His praise was unstinting, coupled with his innocent, romantic youthful face, making Wu Ping’an unconsciously grow confident, feeling that she too had the potential to become the one and only masterpiece passed down through the ages, unmatched by anyone.
But in reality, she knew her own limits. Compared to Ji Yuwei’s singing, hers could only be described as barely passable.
After learning the melody, Ji Yuwei released her neck and leaned beside her, playing the instrument with rapturous devotion, while she sat next to him, clutching the skirt on her knees, singing with flushed cheeks.
Heaven knew, since childhood, she had only ever participated in class New Year’s Eve parties, and even then, it was because the whole class had to perform, and she was just blending in. Who would have thought that today she would be putting on airs of refinement in front of so many people?
Refined—it was far too refined, and honestly, entirely unnecessary.
Wu Ping’an felt her scalp tingle as she sang, glancing at the engrossed Ji Yuwei.
His demeanor was unrestrained and proud, the noble bearing of a scholar shining through amidst the clamor of silk and bamboo instruments. It was clear he truly loved this.
In this era of drinking, taking elixirs, engaging in philosophical discourse, and indulging in the pleasures of nature, among the distinctive personalities of the aristocratic clans’ celebrities, he stood out like a unique form of enjoyment amidst the decadent revelry.
Gradually, Ji Yuwei’s self-forgetting, ecstatic posture began to influence her as well. The awkwardness faded, and she harmonized with him seamlessly.
They played and sang for a full hour before he finally set aside his trembling fingers, still basking in joy, and brewed tea for her.
“Lady, moisten your throat.”
Wu Ping’an could finally drink water. She eagerly took the cup and drained it in one gulp.
The moment the clear tea touched her throat, it felt like a lifeline. Her burning throat was soothed, and she wished she could lift the teapot and drink deeply.
Seeing her take another cup, Ji Yuwei said apologetically, “I forgot to let you rest.”
Wu Ping’an shook her head as she drank, her voice hoarse. “It’s fine.”
He smiled, his fingertips plucking a tremolo from the strings of the konghou. “Wei hasn’t felt such joy in a long time. But today, finding a kindred spirit in you, lady, I’ve experienced unprecedented happiness.”
His words were sincere and genuine, and Wu Ping’an, having shared in his joy, deeply understood.
Ji Yuwei spoke not a single falsehood. He was truly exhilarated, for at that moment, she too felt as though they had met too late. It was just that she lacked musical talent, and once the music stopped, the feeling faded.
Wu Ping’an humbly replied, “It’s your natural talent, sir.”
This was the truth, and Ji Yuwei did not argue. Instead, he idly plucked the strings, tuning them to a lingering, melancholic melody. His expression grew despondent, like a youth who had found a kindred spirit and was now pouring out his heart.
“To be honest, since childhood, due to poor health, I was expected to die young. Though I was later cured, my talent for spellcraft began to show. After that, my mother insisted I abandon all such idle amusements and devote myself day and night to studying spellcraft. My love for music could only be indulged in secret when they were away from home, allowing me a moment or two of true joy.”
Wu Ping’an hadn’t expected such a story. Hearing it, she was momentarily stunned, for the book had never mentioned his health.
But she had personally witnessed him coughing up blood, seen his fragile side. She had also smelled the lingering scent of medicinal herbs in his clothes—a scent not acquired overnight, one that even floral fragrances couldn’t fully mask. She could always detect the mingled aroma of flowers and bitter medicine on him.
Watching the beautiful youth in his prime lower his lashes in bitterness, her mind conjured an image: in this era of refinement, yet equally fraught with dangerous demons running rampant, he was born into nobility and possessed extraordinary talent for spellcraft. Naturally, his clan placed great hopes in him. Those people ignored his true inner desires, forcing him to study spellcraft, allowing him to touch nothing else.
This reminded her of herself. In truth, her academic talent was also quite ordinary. Although her parents loved her, they also held a contradictory hope for her to become the most unique and dazzling presence among the crowd. To make her the “good child” others spoke of, they pushed her relentlessly to study, filling every holiday with various cram schools.
