Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Grand Ceremony of the Alliance of Five Nations (VII)

The two storytellers who had just been beaten could only slink away, swallowing their grievances. They were mere underlings—so what if the Second Prince struck them a couple of times? Even if he wanted their lives, they would not dare utter a word, especially since they had been at fault first, gossiping about a royal prince behind his back. Their livelihood depended on their tongues, yet today their very words had nearly cost them dearly.

Enduring the pain, the two bowed their heads and trudged ahead.

“Hey, what happened to you two? I was only gone a moment—how did you end up like this?” The other storytellers, noticing their odd expressions, approached to investigate.

At the sight, they were taken aback: both faces were mottled with large bruises, swollen like pig heads, one even bearing a clear palm print… It was a shocking spectacle.

A crowd of storytellers gathered around, bombarding them with questions—not out of true concern, but out of curiosity or fear. After all, they understood the harsh reality: when the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold.

“Did you two offend someone? How did you get so badly hurt? Just look at you—could a person really do this?”

“Exactly! Tell us who it was, and we’ll petition His Majesty of Baixi to seek justice for you.”

“Hush! Don’t ask. We only hurt ourselves by accident,” one of them quickly shook his head, fearing further disaster.

“You hurt yourselves? Did you two slap each other to practice your strength?”

“Yes, exactly. We were just helping each other improve circulation…”

“That’s right, that’s right.”

The pair went along with this excuse, though even they found it hard to believe.

Exchanging glances, their faces twisted with the guilt of those who had done something shameful, or as though they had seen something terrifying.

At that moment, a sharp cry of “Silence!” pierced the ears of everyone on and off the stage. The onlookers dispersed, returning to their places.

“Will the Ninth Prince of Beixiao, the Fifth Prince of Nansheng, the Fourth Prince of Xize, the Third Prince of Dongling, and the Second Prince of Baixi please come to the training ground for the music competition.”

Gu Nanyuan had barely taken his seat when the Minister of Rites called his name. He frowned deeply, waved his sleeve, and walked off grudgingly.

On the other side, the Ninth Prince of Beixiao, Shen Xizhe, upon hearing his name, rose and approached Shen Xinan, bowing with the grace of polished jade, and said in a gentle voice, “Second Brother.”

Shen Xizhe was only seventeen, tall and slender. He had been skilled in music since childhood, with refined, scholarly features, red lips and white teeth, and, upon closer inspection, a small red mole on his chin.

Today, dressed all in white without a speck of dust, he was particularly striking.

Shen Xinan smiled, patted his hand, and said, “Go on, then.”

Shen Xizhe nodded and hurried toward the stage. Perhaps sensing someone’s gaze, he slowed his steps, his cheeks flushing with color.

The five princes below the stage were a remarkable sight. Fuhua, dressed in black, his hair loose and flowing, had an air of unapproachable coldness…

“Master Chenyin has arrived!” came a cry, and a eunuch led a man in his fifties before the five princes.

The man carried his left hand behind his back, his right lightly clasped before him. His hair, streaked with black and white, was tied up casually with a wooden hairpin. Though unkempt, nothing about him seemed out of place.

Upon his arrival, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by spirited discussion.

“Wow! It’s the renowned Master Chenyin! My goodness, what an honor to see him in person.”

“Of the Six Sages, we’ve now seen two. Such a privilege would make anyone envious.”

“His presence is unmatched by any of us.”

The commotion and shrill cries from the crowd left no doubt as to the man’s identity.

The Minister of Rites bowed respectfully to the man, who nodded with a smile but said nothing. The five princes also bowed slightly in greeting.

“Let us begin,” said the man addressed as Master Chenyin. His voice was indescribably melodious, like a gentle breeze caressing the face.

The Minister of Rites immediately ordered several waiting eunuchs to bring forth the zithers and announced in a sharp voice, “As you see, we shall first test your skill with the zither. One who understands the instrument must choose wisely, so I ask the five princes to select their zithers within the time it takes for half an incense stick to burn.”

The guqin originally had only five strings, corresponding to the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, earth—and the five tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu.

In no time, eleven eunuchs each presented a guqin before the audience.

It was widely known that skill depended thirty percent on the instrument and seventy percent on the player. Thus, the selection was not to be taken lightly. The five exchanged glances and stepped forward to examine the zithers with care.

Some of the zithers were carved with dragons and phoenixes, their strings taut as silk, about three feet long. Some were black as lacquer, others retained the natural fragrance of old wood. Most were made of paulownia or sandalwood, styled after Fuxi, Shennong, Liezi, Lianzhu, Luoxia, Lingji, Banana Leaf, or Echo Spring forms.

Changsun Chengjue, after surveying the options, finally stopped before a guqin with plum blossom fracture lines.

Zithers with such markings always produced clear, penetrating sound, were beautiful in appearance, and particularly rare and precious.

Of the eleven zithers, five bore these fracture lines. Of course, that was not to say those without were inferior.

