Chapter 28: The Grand Ceremony of the Five Nations Alliance (Part Eight)

Mr. Shen Yin’s words made everyone else anxious; after all, even someone of Changsun Chengjue’s caliber was found lacking in his eyes. What kind of music, then, would be considered truly perfect?

“All right. Who’s next?” Mr. Shen Yin’s voice sounded again. At this, Gu Nanyuan began to panic. No one knew the true level of his skills better than himself.

His father, the monarch, must have been disappointed upon hearing his ritual arts were deemed inferior. If he earned another “inferior” today, the throne would be out of reach. As for reputation, good or bad, that mattered little to Gu Nanyuan—so long as he stood above others, fame would follow. But now, his priority was to win honor for his father, to become his pride. Having learned from earlier mistakes, he refrained from rushing forward, choosing instead to wait and observe.

“Sir, please impart your wisdom,” said Wan Qi Shu. He figured death was inevitable, so better to face it quickly—better a swift end than to live in constant dread.

“Sir, this is Wan Qi Shu, third prince of Dongling,” the minister of rites reminded Shen Yin, who seemed unfamiliar with Wan Qi Shu.

“Very well. I’m all ears,” Shen Yin replied with a smile.

Seated, Wan Qi Shu noticed the ancient zither before him, exuding a scent of sandalwood and adorned with a purple tassel. It was quite beautiful. He plucked the seven strings with long, slender, pale fingers, and the instrument responded with nimble, enchanting notes.

His music was crisp and bright, carefree and joyous. Within the sound, mountains rose and fell; a spring bubbled through mountain crevices, merging into a stream, its waters rippling over stones, sparkling under the midday sun.

Servants and maids came and went, setting wine and dried fruits upon the table, spreading fragrance and delicacies. Wine flowed along winding streams, lively melodies filled the air, and the feast continued into the night. The hosts drank with abandon, exchanging cups, their revelry unrestrained yet dignified.

Lost in wine, unaware of time’s passage, their laughter lingered until dusk. The hosts, tipsy and unsteady, departed with their attendants.

As the music ended, the listeners felt as if they’d tasted fine wine; their faces bore a gentle flush.

Mr. Shen Yin, thoroughly entertained, laughed heartily: “Wine without music is tasteless; music without wine is less than satisfying. A splendid tune.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wan Qi Shu, delighted, bowed. He glanced at Fu Hua, still aloof, but knew that without his exquisite zither, the performance would not have gone so smoothly.

Fu Chen, too, felt happy for Wan Qi Shu and loudly praised him.

“Next,” Mr. Shen Yin said, his face lit with anticipation for the remaining three.

Shen Xi Zhe pondered for a moment, then stepped forward. “Sir, I, Shen Xi Zhe of North Xiao, will humbly perform.”

“What a refined prince,” thought Mr. Shen Yin as he observed his demeanor.

“Very well. Please proceed.”

Shen Xi Zhe smiled gently, composed and graceful as he sat. His posture was upright, shoulders level, knees apart, feet naturally resting on the floor. He lifted his sleeves, revealing slender, fair arms, and touched the zither’s surface. Gathering his thoughts, he began to play; the music was gentle, flowing softly through the hall.

Within the melody, a drizzle fell, raindrops sliding down the thatched eaves. Inside, a scholar in white sat reading, his voice resonant and clear.

After a while, the scholar set down his scroll, rose, and stood by the window, speaking to himself:

“I, a humble scholar, wander through the mud of the world, with no trace of pride. Unlike the lady, pure as the breeze, untouched by worldly dust.

That day in the snowy garden, we admired the plum blossoms together. What I saw were mere fleeting sights, but in her eyes, there were myriad colors, and joy graced her lips and brows.

She told me, ‘Every blade and tree in this garden was planted by my elder brother. Three years ago, he departed, and the plum tree nearly withered. A young monk passed by and aided it, so the dead wood found spring once more.’ As she finished, her eyes shimmered, as if tears were near.

At that moment, I did not know what to say, perhaps because my mind lacked words; though I pondered long, I found nothing apt. In the end, she eased the awkward silence herself.

Whenever I recall this, waves stir within my heart. Now, the lady dwells in the northern deserts, accustomed to lonely smoke and swirling yellow sands; her view of the world must differ greatly.

There, the climate is dry, the cold intense, unlike my home in the southern five kingdoms, warm and gentle.

Since our last parting, I know not when or where we might meet again. In days to come, I hope she adds more clothing when the weather turns, lest she catch cold.

Though I often jest and play with her, I fear the fickleness of fate, lest one day we see ‘smoke and fire’ once more.

She is wise and knows how to treat others, yet sometimes those involved are blinded; if she is occasionally confused or lost, it is only natural—she must not be too harsh on herself.

Perfection in all things is admirable, but as humans, we are bound by ties of affection, and she is, above all, a person of deep feeling and loyalty.

Ah, the lady understands the ways of the world, sees truth and falsehood clearly; in this, I am far beneath her, and knowing my own shortcomings, dare not presume.

