" The Old National Preceptor fell into self-doubt, shaking his head. "I cannot be mistaken, I am never mistaken. You are both supposed to be dead—your fate..."
"Looks like we’ve come at a bad time." The sun outside was blazing, and Serena wasn’t happy to be standing in it. Carrying Little Dumpling, she strode in and sat down across from the National Preceptor without waiting for Prince Duan’s invitation.
"Who—who are you really?" The Old National Preceptor pointed at Serena, voice unusually stern. Beside him, Yixuan’s brow was furrowed; his instincts told him this woman, like Felix Fuller of Eastlyn, was someone dangerous to their order.
He couldn’t read this woman’s fate at all—it was strange.
Just as his grandfather had said, this woman’s features should mark her as someone on the verge of death, but oddly enough, it seemed her fate had changed...
"What if I said I’m the Nine-Heavens Goddess—would you believe me?" Serena joked, following Prince Duan’s lead. Then, realizing it sounded too sharp, she added lightly, "You probably wouldn’t. Maybe if I said I was a fox spirit, you’d believe that instead."
Prince Duan couldn’t help but laugh. "I thought I was the only one who didn’t care about so-called fate, but it seems Miss Feng is the same."
"No, I do believe in fate." Serena opened her right hand. "This line in my palm is called the fate line. My destiny is in my own hands."
Serena smiled faintly, closed her hand, and looked up at the Old National Preceptor. "You must be your country’s National Preceptor. Forgive my lack of proper manners."
Her words were courteous, but Serena remained motionless with Little Dumpling in her arms, clearly not planning to bow.
(This chapter isn’t finished yet~.~ Please click next page to continue reading!)
Then again, who would be happy being called someone who should be dead, who shouldn’t be alive?
After all, there’s only one William Wang Jinling in this world—not everyone has his grace and composure.
After all, the Old National Preceptor was a man who’d weathered many storms. He quickly regained his composure, apologized for his rudeness, and sat down.
Only then did the Old National Preceptor refrain from speaking rashly. He scrutinized Serena from head to toe, then said in a cryptic tone, "Miss, you are a perceptive person. Whether my words are true or false, you know better than anyone. Since you don’t wish to discuss it, I won’t press. Allow me to remind you: everything in the world follows its own laws. It’s best to stick to your place and not dream of defying Heaven and changing fate."
"Defy Heaven and change fate? National Preceptor, do you really think I’m the Nine-Heavens Goddess descended to earth? If I had that power, would I still be sitting here?" Serena’s face was all innocence, but inside she was on alert.
She couldn’t tell if this National Preceptor was truly gifted or just guessing. If he was the real deal, she’d need to be careful—such masters always have abilities ordinary people can’t imagine. Best to keep her distance, lest she attract unwanted attention.
But if he was just guessing, there was nothing to fear. He wasn’t a Daoist, and she wasn’t a demon.
What Serena didn’t know was that she’d already caught someone’s attention because of her fate.
Serena’s unusual fate intrigued not only the Old National Preceptor, but also Felix Fuller. Felix, however, was smart—he wouldn’t trespass on forbidden ground, lest a certain jealous man become furious.
The Old National Preceptor had no such concern. Having just emerged from seclusion, he was still unfamiliar with the current state of the world and didn’t realize his probing would provoke the man behind Serena.
The Old National Preceptor fixed Serena with a sharp gaze. "Miss, you must know that there are many who change fate because of others. Your appearance—"
Once he returned to normal, the Old National Preceptor radiated the air of a true master—his every word and gesture said, "I see through everything; in my eyes, your actions are nothing but a clown’s tricks."
Serena let out a quiet laugh and didn’t reply; the National Preceptor had already made up his mind, so saying more would be pointless.
If he truly was a master, worst case she could write to Eastlyn and call Felix Fuller to duel him in divination—she didn’t believe anyone could just wipe her out.
With that thought, any lingering fear vanished. Serena turned to Prince Duan and said, "Your Highness, if there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave."
"Mm." Prince Duan didn’t stop her. The National Preceptor’s words had left him deeply displeased; he’d hoped the man would say something comforting, but instead he’d called his son a dead child.
If he’d known he’d hear such things, he’d never have invited the man. Instead of reassurance, he was left feeling even worse.
The Old National Preceptor knew his earlier behavior had been lacking in dignity. He didn’t try to keep Serena, but gave her and Little Dumpling a meaningful look.
Little Dumpling’s face was blank, Serena was unconcerned, but Prince Duan looked a bit dissatisfied. Fortunately, the Old National Preceptor was skilled not only in calculation but also in reading faces; before Prince Duan could speak, he rose and bid farewell.
Before leaving, he finally said something to please Prince Duan: "Everyone has their own destiny, but fate is not set in stone. The young heir’s destiny has changed. Your Highness needn’t worry anymore—he will be safe and well."
"I’ve always said—even the King of Hell couldn’t take my son away." Prince Duan’s face stayed tough, but inside he was deeply relieved.
He claimed not to believe in fate, but in truth, the National Preceptor’s predictions had always weighed on him—he feared his son was something he’d forced, someone he couldn’t keep...
Fate said he’d have no heir, yet he had a son; fate said his son would die young, yet his boy survived!
At last, his life was no longer dictated by the National Preceptor’s word!