Wu Ping’an ran away.
She fled the moment she heard that the person she was to meet was Ji Yuwei. She ran without a hint of hesitation, seizing the opportunity while they least expected it. Snatching a stone from the ground, she summoned unprecedented strength and hurled it at the guard behind her before making her escape.
The middle-aged man who had invited her was still speaking when he turned around, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of her vanishing figure.
He stood there, admiring such an unpretentiously swift and graceful escape, until someone beside him reminded him that the one who had run was the very person he had invited.
“After her!”
His expression changed, and he gave chase.
The slums were a labyrinth of perpetually damp, deep alleys, with pothole-ridden paths and countless stagnant puddles of filthy water. It was now the Spring Equinox, and the splashing water soaked her trousers, the icy chill seeping into her skin. Wu Ping’an couldn’t help but shiver.
But this cold was nothing compared to her precarious fate.
She charged forward without looking back. The noble servants pursuing her, accustomed to a life of comfort, were slowed by the filth of the place, giving her a chance to escape.
But all of this was predicated on a world where everything functioned normally.
Wu Ping’an had forgotten that the people here practiced spellcraft and commanded monster beasts.
So she was soon captured.
This time, she was bound tightly and carried on the back of a monster beast.
“My lord, I truly did not kill your young lady. I wouldn’t dare, even with a hundred times the courage! As you can see, I’m weak and defenseless—I can’t even run more than a few steps. How could I possibly kill a noble young lady who knows spellcraft?”
Having grown up at the bottom of society, Wu Ping’an was adept at flattery, sycophancy, and reading people’s expressions to tailor her words. Thus, pleas and groveling flowed effortlessly from her lips.
Clearly, no one listened to her. Even the middle-aged man, with whom she thought she had established a rapport earlier, ignored her, leaving her to talk until her lips grew dry.
Seeing that no one paid her any attention, Wu Ping’an fell silent, resigned to her fate. Her head hung limply, dizzy from the prolonged inversion and the rush of blood to her skull.
The monster beast carrying her jolted and swayed with each step, and gradually, she was truly shaken into unconsciousness, unaware that she had been taken into a grand mansion.
Slanted tiles and low eaves, with dawn sparrows outside the dwelling resembling crystal, casting dappled golden light onto green leaves before slipping through crevices and falling onto the mat beneath a large tree.
Elegant young men knelt on bamboo mats, wearing white silk socks, their wooden clogs held by attendants.
The servants dared not let their heads rise above their masters, so they bowed humbly, holding the clogs overhead, almost prostrating themselves on the ground.
The guests, sleeves brushing against one another, drank fine wine and listened to the beautiful youth in the host’s seat singing a tender melody in the Wu dialect: “Morning is the dawn light, grass becomes wormwood. Beneath the forest, eaves and tiles, alas, ah! Who says the lord is wise?”¹
He sang “Qingshang Music,” his voice melodious and clear, evoking the imagery of winter snow melting.
Yet more captivating than his voice was his beauty and youth. Sitting quietly on a footrest, his loose, raven-black hair cascaded like satin, his skin fairer than the snow covering the eaves in deep winter, and his features as exquisite as orchids and jade trees. In his arms, he cradled a vertical konghou, his jade-like fingers resembling the delicate red hands of a lady in a painting, plucking out a melody that rivaled the beauty of his voice.
As the youth sang above, one of the guests below, drunk and sprawled in disarray, suddenly tried to join in with the tune. But his Wu dialect was inaccurate, his singing fragmented and slurred with the scent of wine, causing the youth’s long brows to furrow.
Twang—
The konghou string snapped, and the music came to an abrupt halt.
The broken string seemed to pull everyone into silence, the lively banquet instantly falling so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
No one dared speak, the wine fermenting in their minds also severed with the string.
“In the end, I couldn’t sing the sorrow of that Wu woman, even the soul in the lyrics couldn’t bear to listen further.” The young man was utterly disheartened, his thick raven lashes trembling slightly as they lowered. He took a damp silk cloth from the wooden tray presented over his attendant’s head, calmly and meticulously wiping the hands that had just played the konghou.
Jianye was dull; only the Wu dialect songs recently spread by the woman from the fallen state of Wu were somewhat refreshing. He had wanted to befriend her, but her status was too lowly, hardly worth a glance.
Yet today he had exceptionally agreed to meet someone of such lowly status—something she should have considered herself blessed to receive. Yet someone had been so tactless, producing such grating, disgusting sounds that sullied a perfectly good verse.
Ji Yuwei frowned, clearly disgusted: “The one who took over the singing was utterly unpleasant.”
No one dared respond to these words, not even daring to lift their heads.
Who didn’t know that the young masters of the Ji clan each possessed lotus-like faces and bones of snow? Not only were they masters of spellcraft, but they also had extraordinary talent in other studies—especially this fifth young master, Ji Yuwei. Even before reaching adulthood, he had been hailed by the world as “one among immortals.” Yet such a youth had an elegant quirk: he loved music, poetry, and beauty.
Occasionally, the fifth young master of Ji would host banquets to discuss musical compositions, but he disliked having his refined mood disturbed.
Today’s feast should have been harmonious and joyful. However, not long ago, the twelfth young lady had just died under the fangs of a monster beast. The fifth young master’s music today carried a somber melancholy, clearly indicating his foul mood. Who would dare provoke his displeasure now?
