The outskirts of the capital were naturally a gathering place for the destitute. Without pausing for breath, she ran to a derelict house and detonated over a dozen explosive talismans, leveling it to the ground. This place had once been a luxurious three-story gambling den; after being seized by the authorities, it had remained sealed and untouched. What she sought were the high-grade Oblivion Stones that could be found everywhere within its ruins.
This was a desperate, life-threatening gamble—a wager placed with her very life as the stake.
Within the span of half a cup of tea, she swiftly laid out a formation using the Oblivion Stones and performed rudimentary first aid on her wounds. The commotion from the explosive talismans naturally drew the assassin. Out of the pitch-black, viscous night where the rain poured like a deluge, a hooded man emerged. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance, yet as he approached with steady, measured steps and slowly drew his dagger, he exuded an aura of absolute terror.
Wei Qingming waited until he had stepped completely into the Oblivion Stone formation. She offered a faint smile and casually tossed her long blade onto the ground with a crisp *clang*. Reaching into her robes, she produced the petite Shadow-Bearer. Normally, it would have been invisible to the opponent, but to show fairness, she actually used her spiritual power to activate it. The faint, ghostly glow of Shadow-Bearer illuminated her jade-pale face, streaked with the black of the rain and the crimson of her blood.
Poem-Fishing Hook stood still. Suddenly, a golden light formation rose around them, encircling the Oblivion Stone formation. Now, both of them had their cultivations suppressed, their defensive artifacts rendered useless. Trapped within the formation, there was no way to break out.
"If you want to drag me to hell," Wei Qingming finally spoke, "you’ll have to pay with your own life first."
The face beneath the hood twitched as he licked his back teeth, clearly excited. This arrogant prey had actually discarded her long weapon to engage him—a professional assassin—in a duel of short blades and stabbing techniques!
The two engaged in a pure brawl of physical strength, shifting and grappling within the narrow space. Poem-Fishing Hook discovered that his refined assassination techniques, in which he took great pride, were actually less precise than those of this court dog who looked like a frail scholar. After a hundred exchanges, he still could not take down a half-crippled opponent, and he began to grow frantic. Assassins were never meant for prolonged entanglement; if they failed to kill in a single strike, their martial skills lacked high damage and their strength held no advantage, causing their effectiveness to plummet.
As soon as Poem-Fishing Hook’s mental state wavered, flaws began to appear. Finally, Wei Qingming’s sword shattered the defensive artifact on his body, which had lost the spiritual energy required to maintain it. At the same moment, his dagger reached Wei Qingming’s heart. In an instant, golden light flared brilliantly as a spell erupted from the ground, striking Poem-Fishing Hook’s head with unerring precision. The resulting mist of blood sprayed directly onto Wei Qingming’s face.
She did not even blink. Instead, she raised her hand to summon the Still Water Blade and ruthlessly severed the dead man’s head. Only then did her strength fail her, and she collapsed backward onto the ground.
She was, after all, a disciple of the Boundless Sect; how could she truly stake her life solely on martial arts? She had long ago left several gaps in the Oblivion Stone formation and set up formation plates. As long as she broke Poem-Fishing Hook’s defensive artifact and forced him to those specific spots, she could send him to his grave.
The rain fell silently. She lay there quietly, staring at the pitch-black canopy of the sky. Feeling the Yin-eroding poison slowly seeping into her body and devouring her senses, the corners of her mouth actually twitched into a tender smile. In the face of death, which pressed down like the rain, she was thinking of me.
If she had remained lying alone in that desolate field, soaked in toxic water for the entire night, even ten lives would have been exhausted. Fortunately, Hong Lu and two centurions had found the markers she left in the city and tracked her down. They rescued her and galloped through the night to bring her to a branch temple of the Boundless Sect.
