The land favored him, and in the unseen currents, it protected him from suffering.
Lin Xiang grew more curious. This was the first time she had encountered someone described as favored by destiny, yet this chosen one seemed to have rather poor luck, suffering imprisonment even under the protection of the earth's consciousness.
The crisp chime of the opening door awakened Lin Xiang, and the hazy apparition vanished at the same moment. Lin Xiang turned to look at the guest entering, smiling as she rose to greet them.
The visitor was the old woman who had offered help when Lin Xiang first arrived in this world. Her hair was white, and she wore a neat braid coiled atop her head. The ravages of time had not diminished the beauty in her eyes.
"Miss Lin, I heard from the old temple keeper that you've found your distant relatives and settled down. I specifically asked for your address to come and see you."
Lin Xiang busied herself taking the basket hanging from the old woman's arm. The old woman lifted the cloth covering the basket and smiled, "Consider these a congratulatory gift for your housewarming."
The basket held traditional pastries from her homeland. They lacked elaborate packaging but were eye-catching, their delicate skins still steaming.
Lin Xiang brought a rattan chair for the old woman and offered her a cup of clear tea. "You speak as if I would find fault. How could I possibly be displeased?"
Turning, she took out several white porcelain saucers and placed the steaming pastries on them as tea snacks.
The old woman's skill was undeniable. The osmanthus-scented pastries were soft and sweet with a light flavor, perfectly embodying the saying that subtle sweetness is the highest praise.
Lin Xiang's appetite was whetted. She ate five or six before feeling unsatisfied, exclaiming, "Your culinary skills are truly exceptional! You must have a secret recipe, right?"
The old woman took a sip of tea, saying proudly, "Of course. Don't underestimate these little osmanthus cakes. I've supported my entire family with this craft!"
Lin Xiang felt a touch of surprise. The old woman's demeanor suggested she was from a noble family. The way she sat in the rattan chair and held her tea hinted at a refined elegance all her own.
The old woman's surname was Zhang, and she was a regular at the Mazu Temple. She never missed her incense offerings on the first and fifteenth of each month. After the statue of Ru Yi Niangniang was enshrined in the Mazu Temple, Granny Zhang's prayers now included an additional deity.
Lin Xiang, listening to Granny Zhang's prayers, heard only pleas for the safety of her family and friends. Considering her age, it seemed this Granny Zhang was a woman with a story.
Her old friends, who had become familiar with her, were dwindling. The elderly who frequented the Mazu Temple recently often came alone, visiting more frequently simply to encounter acquaintances and chat.
Seeing how much Lin Xiang enjoyed her osmanthus cakes, Granny Zhang promised to bring more the next time they met.
After seeing Granny Zhang off, Lin Xiang returned to the inner chamber to continue enjoying her tea and pastries.
Amidst her delight, Lin Xiang recalled Granny Zhang's help when she first arrived, feeling a surge of gratitude. It was only natural for kindness to be rewarded; since she had accepted offerings, it was an undeniable responsibility for a deity to resolve the worries of her believers. Gently manipulating the threads of faith connected to her, Lin Xiang found the one belonging to Granny Zhang. For once, she felt curious, wanting to see what profound and unforgettable stories this elder, who had weathered so many storms, might hold.
In that era of turmoil, the suffering of the populace was not a mere empty description but a reality unfolding constantly.
The mists of memory dissipated, and Lin Xiang saw Granny Zhang as a young maiden.
The girl, preparing her makeup before a mirror, hailed from a declining noble family. She had grown up carefree under the protection of her parents. The whispers of her confidantes and the harmonious affection of her sisters filled the girl's memories before she turned seventeen. Amidst the blessings of her family and friends, the girl donned a bright red wedding gown and, with tearful eyes, left the parents who had raised her to join her husband.
Her husband, Young Master Zhang, had studied abroad and appeared refined and gentle. They lived a blissful life together, like celestial lovers, and soon welcomed a son and a daughter.
All that was beautiful came to an abrupt halt. The fires of war spread to Beiping. The fleeing family was separated. The distraught woman, with her children, boarded a ship bound for San Francisco.
Accustomed to luxury, the woman could barely stand in the swaying cabin, stumbling and clinging to a pillar to avoid falling to the ground.
The cabin was cramped and dim, extremely crowded, with only a small, slanted window allowing little sunlight to penetrate. Nearly a hundred people were squeezed into the small space, men and women, old and young, all with the same sallow complexions and vacant eyes, their gazes filled with numbness.
To escape the flames of war, those who had managed to board the ship had long since disregarded hygiene. The harsh conditions made it impossible for them to care; their worn and tattered clothes were stained with dirt. They had no means to bathe, nor clothes to change into.
If not for the shared yellow skin and dark eyes of those around her, Lin Xiang might have subconsciously suspected this was a slave ship transporting black slaves.
Her children, by her side, gave the woman the courage to persevere. Her eyes were resolute as she held her children tightly with her other arm.
After a long while, the cabin door opened.
A middle-aged man, dressed relatively neatly, descended the stairs. He stopped midway, a look of disdain on his face, clearly unwilling to interact too closely with the people at the bottom of the cabin.
"The cook who makes pastries for the adults is sick. Who among you knows how to bake?" the middle-aged man called out, shaking his old clothes and raising his voice. "You'll each get a bowl of thin congee and two steamed buns per meal!"
At these words, the previously silent crowd erupted into chaos. They cared little whether the sick cook had been thrown overboard; their eyes were fixed only on the congee and steamed buns.
Everyone, regardless of age, shouted in unison: "I can cook!"
"My husband is a chef!"
"I don't want two buns, just give me one!"
Saying this, they surged forward to the stairs, attempting to grab the middle-aged man's clothes, scaring him into retreating a few steps.
"Quiet!" the middle-aged man roared in annoyance. "Only women! If you keep shouting and causing trouble, I'll throw you into the sea!"
"I'm looking for someone who can bake pastries, a proper baker, not some country bumpkin who only knows how to make a mess of a stew!" The middle-aged man scanned the crowd, and seeing the once eager participants now retreating, his expression turned grim.
This was a merchant ship, originally trading goods between Southeast Asian countries and America. The lower cabins carried cargo when available, and people when not. Such merchant ships were common at sea. Some were even more ruthless, luring refugees onto their ships, categorizing them into different classes, and selling them by weight in San Francisco. Those unwanted were simply thrown overboard anywhere.
The ship's owner was considered somewhat benevolent, providing the refugees with a few bowls of rice soup each day to sustain them. As for whether they would survive upon reaching America, that was no longer their concern.