They dared not lift their heads, and thus naturally could not see the youth in white socks and snow-white robes propping his exquisite face with one hand, the corners of his eyes tinged red, his gaze indifferent. The mole between his brows was as vivid as cinnabar, and when he wasn’t smiling, it inexplicably exuded an eerie allure.
And that mole, it was said, was a virginity seal applied by Lady Ji using mandrake juice.
In an era where noble young masters each kept countless singing and dancing girls in their mansions, viewing debauchery as refined entertainment for all, here was someone who had been marked with a virginity seal since childhood—not only placed prominently on his forehead but on a young man at that. Anyone else would have been mocked as gossip over tea, but this was the fifth young master of Ji, whom no one dared even glance at.
Fortunately, today among them was also a young master from the Yuan clan of Chen Commandery.
At such a moment, Yuan Youyun timely adjusted his sleeves and spoke: “Only when the string breaks does one realize how beautiful the music was. Wu Zhi, your qin skills grow ever more sublime.”
Ji Yuwei’s mood remained poor, yet he maintained the demeanor of a gentleman as flawless as jade. “Enough. Today is not suited for playing the qin. You may all leave.”
The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, kneeling and bowing to the host before retreating backward like maggots.
Once everyone had dispersed, his close friend Yuan Youyun smiled and said, “You went to invite that Wu woman. I told you at the time—anyone hearing it was you would surely refuse. She belongs to Ming Ziji. You insisted on going, and now see how well that turned out.”
He spread his hands, feigning helplessness.
Ji Yuwei glanced at him coolly, his tone still amicable: “Seeking afar while neglecting what is near is like eyes that cannot see their own lashes. What does that have to do with me?”
Hearing these calm words, Yuan Youyun knew that beneath the surface tranquility, his mood was exceedingly foul. Not wishing to further irritate him, he straightened his robes and stood. “Fine, fine. I have matters to attend to and will not disturb the fifth young master’s refined mood.”
Ji Yuwei ordered someone to see him out.
Yuan Youyun spread his sleeves in polite refusal: “No need. My attendants are outside.”
Ji Yuwei did not press him to stay, watching indifferently as the man walked out of the courtyard.
He gathered the damaged konghou back into his arms, continuing to obsessively sing the unfinished lyrics from earlier.
The sky was clear and the wind gentle, the azure firmament lofty and pure. A servant, kicking up dust underfoot, hurriedly rushed over, startling the branches and causing pink petals to fall like rain.
Once again interrupted, the youth lifted his damp, crimson-tinged dark eyes and looked toward the trembling servant kneeling at the door.
“Young master, it has been brought.”
Brought? What has been brought?
He tilted his head in confusion, black hair covering half his face. The dappled light filtering through the trees, like water crystals refracting, fell upon his face. The vivid vermilion mark between his brows contrasted with the dark pupils in his pale skin, creating an otherworldly, icy aura. His complexion was deathly pale.
After a moment, he suddenly remembered.
So, they had brought the person.
“Why has it taken so long?” His voice was melodious, his tone gentle and unhurried, carrying a hint of lyrical cadence.
The servant felt his ears tingle, not daring to raise his head. “In reply, young master, she took advantage of Manager Lin’s inattention, injured someone, and fled, hence the slight delay.”
“She ran?” Upon hearing this, the youth’s dark eyes widened slightly, round as a cat’s, revealing a trace of surprise.
The servant replied, “Yes, young master.”
Receiving this confirmation, the youth suddenly smiled. The distance that had lingered between his brows dissipated, and a faint blush spread across his pale cheeks, like thin ice cracking on a spring river, exuding a noble elegance akin to white jade.
His interest was piqued. “Why did she run?”
The servant shook his head. “I do not know. It seems after making some inquiries, she fell silent, and without waiting, injured someone and fled.”
The servant spoke euphemistically, not daring to tell his master that she had run upon hearing she was to meet the Fifth Young Master of the Ji family.
Ji Yuwei fell silent for a few breaths before slowly uttering, “How intriguing.” Though he said it was interesting, his voice remained languid, betraying no real sense of curiosity.
“Since she is here, take her to the Apricot Grove. I will arrive shortly.”
The servant bowed and retreated.
Wu Ping’an awoke to find herself locked in a cage, placed in the center of a grand hall that resembled a palace with its exquisite beams. The floor was covered with a red carpet, and the walls were carved with lotus motifs, adorned with gold and silver. The opulence made her own mud-stained appearance utterly out of place.
Those who had imprisoned her inside had left.
Wu Ping’an did not understand what this meant, nor did she know when she would finally meet Ji Yuwei.
She waited anxiously, uncertain how much time had passed, and gradually grew drowsy. Curling up in a corner of the cage, she tried to generate a sliver of warmth in the vast, cold, and empty hall.
Not long after she closed her eyes, a figure slowly approached, stepping softly into the hall with its carved beams and painted pillars.
Author’s Note:
① Qingshang Music: Also known as Qingyue, it was a traditional Han Chinese music system that rose to prominence and dominated during the Three Kingdoms to the Northern and Southern Dynasties period. Accompanying instruments primarily included the konghou, pipa, and zheng.