Uncle-Master Zhong arrived at the temple gates, throwing a cloak over his shoulders. He saw Hong Lu, drenched to the bone in the torrential rain, holding an umbrella to shield the blood-covered person in his arms, kneeling on the steps and weeping uncontrollably. The old man was so angry his beard shook. "Her greatest flaw is her disregard for her own life! Who can possibly cure that!" Despite his words, his hands and feet trembled with anxiety as he shakily called for disciples to carry her in.
Wei Qingming remained unconscious for ten full days. During that time, Eunuch Feng of the Yingzhao Temple was incensed. He personally directed a city-wide manhunt, capturing every associate of "The Cup-Bearers" from the capital to the borders of Zhao Province, destroying all their properties and issuing massive bounties. The hunters became the hunted, and for a time, the martial world was filled with the scent of blood.
When the woman finally woke, she was remarkably elegant and leisurely, truly ignoring the chaos outside to recover peacefully within the temple. Every day, she rose before dawn, a thin velvet cloak loosely draped over her shoulders, possessing a sort of fragile beauty. With her hands behind her back, she would wander up to the Eastern Mountain to meditate against the autumn morning sun, absorbing the essence of the new day. In the mornings, she would stroll to the martial arts field and, depending on her mood, give pointers to the children practicing their forms. When the younger disciples begged her to demonstrate a saber or sword set, she would smile faintly and point to the bandages on her body, claiming that Uncle-Master Zhong had forbidden her from using martial arts for three months. To duel the villain, she had taken several qi-boosting pills with severe side effects; Uncle-Master Zhong had scolded her for her recklessness and directly sealed several of her major acupoints, leaving her unable to lift even a sliver of true essence.
In the afternoons, she was accustomed to reading or playing the zither under the setting sun, or perhaps playing the flute for a while. In the evenings, she would sit lazily on her couch in her inner robes, spreading out a set of carving tools to meticulously sand blocks of wood into small toys. It turned out that the items I had bought from the traveling peddlers were all handmade by her, crafted according to my preferences.
Once she was nearly ready to have her bandages removed and the Yin-eroding poison was mostly purged, she would hop onto her Snow-Winged Cloud Qilin. She didn't fly much, instead wandering slowly eastward to chat with Shopkeeper Tong and teach Huai Ren martial arts, then wandering westward back to the capital. She would go to the Pavilion of Forgotten Homes in Pingkang Ward, where she ignored all the rosy-cheeked beauties and specifically requested Yin Deng’s company.
The first time, Yin Deng was out accompanying another guest. Wei Qingming waved her hand and threw down a hundred thousand spirit stones, telling the madam to find a way—she had to see Yin Deng within fifteen minutes. Seeing the money, the madam’s eyes lit up, and Yin Deng was forced to feign illness, putting on a grand performance to return early. As soon as she stepped through the door, she saw Wei Qingming leaning smilingly against the second-floor railing, winking at her.
To offend a long-time patron for such a wealthy idler—it wasn't just a matter of rank pressing down on her; Yin Deng was so furious she felt her soul might leave her body. Ignoring her poise as a top courtesan and the boundaries of status, she stomped her foot on the threshold and looked up with a roar: "Wei the Third!"
The patrons, beauties, servants, and maids throughout the building all laughed. Wei Qingming actually gave a faint response: "Present. Miss Yin Deng, please come up."
Grinding her teeth, Yin Deng stomped up the stairs. Seeing that punchable, indifferent, handsome face up close, she truly wished she could slap her right off the balcony. Wei Qingming remained unhurried, reaching out to open the door to Yin Deng’s private room. She sat down as if she owned the place and patted the brocade stool beside her, signaling for Yin Deng to join her.
Yin Deng slammed the door shut with a heavy *bang* and asked exasperatedly, "What business does the Envoy have?"
Wei Qingming set down her teacup and pulled out an ancient, damaged music score. "I wanted to ask the Miss for help. I wonder if this remnant score can be restored."
Yin Deng’s vision nearly went dark. "Just for this? Does the Envoy know that to rush back, I ruined Prince Chen’s birthday banquet!"
