One day, the two went out for an outing and chanced upon a temple. Its halls and hermitages were none too spacious. The temple’s incense was faint, and few monks remained—only a single elderly monk was taking refuge there.

The old monk, seeing visitors arrive, adjusted his robes and came out to greet them, leading the two scholars around the grounds, pointing out the scenery. After a short while, they arrived at a great hall.

The hall was spotlessly clean, untouched by dust. In the center stood a statue of the Divine Monk Baozhi, and the flanking walls were adorned with murals, each one vividly lifelike.

The east wall was entirely covered with celestial maidens scattering blossoms, their figures graceful and incomparably beautiful. Among them, one young girl with a simple knot in her hair smiled faintly while holding a flower; her cherry lips seemed ready to part, her gaze about to shift, a vision of indescribable charm.

Scholar Zhu stared for a long moment, his senses utterly captivated, his thoughts spiraling into an endless reverie. Suddenly, his body felt as light as if carried on mist, and without realizing how, he floated toward the mural and slipped right into the painting.

Focusing his gaze, he saw he was in a vast, soaring hall with tiered galleries, lending it a solemn grandeur. Inside, an aged monk sat on a meditation cushion, expounding the Dharma to a massive audience; looking over the crowd, he could not tell if there were hundreds or thousands. Zhu stood transfixed among the listeners.

Not long after, he felt a gentle tug on the corner of his robe. Turning, he saw a breathtaking beauty standing before him, smiling sweetly at him—it was none other than the young girl holding the flower from the mural.

The maiden seemed hesitant to speak, then suddenly let out a soft, tinkling laugh before stepping away, moving onward.

That single laugh stole all of Zhu’s soul and spirit. Without a second thought, he immediately followed. They passed through several winding corridors and latticed railings until they reached a small hut. Though wicked thoughts arose in Zhu’s mind, he dared not act rashly; he paused, hesitating at the door, suddenly at a loss.

Seeing Zhu’s indecision, the maiden pinched a fresh blossom between her fingertips and beckoned him from afar, clearly signaling, "What are you waiting for? Hurry over."

Zhu understood, his heart soaring with joy. He followed the maiden, entering the room.

The interior was immaculate: a wooden bed with silken quilts and soft pillows, emitting waves of subtle fragrance. The maiden walked to the bedside and sat down, looking at Zhu without speaking, offering only that gentle smile, her eyes like water, brimming with spring warmth.

The beauty was like jade, and Zhu felt desire burn through him. Alone together, there was no need for polite restraint. He immediately pulled the woman into his arms, touching and grasping, indulging in unrestrained flirtation.

The maiden offered no resistance. They came and went with fervor, and in an instant, they shared the joys of Mount Wu; after a session of cloud and rain, neither knew what night it was.

When it was done, the maiden instructed Zhu, "Stay here quietly; do not move about or make any noise. I will come to see you again tonight." Saying this, she closed the door and fastened the window, bidding farewell as she left.

That night, the maiden indeed returned to keep her tryst, and their passionate rendezvous needs no further description.

This continued for two or three days, with daily intimacy, and the affair could not remain hidden. Several of the maiden’s companions noticed and all came to search the room, catching Zhu red-handed.

With the affair exposed, Zhu looked utterly mortified, and the maiden’s face was flushed with shame.

The fairy companions teased them, "In the blink of an eye, our dear sister has gone from maiden to young wife—perhaps she’s even carrying a child now. Well, since Sister is taken as a wife, her hairstyle must change too."

As they spoke, the other women insisted, seizing the maiden and swiftly arranging her hair, inserting hairpins and fastening earrings. The maiden submitted to her companions’ ministrations, daring not utter a word, though her face grew even redder.

After a flurry of activity, one woman said, "Sisters, let’s not stand here blocking the way. The newlyweds are enjoying their honeymoon; we shouldn't interrupt them from their proper duties. Someone might get angry otherwise." The women giggled and dispersed.

After they left, Zhu noticed the maiden’s changed hairstyle. Her hair, which had previously rested on her shoulders, was now coiled in a high chignon, lending her an air of mature allure that made his heart throb unbearably. Seeing no one around, his desires resurged. He reached out to untie the maiden’s sash for a second wave of ecstasy.

Just as he was savoring the moment, he suddenly heard the rhythmic clatter of boots and the harsh clang of chains, followed immediately by a flurry of chaotic noise—shouts, curses, and an unending clamor.

The maiden started, and she and the scholar rushed to the window to peer out. They saw a Golden-Armored Messenger, his face as black as lacquer, wearing chains and carrying an iron hammer, seething with rage. The fairy maidens surrounded him, looking fearful.

The messenger roared, "Are you all present?"

The fairy maidens replied, "We are all here."

The messenger demanded, "I haven't visited in a long time. Have any of you secretly harbored a mortal man? You must confess truthfully, lest you bring suffering upon yourselves."

All the women replied, "Absolutely not."

The messenger did not believe them and looked around, seemingly preparing to search. The maiden turned ashen with terror and quickly commanded Zhu, "Quickly hide under the bed!" As she spoke, she rushed to the window, opened it, and jumped out.

Zhu obeyed, hiding beneath the bed, holding his breath, afraid to move.

A moment later, the sound of leather boots kicking echoed as the messenger entered the room, overturning boxes and rummaging through furniture haphazardly. Fear tightened in Zhu’s chest; he dared not even draw a full breath. Fortunately, the messenger did not search meticulously. After a quick sweep, he departed. Zhu let out a sigh of relief, his heart finally easing.

Listening closely, the commotion outside continued unabated. Zhu had been under the bed for so long that his knees were numb, his ears buzzed like cicadas, and his eyes burned with discomfort. Yet, he dared not shift, forced instead to wait in agonizing patience for the maiden's return.

As time dragged on, Zhu grew dizzy, his memory fading until he forgot completely where he came from.

Meanwhile, Meng Longtan, who was still admiring the murals in the temple, suddenly noticed his companion was gone. He quickly asked the old monk, "Where has Brother Zhu gone?"

The old monk smiled. "Scholar Zhu has gone to listen to the Dharma."

Meng Longtan asked, "Where is he listening to the Dharma?"

The old monk chuckled, "Not far." As he spoke, he pointed toward the wall, saying, "Patron Zhu, why have you lingered so long?" Before the words were finished, an image of Zhu appeared on the wall, seemingly leaning to listen, as if catching a sound.

The old monk called out again, "Hurry back; your companion has been waiting for a long time."

Before he finished speaking, Zhu drifted down from the surface of the wall, his spirit unsettled, his face the color of dead wood, looking utterly wretched.

Meng Longtan was horrified and urgently asked for an explanation.

It turned out that Zhu, while hiding under the bed, had suddenly heard the old monk’s call—a sound like thunder—and had rushed to the door to listen. For some reason, in the next instant, he was back in the temple.

The old monk smiled mysteriously and pointed his finger at the mural. The tip of his finger fell precisely upon the maiden. Zhu followed the monk's gesture and stared closely, instantly filled with terror: the woman in the painting had changed from a young girl into a mature lady, her hair coiled high, exactly as he had seen her in the room. He was stunned and bewildered, immediately kneeling down and begging the old monk to enlighten him.

The old monk laughed, "Illusions arise from the mind; what can this poor Daoist explain?"

Hearing this, Zhu gained no insight. Seeing the old monk speaking in riddles only fueled his anger and profound melancholy. Meng Longtan was equally perplexed, unable to grasp the reason. Shaking his head, he reached out, helped Zhu up, and stepped out onto the stones.