Shen Xizhe and Fuhua each quickly selected a zither in turn. Meanwhile, Wanqi Shu and Gu Nanyuan both reached for the last remaining zither with an ice-crack pattern at the same moment.

Their eyes met, neither willing to yield. Just as it seemed they would deadlock, Wanqi Shu suddenly let go.

“Smart choice,” Gu Nanyuan sneered, a smug smile playing on his lips. With the incense nearly spent, Wanqi Shu hurriedly picked up another decent instrument.

Shen Xizhe gently stroked the zither he had chosen, then approached Wanqi Shu with a smile, offering his instrument with both hands. “Third Prince, use mine. Its tone is superb.”

“This…” Wanqi Shu, seeing the sincerity in Shen Xizhe’s eyes, felt a warm current rise within him.

He knew zithers well enough to recognize the quality of Shen Xizhe’s instrument, but he disliked owing favors, so he declined politely. “Thank you, but this one will do for me.”

“Fool,” sneered Gu Nanyuan, casting a sidelong glance at Shen Xizhe with obvious disdain.

Many were left puzzled by Shen Xizhe’s offer. Why would he do such a thing? The two seemed to be meeting for the first time—if they had met before, surely they shared little connection. There was no need to curry favor like this. Did Shen Xizhe believe Wanqi Shu’s chosen zither was better?

“Third Prince, I truly mean no harm—please accept it,” Shen Xizhe smiled, his expression as warm as sunlight melting snow, his genuine goodwill shining in his eyes.

Wanqi Shu returned the smile but insisted, “I appreciate your kindness, Ninth Prince, but really, there’s no need.”

At this, Shen Xizhe scratched his head, about to say more, when Fuhua abruptly shoved his own fracture-lined zither into Wanqi Shu’s arms. “Put this favor on Fuchen’s tab—he’ll owe me for this.” With that curt remark, Fuhua deftly picked up Wanqi Shu’s original zither and stepped aside.

This action left everyone even more astonished, unable to fathom his true intent. Even Fuchen on the stage looked utterly bewildered, having no idea what his elder brother was thinking. Yet, seeing Wanqi Shu with a fine instrument, his heart was finally at ease.

Wanqi Shu stood dazed for a moment before realizing everyone had moved away. He flashed a bright smile at Shen Xizhe, then tilted his head to glance at Fuchen on stage, pondering, “How is this Fifth Prince of Fuhua so different from the rumors? Love me, love my crow? No, I’m certainly not a crow…”

When the incense had burned out, the Minister of Rites announced, “Time is up.”

The five princes then returned to their places. Before them, a chair was set for Master Chenyin.

The weather that day was perfect—sunny yet mild, with a gentle breeze.

Master Chenyin glanced over the zithers they had chosen, the corners of his mouth lifting in approval. “You all have a keen eye—each instrument is excellent. Now, please don’t hold back: each of you, play a piece.”

“Yes,” the five replied in unison.

“Who would like to go first?” Master Chenyin inquired.

“Sir, I would like to begin,” Changsun Chengjue requested.

As soon as he spoke, the Minister of Rites leaned over to whisper a few words in his ear.

Hearing this, Master Chenyin nodded. “Very well. Please proceed.”

Changsun Chengjue stroked the zither, then took his seat at the table, placing the instrument before him. After a shallow breath, his fingers began to pluck the strings with effortless grace.

Master Chenyin closed his eyes to listen, each note entering his ears as though imbued with a soul.

Changsun Chengjue’s music was winding and melodious, like a girl of seventeen or eighteen picking a plum blossom, strolling through a fairyland with her maids. Several colorful butterflies fluttered around, dancing to her every smile and frown. Suddenly, the girl paused, then walked deeper into the wonderland, her steps light and fleeting.

As the music quickened, so did the girl’s pace, growing more nimble. Those who could appreciate the scene were lost in it, eager to follow her into the unknown.

To those unversed in music, it was simply pleasant to the ear; whether there were mistakes, they could not tell.

“I feel as though I see a beautiful maiden…” Bai Cheng said dreamily, wine cup in hand.

“Indeed, the Fourth Prince of Xize’s artistry is truly exceptional,” agreed Bai Qingye, seated beside him.

When the piece ended, some were still spellbound.

Changsun Chengjue rose slowly, smiled gently, and said, “Forgive my humble performance.”

Applause broke out at once, praise rising all around.

Master Chenyin opened his eyes at last, lamenting, “The music paints a picture—a beautiful realm indeed. Yet it has a beginning without an end, leaving one lost. That is its shortcoming.”

Many were stunned by these words. Clearly, it was already a masterful performance—how could there be any flaw? But none dared question his judgment.

Changsun Chengjue showed no sign of displeasure and replied humbly, “Sir, your words are wise. Though I have studied for years, my endings are always flawed. I beg your guidance.”

“To know one’s shortcomings is the path to progress,” Master Chenyin said, his eyes filled with approval.