The monk asked for a donation ten times higher than the others, yet what he said was neither flattering nor even remotely similar to the previous predictions.
"You will give birth to a son with the fate of a dragon," the old monk said, his eyes closed. He picked up a smooth, flat stone from the table, running his fingers over its surface. "But your fate will be stolen."
Chuan Yinji froze. This was the first time a monk had said something different. Intrigued, she humored him. "Are you saying my son will steal what should be mine?"
"...Destined for greatness... for unconditional love... death... a bound soul... and rebirth," the monk muttered, his words fragmented and cryptic. Then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open. "I am not sure if it is a gift or a curse."
Chuan Yinji and Bei Xingyun stared at him, bewildered.
They had no idea what he meant.