"The Prince’s banquet? He had one last year, and he’ll have another next year. It’s nothing special." Wei Qingming tapped the score with her finger. "If your teacher, Xue Yishan, were to see this score, even he would be ecstatic."
Faced with such twisted logic, Yin Deng didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She could only look at the score first. She had barely hummed two or three lines before she snatched the score in shock, reading it all in one breath before sitting down, stunned. "It’s actually *Travels to the Red Cliff*... this is... the original version from the most ancient *Jade Parasol Zither Collection*?"
"Mhm." Wei Qingming smiled faintly and gestured toward the zither stand by the window, indicating she should try it immediately.
Yin Deng’s fingers were already itching with anticipation. Excitement flushed her cheeks. Without waiting for her maid to light incense, she hastily washed her hands, personally took the ancient zither from the wall, removed its cover, set it on the table, and began to play and sing:
"Cassia oars and orchid sweeps, striking the moonlit water, surging against the flowing light. Boundless is my heart, gazing at my beloved across the distant horizon..."
She was only doing a trial run. For the many broken and blurred sections, she relied on her instinct to add a few notes to bridge the gaps. Though it was slightly rough and hurried, she was truly the disciple of the Zither Queen; the first three sections of the piece were like a whistling wind and chilling waves, ethereal and vast, perfectly capturing the essence of Su Shi’s intent.
Wei Qingming sat quietly with her head tilted, listening. She held her teacup in her hand, forgetting to drink.
Yin Deng pressed her palms to the strings and sighed. "The original *Travels to the Red Cliff* no longer exists, and parts of it have been lost for a long time. It is indeed profound and superb. I dare not say I can fix it; I will have to consult my teacher."
"Feel free to do so."
Restoring a single score took over half a month. Wei Qingming visited Yin Deng more than three or five times. Sometimes she was overbearing, forcibly dragging her back to the pavilion; other times, she sat refined and polite in the courtesan’s room, waiting quietly. This left Yin Deng alternating between grinding her teeth in hatred and feeling her heart race at the woman’s tenderness and patience.
The two discussed musical theory, often practicing on the spot with their respective instruments. When Wei Qingming’s mother was alive, she had taught her music early on; she started the zither at age three and studied until she was seven, when mother and daughter were parted forever. However, after so many years, her foundation was mostly gone. Whenever she played the zither, Yin Deng would pick apart her performance and mock her. Wei Qingming didn't get angry; she just played lazily. Sometimes she truly performed certain segments beyond her usual level, and the elegant, scholar-like grace she displayed left Yin Deng speechless.
She had learned the flute later, also because of a time she was too heavily injured to circulate her true qi. To avoid becoming restless and destabilizing her Dao heart, she had learned it from an Uncle-Master in the temple.
The two bickered frequently. Although Wei Qingming spoke little, every word was hard to refute. When Yin Deng got truly angry, she would splash tea all over her.
After much deliberation and filling in by Yin Deng and Xue Yishan, the score was mostly restored. When they did a trial performance, Yin Deng played seriously, while Wei Qingming stood by with her flute, accompanying her in a casual, hit-or-miss fashion.
"The original version uses the end-blown flute; how can it tolerate being accompanied by this vulgar thing?" Yin Deng scoffed at her transverse flute. "If you’re willing to learn, then put in the effort to learn the end-blown flute part for this piece."
Wei Qingming chuckled. "Even if I learned it, how would I dare to truly play alongside Miss Yin Deng? I’m just blowing randomly."
After practicing for a long time, Yin Deng discovered that Wei Qingming had actually written her own flute melody to accompany this ancient, pure sound! Though she wanted to scold her for being sacrilegious and rogue-like, she felt that it was actually quite beautiful. It was nothing like the things written by those old fogeys in the Music Bureau; it was fresh and bright, yet broad and tranquil, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible hint of desolate bitterness. Was that not the true meaning of the *Travels to the Red Cliff*?
***