Though she knew they meant well, Wu Ping’an truly suffered during her school years. All her interests and hobbies were worn away. After graduation, aside from the knowledge forcibly crammed into her, she knew nothing else. In the end, she took a job earning a few thousand yuan a month. As time passed, the knowledge faded, and she increasingly became the most ordinary among the masses.
Throughout history, it has likely always been the same. Wu Ping’an didn’t blame others and even felt sympathy for him. At the same time, she sensitively sensed from his few words that he still retained a conscience now, though she didn’t know what would cause him to become as he did later.
She agreed that pitiable people often have their detestable aspects, and sometimes felt that detestable people also have their pitiable sides. Without external influences, how could there be inherently evil people in the world?
Perhaps there was some significant reason later that turned this gentle and courteous youth before her into the terrifying figure described in the book.
Thinking this, Wu Ping’an had no intention of impulsively deciding to redeem him. Besides, Ji Yuwei didn’t need her redemption—she lacked such great ability.
“What is my lady thinking about?” The youth’s voice interrupted her contemplation.
Returning to her senses, Wu Ping’an noticed that Ji Yuwei seemed too close—so close that their robes nearly touched. His folded knee lightly pressed against her skirt, and his soft, tender eyes were right before her.
Uncomfortable, she shifted back slightly. “Nothing. I was just thinking that your lordship’s qin skills are exceptional. No matter what you encounter in the future, do not give up.”
“I won’t,” Ji Yuwei smiled. “What I desire, I never give up on. I persist until I obtain it.”
Wu Ping’an could tell that besides being appearance-focused, he was also sound-focused. Glancing at the distant sky and seeing it was growing late, she rose to take her leave when her skirt was suddenly pressed down.
“Ping’an.”
She heard Ji Yuwei call her name like this—clear, cold, and slightly hoarse, like the snap of a qin string that stirs the nerves, drawing her to cast a dazed gaze toward him.
Ji Yuwei knelt up, his knees pressing on her skirt, his thin red lips seeming naturally curved into a smile. “May I call you Ping’an? You are the first person in my life who can understand my music, harmonize with the qin strings, and make me feel I’ve met a rare kindred spirit. I don’t wish to remain too distant.”
Was Ji Yuwei saying he wanted to become friends with her? Wu Ping’an felt a dazed sensation, as if living in a dream.
Seeming afraid she might refuse, Ji Yuwei continued gently, “Of course, if my lady does not wish to become close friends with Wei, I will not blame you. It’s just that at this moment, though we have known each other briefly, we have shared many experiences. Wei likes my lady very much and wishes to become your confidant.”
He was tactful, never imposing, striking just the right balance within Wu Ping’an’s comfort zone, making her truly feel that becoming close friends with him was an extremely correct decision.
Yet from his words, Wu Ping’an also derived many doubts.
Had she truly understood Ji Yuwei’s music well enough for him to regard her as a kindred spirit?
“Hmm.He saw through the hesitation she timidly revealed, like a parasitic worm in a milk tooth, clinging to flesh and blood, gnawing away all her doubts.
“Not only because you can understand music, but also because I am curious about the otherworld you come from—a place I have never heard of before. You are alone with no one to confide in, but I can listen. So, to be able to become your confidant is my honor.”
The young man’s demeanor was so impeccably proper that Wu Ping’an couldn’t refuse. Besides, he only wanted to become her confidant, a friend from another world—nothing too difficult to agree to.
“Mm.” She flashed him a genuine, unrestrained smile. “Fifth Young Master, you may call me Ping’an. Actually, I’m not very used to being addressed as ‘niangzi’ either.”
Ji Yuwei’s gaze fell upon her somewhat playful yet ordinary face, and he suddenly recalled the dawn he had witnessed not long ago atop Mount Fo. First, a faint glimmer emerged from the mountain range, followed by the golden sun slowly rising and scattering its light, gradually illuminating every dark corner.
Ordinary, yet brilliant.