Lucky am I that she favors me, often discussing human affairs and teaching me much. She is gentle and wise, how could I ever describe her fully in mere words?”

Finishing, the scholar turned joyous, picked up his scroll, and resumed reading.

Within the music, the scholar was immersed in his books, accompanied by gentle winds and bright moons.

When the piece ended, the rain stopped. The sound faded and its image vanished.

“I—I think I heard someone speaking. He mentioned a plum garden, something about the northern desert… Was it an illusion?” someone below the stage asked, flustered.

“I heard it too…”

“Is this the legendary ‘music that conveys speech’?”

“In today’s world, only a handful can achieve music that transmits words. North Xiao’s ninth prince has truly opened our eyes.” Bai Cheng, seated on stage, leaned forward, hands on the table, dumbly gazing at Shen Xi Zhe.

“This is destined to be a feast for the ears. Brother! You look like that, be careful not to become a laughingstock,” Bai Qingye said, pulling Bai Cheng down to sit.

“Oh, you don’t understand. A true man can adapt, not bound by small matters.”

…

“A humble performance,” Shen Xi Zhe’s voice drew everyone back. Mr. Shen Yin took a long while to recover, as if he had become the scholar within the zither, his emotions surging.

Wan Qi Shu had never expected that the seemingly harmless Shen Xi Zhe possessed such mastery of music. He’d admired him before, but now his respect was heartfelt.

“Who was your teacher?” Mr. Shen Yin stepped quickly to his side and asked.

“My master forbade me to mention her name. I beg your pardon,” Shen Xi Zhe bowed deeply.

Mr. Shen Yin sighed, lifted his hand, and smiled, relieved. “No matter.”

He turned to Gu Nanyuan and Fu Hua. “Only you two remain. Who will go first?”

“I see the second prince is eager, so please go ahead,” Fu Hua said, idly twisting a gold ring, smiling at Gu Nanyuan.

“You! Fine, let’s do it.” Gu Nanyuan, indignant, pointed at him, then bowed to Mr. Shen Yin.

After the earlier scandal, few held hope for Gu Nanyuan. Yet they did not know how much effort he had devoted to music.

In earlier years, when Gu Qiuci was alive, Gu Nanyuan rarely had a chance to appear. The current empress, then a consort, forced him to practice music diligently every day, which now proved useful.

Gu Qiuyuan sat, pressing his ten fingers upon the seven strings; the restlessness and arrogance in his eyes had faded.

His fingers moved, and the music began, contrasting sharply with his usual demeanor—the sound was gentle and pleasing.

Within the music was a painting, a beautiful scene: a young man strolled beneath lush trees, wandered to a small stream, crossed a stone bridge. On the far side, he heard laughter and playful voices.

The youth, curious, crept forward. Soon, he saw a girl with two maids, playing under a large tree.

They followed a winding path, drawing closer; the youth hurried to hide behind a tree and watched secretly.

The weather was like fresh rain and warm breeze. The girl and her maids turned onto another path, walking away at a gentle pace. The youth stood quietly, watching her go; her sleeves fluttered, ornaments chimed. From a hundred paces away, her figure was ethereal as a fairy.

The image grew faint, the scholar felt lost and left with a heavy heart.

When the music ended, the empress’s face was bright with joy, and Emperor Baixi’s eyes flashed with admiration.

“So our second prince isn’t useless after all—turns out he’s excellent at something! Hahaha!”

“Hahaha, we’ve finally turned the tide.”

“Don’t celebrate too soon. Remember, the others’ skills were obvious to all—especially the ninth prince of North Xiao, he’s truly profound.”

Mr. Shen Yin had heard of Gu Nanyuan’s arrogance and lack of talent, but after hearing his music, he saw in him a promising aptitude for music.

“The second prince has a keen understanding of music; it clears the mind when heard. With regular practice, he will surely achieve greatness.”

“My ambition lies in court affairs; music is only a pastime for pleasure,” Gu Nanyuan replied coolly, a smug smile in his eyes.

To him, all others’ music was unworthy, unable to please his ear.

Gu Nanyuan’s confidence in music was, in a sense, absolute—“who else but me?”

“Hah, truly arrogant,” Mr. Shen Yin chuckled softly, voice low.

Meeting Fu Hua’s defiant gaze, Mr. Shen Yin smiled and said, “Your turn.”

At his words, Fu Hua calmly carried his zither to the center. He did not place it on the table; instead, he swept his robe behind him, sat cross-legged on the floor, and set his zither flat across his thighs.

The motion was smooth and brisk. As soon as he plucked the strings, a grand, imposing sound filled the hall, waking many from their uneasy thoughts.

As their minds followed the music, they seemed to see a desolate estate, overgrown with weeds, tangled with wild vines. Though mountains outside were lush and full of life, this place was barren, with leaking eaves, crumbling walls, utterly ruined, devoid of vitality, chilling to the bone.

Suddenly, a man in black entered, sword in hand, dragging it across the ground. The blade scraped with a harsh clang, occasionally sparking.

For a moment, the air was filled with deadly tension. Fu Hua swept the strings, and masked swordsmen appeared all around, blades drawn.