Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Grand Ceremony of the Five Nations Alliance (XVII)

When Zhangsun Chengmin and Su Qingfeng returned to the training ground, the xun performance had already concluded.

No sooner had they taken their seats than the Minister of Rites announced, “The sixth discipline of the arts—drumming.”

Immediately, four guards entered, carrying a vermilion drum, its wood grain clear and exquisitely crafted. Once the drum was set in place, a graceful palace maid stood to its right, holding two drumsticks.

Among the Five Kingdoms, except for grand occasions, few ever played drums for entertainment. First, because the sound was deep and resonant, lacking the delicate charm of zither or flute; second, because drumming was exhausting and few enjoyed it.

“Drumming tests your endurance and lets everyone here witness your fervor,” said Master Shenyin in a low voice.

At these words, Gu Nanyuan’s face revealed a look of confidence. In other areas, he might fall short, but when it came to drumming, he stood among the best.

Eager to prove himself, he stepped forward and bowed. “Master, allow me to go first.”

Master Shenyin nodded his consent.

Gu Nanyuan cast a scornful glance at the other four, his disdain plain to see. Wanqi Shu, seeing this, simply assumed there was something wrong with his eyes and raised an eyebrow at Shen Xizhe, who responded with a gentle smile.

Gu Nanyuan shrugged off his cloak, baring his muscular, tanned arms. He seized the drumsticks from the maid, swung them high above his head, and brought them crashing down upon the drum’s vast surface. Instantly, the thunderous boom roared forth like spring thunder, shaking the very hearts of all present.

The sound echoed to the heavens, startling birds and scattering woodland creatures. The field’s guards, upon hearing the drum, felt their blood surge and gripped their weapons tighter, as if warriors bracing for battle.

The rousing rhythm swept over everyone like a gale, invigorating even those who had moments before looked weary and listless.

On the imperial dais, the Emperor of Baixi smiled, now viewing Gu Nanyuan with new appreciation.

Indeed, there was merit to raw strength.

When Gu Nanyuan struck the final note, he was drenched in sweat. As the drumbeat ceased, the guards’ grips relaxed, as if some strange force that had possessed their bodies was slowly ebbing away.

Master Shenyin began to applaud, and soon all present followed suit.

The Empress signaled her personal maid Xiuer, who approached Gu Nanyuan and respectfully handed him a sky-blue handkerchief.

He accepted it carelessly, wiped the sweat from his brow and cheeks, then tossed the handkerchief aside in disdain.

The company was accustomed to such antics and paid it no mind. The delicate-faced Xiuer, cheeks flushed and eyes brimming, bent to retrieve the handkerchief and quietly returned to the Empress’s side.

Seeing this, Master Shenyin shook his head and sighed softly. “Next.”

Fu Hua stepped forward without hesitation, cold and aloof, indifferent to all.

At his arrival, the field fell silent. Some hoped to witness his prowess; others, to find fault. But Fu Hua was never one to accept defeat, and was destined to make the world see him anew.

On the dais, Zhangsun Chengmin suddenly grew alert, his eyes fixed on Fu Hua’s every move.

Fu Hua met Chengmin’s gaze with equanimity, then strode to the drum. He spread his hands, and the palace maid placed the drumsticks in his grasp.

With a single, fluid motion, he struck the drum, unleashing a majestic force. The sticks danced, the drumhead trembled, and the cadence—alternately forceful and subtle—struck straight at the soul.

The sound was like ten thousand horses galloping, or a flood surging, an overwhelming power that crashed forth as if only a being descended from heaven could possess such might.

Fu Hua moved swiftly and spiritedly, and perhaps with such force that his hairpin suddenly slipped, letting his raven hair cascade and stream on the wind.

The sight left not only the young women spellbound, but even the men on the field stared in awe—such an appearance and bearing were truly bewitching.

A devilish charm seemed to emanate from him, and with another dramatic flourish, the hearts of the women below rippled like spring water.

From the stands and below, the women gazed at him with admiration, covering their mouths and eyes, afraid to cry out or to avert their gaze from him for even a moment.

“With such grace, who could ever compare?” Bai Cheng glanced at himself, feeling both dejected and amazed.

When Gu Qiuci had been alive, Fu Hua was second only to him; after Gu Qiuci’s “death,” Fu Hua became the brightest star in the sky.

Sensing the fervent attention, Fu Hua realized that being revered could truly make one’s heart blossom.

Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, he brought both sticks down on the drum with all his might; a resounding crash rang out, and the drumsticks snapped in two, clattering to the ground.

All present stared in stunned silence, uncertain whether the sticks had broken from sheer force or from some hidden design.

Gu Nanyuan glared at Fu Hua, muttering to himself: “Always relying on cheap tricks. Shameless.”

Shen Xizhe and Wanqi Shu exchanged glances; were it not for decorum, they might have applauded with hands and feet alike.

“The Fifth Prince has amazed me once again,” said Master Shenyin, who found new depths in Fu Hua with each performance. After a moment’s thought, he added, “If the eldest prince of Baixi were still alive, the two of you together could overturn the very heavens. Or, a contest between you would be a duel of legends.”

At these words, most nodded in agreement.

Fu Hua stepped before Master Shenyin, murmured something inaudible, then withdrew to the side, leaving the master visibly startled.

No one but the two of them knew what had been said.

“Next?” Master Shenyin pressed a hand to his brow, his expression unreadable.

Wanqi Shu took a step back. Zhangsun Chengjue smiled in silence, saluted Master Shenyin, and approached the drum.

When he took up the sticks, he was visibly uneasy, causing Chengmin on the dais to frown in concern.

Zhangsun Chengjue had little interest in drumming. Though he had practiced, he was far less adept than Gu Nanyuan and Fu Hua. Yet, with the sticks in hand, he could not simply refuse.

After a moment’s pause, he struck the drum. The sound was dull, lacking strength or vigor. Compared to the previous two, his performance was clearly lacking both in momentum and spirit.

Aware of the ridicule, he nevertheless completed the piece without faltering.

His finish was likewise unremarkable; he merely matched the prescribed motions. Setting the sticks down gently, he bowed to Master Shenyin. “I am unworthy—my clumsy performance has surely offended your ears.”

“To persist in what is difficult is always harsh on the ear,” Gu Nanyuan said with a sneer, flicking at his ear in feigned irritation.

“Each has their specialty. Doing your best is enough. You need not reproach yourself, Fourth Prince,” Master Shenyin offered in consolation.

“When it comes to drumming, there are many who might not do as well as the Fourth Prince—myself included,” Wanqi Shu added.

“And me as well,” Shen Xizhe declared, stepping forward with conviction.

Master Shenyin found the two possessed a sincerity and magnanimity far more valuable than mere victory.

“Only the Third and Ninth Princes remain. Which of you will go next?”

“Master, I have never played a drum; I concede this round,” Wanqi Shu admitted.

“And I know nothing of it either. May I be excused?” Shen Xizhe replied, glancing at Shen Xinan.

Shen Xinan, understanding his younger brother’s intent, gave a subtle nod.

“Very well.” With Master Shenyin’s assent, the five young men stood in a line, awaiting the results.