The Amusing Adventures of a Directionally Challenged Dad and Daughter-Chapter 116

Besides, Old Gu Six occasionally pulled out a compass to check. It couldn’t be that far off.

The northern territories were relatively peaceful now. No refugees scrambled about, and the common folk lived in relative stability.

Since they stuck to backroads, they camped in the wilderness. In the dead of winter, snakes, insects, and rodents were hibernating, leaving them undisturbed.

This time, they made it out of the north without trouble. Was it the silver wolf’s doing or the compass’s? Probably both.

They also had to thank the villagers who pointed them in the right direction—thankfully, they were honest and didn’t mislead them.

They slipped cautiously through the border between north and south, moving like thieves afraid of alerting the stationed soldiers nearby.

Damn it—they’d nearly walked straight into a trap.

Luckily, they made it through unscathed. The moment they left the danger zone, Old Gu Six urged the mule into a wild sprint.

Beyond the northern lands, the scenery shifted dramatically, just like when they’d fled the famine—another stark contrast.

War had made life unbearable for the border townspeople, forcing most to abandon their homes.

The roads were littered with elderly, women, and children carrying their belongings. The men who should’ve been their support had either died in battle or been conscripted, vanishing without a trace.

Winter in the south was damp and cold, the kind that seeped into your bones—especially when it rained.

Old Gu Six found a temple, donated some incense money, and the two settled in for a stay.

The rain poured as heavily as the day Yiping went to ask her father for money. Since they were staying on temple grounds and had already donated, it was only right to offer incense.

In the main hall, the abbot and his disciples chanted sutras while striking wooden fish.

A young monk handed them three incense sticks each.

They lit them, but just as they were about to bow, the incense went out.

Chang'an: What the—since when does incense blow out like a candle? Who made this garbage?

Father and daughter exchanged glances, relit the incense, only for it to snuff out again—inexplicably.

Old Gu Six gave the young monk a pointed look. Care to explain? Did you run out of funds and buy defective incense?

The young monk was just as baffled.

Other ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‍worshippers had no trouble with these sticks. Why wouldn’t they light for these two? Maybe the problem wasn’t the incense—but the people?

The abbot stepped forward, chanting, "Amitabha."

"Benefactors, your blessings are boundless. There is no need to seek divine favor. Simply place the incense in the burner."

They did as told, leaving six unlit sticks standing conspicuously among the others.

With their "prayers" complete, they left the hall and strolled along the temple eaves, finding a peculiar charm in the moment.

After they left, the abbot took a candle and tried to light the six sticks himself—but they refused to ignite. In the process, he accidentally burned a hole in his kasaya.

The abbot’s pupils constricted. In all his years, he’d never encountered incense that wouldn’t light.

If the incense was faulty, why did it work for others?

The issue had to lie with the people. Kneeling before the Buddha, he clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and murmured incantations.

Moments later, the abbot coughed up blood and collapsed onto the prayer mat.

"Master!" The disciples rushed to his aid, frantically carrying him back to his quarters.

The young monk stayed behind, fetching water to clean the bloodstains from the altar and replacing the prayer mat.

He knelt, bowed three times in reverence, then removed the unlit incense and replaced it with fresh, burning sticks.

Only after finishing did he leave the hall.

Back in his room, the abbot awoke and said nothing of the incident, only telling his disciples, "This master’s cultivation is insufficient. It is of no consequence. Mingjing, take your brothers and resume your studies."

Then, with slight unease, he added, "Do not disturb the honored guests in the guest quarters."

"Yes, Master."

Chang'an and Old Gu Six remained unaware of the aftermath. Their attention was captured by two massive turtles in the wishing pond.

"Dad, these turtles are huge—must be plenty of meat on them."

"Daughter, I’m craving braised turtle," Old Gu Six rubbed his hands, itching to scoop one up for dinner.

Their conversation was overheard by the young monk coming to call them for supper, startling him into a cold sweat despite the winter chill.

"Amitabha, benefactors. These are sacred temple guardians. They are not for consumption."

Father and daughter wore identical looks of disappointment. So much for sneaking one out later.

Of course, they hadn’t planned to eat both—just one. They still had some morals.

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Passing the wishing tree, its branches heavy with red-tied wooden plaques clattering in the wind, Chang'an asked curiously, "Little master, what kind of wishes do people make here?"

"Amitabha, benefactor. This is a tree of matrimonial blessings."

"You think if I wished for wealth here, it’d still count?"

Young monk: …

Today’s visitors were… unusual. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

"Daughter, the Matchmaker can’t steal the God of Wealth’s job," Old Gu Six tiptoed to flip a plaque at random.

Written upon it: This humble maiden, Li Yao, prays for a blissful union with Young Master Ye Feng.

Wasn’t the wording a bit off?

A plaque from the treetop fell, bonking Chang'an on the head. Old Gu Six snatched it up, ready to destroy it in anger.

But a glance at the inscription made him reconsider.

This person was clearly cut from the same cloth as his daughter—wishing for riches on a love tree. He wondered if this Luo Xiaobao had gotten their wish.

With a careless toss, he sent the plaque flying back to the treetop.

He didn’t know that his throw had bypassed celestial bureaucracy—sending the wish straight to the God of Wealth’s desk.

And by straight, we mean the deity got smacked in the face by a wooden plaque.

The God of Wealth was very confused.