For no apparent reason, he thought of these two complex and seemingly incompatible words to describe Wu Ping’an.
Seizing the crack that had appeared in her wall of defense—a gap he could slip through—Ji Yuwei smiled warmly, his jade-like face radiant. “Ping’an, you need not address me as Fifth Young Master either. You may call me Wu Zhi or Wei.”
Although she knew that in this era, close acquaintances would either use one’s courtesy name, childhood name, or a single character, Wu Ping’an wasn’t the type to instantly become familiar and address others intimately. Calling him Ji Yuwei directly felt inappropriate, so she settled for the next best option: addressing him as “Young Master.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed Ji Yuwei’s eyes, though inwardly he didn’t mind how Wu Ping’an addressed him. Such things were trivial, hardly important.
He silently accepted this and shifted the conversation, expressing interest in her earlier remark. “Just now, you mentioned you’re not used to being called ‘niangzi’—why is that?”
Addressing women as “niangzi” and men as “langjun” was common practice for everyone, yet she said she wasn’t accustomed to it, which piqued his curiosity immensely.
He was curious and full of speculation. Could it be that even forms of address were vastly different in her world?
Wu Ping’an explained awkwardly, “Because in our world, ‘niangzi’ is an ancient term for ‘wife.'”
When she first transmigrated into this book, hearing others call her “niangzi” always felt strange. Only after hearing it for a while did it start to feel natural.
“I see,” Ji Yuwei said, suddenly understanding. “From now on, I will try to get used to it and avoid calling you ‘niangzi’ in your presence.”
Wu Ping’an quickly shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Actually, ‘niangzi’ was also an ancient form of address in our world, though it later became more commonly used for wives. I’ve grown accustomed to it now.”
Ji Yuwei seemed to harbor a mischievous streak typical of youth, enjoying the sight of her flustered, wide-eyed embarrassment. He drew out his response before finally nodding slowly. “Alright.”
Wu Ping’an wiped her forehead and let out a sigh of relief.
After sitting with Ji Yuwei for a long while, Wu Ping’an took her leave.
Ji Yuwei instructed the young attendant by his side to escort her out of Apricot Grove.
Clutching the jade pendant, Wu Ping’an thought she might try to leave during the daytime to see if she could get out. After departing, she asked the attendant to return halfway.
The attendant did not insist on accompanying her further. Watching her head toward the manor gate, he turned and made his way back to Apricot Grove.
In Apricot Grove, the sounds of silk and bamboo instruments buzzed like whispers. The white-robed, dark-haired youth cradled a konghou harp, a bright red mark between his brows resembling a drop of congealed blood. With a faint smile, he plucked the strings, clearly in a very pleasant mood.
The attendant knelt on both knees, bowing low, and informed his master of Wu Ping’an’s whereabouts.
Ji Yuwei was not surprised. In fact, the sooner she left the manor, the faster she would completely let down her laughable guard against him.
He wasn’t worried that Wu Ping’an might not return after leaving, for he had long placed a tracking breath on her. If she failed to come back, he would simply go and capture her—though afterward, he could no longer guarantee the authenticity of the otherworld she spoke of.
However, this was a last resort. For now, he preferred to patiently use words to bewitch and entice her, obtaining what he wanted so that he could later blend in without becoming an outsider.
Recalling the pity Wu Ping’an had shown upon hearing those ghostly words, Ji Yuwei felt like laughing, but as he lifted his lips, he couldn’t suppress the itch in his throat.
He gasped, suppressing the itch, leaning against the ornate, upright konghou. A smile crept from his trembling lips to his pupils, the twisted delight lending his complexion a bewitching radiance.
Playing with Wu Ping’an was as effortless as toying with domesticated chickens, ducks, dogs, or cats.
Author’s Note:
Today, I thought again about the Mountain Ghost who’s a voice connoisseur. In future special scenes, hearing Ping’an’s impassioned sounds will lead directly to climax—ahhh, feels like another fetish-driven story, so satisfying, so delicious [pants][minus one]