Tuning the strings, or flirting with the heart. Who among those present did not understand this blatant provocation? For a moment, the hall fell silent, before the quiet dissolved into a ripple of hushed whispers.
Duan Qimo knew full well that Wen Jiang was once again toying with her heart using flowery words, yet how could she refuse the challenge? She gave a relaxed smile. "As I should."
With that, she too washed her hands. Flicking her wide sleeves back, she sat cross-legged before Wen Jiang’s zither. She calibrated the five strings by ear, and just as she was about to use the fourth fret of the fifth string to tune the fifth fret of the seventh, Wen Jiang’s hand came down upon hers. Two fingers completely covered the two Duan Qimo was using to tune the instrument.
Wen Jiang smiled languidly. "The tone should be heard by the performer. Miss Duan, simply follow my heart’s desire—tighten or loosen the pegs as I say."
This was a declaration: their relationship had always been hers to dictate. She was the one who demanded, the one who granted, the one who decided life or death. Duan Qimo was already incensed. She whipped her head around to glare at her with cold eyes, only to find Wen Jiang’s misty, watery gaze brimming with smiles. Her intent was laid bare, like a soul-hooking scorpion or a venomous snake playing with human hearts, yet she was possessed of a singular, extraordinary beauty. The more Duan Qimo hated her, the more she realized Wen Jiang did not belong to her, and the more beautiful she seemed to become.
Wen Jiang leaned down low, her face brushing against Duan Qimo’s ear as if she were indeed tilting her head to listen intently. One hand reached around Duan Qimo’s shoulder to pluck the strings, while the other—as if using a trivial handkerchief—pressed down on Duan Qimo’s fingers to turn the tuning pegs. On that stage, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, what could Duan Qimo do? Even her cold sneer had to be masked as a stiff, ritualistic smile. Her chest heaved with suppressed fury, yet she could only allow herself to be handled.
On the other side, Miss Zhang had finished her tuning and stood quietly with her hands in her sleeves, waiting for Wen Jiang to finish. Finally, the protracted tuning session ended. Wen Jiang straightened up and gave Duan Qimo’s shoulder a playful pat, signaling that it was time for her to vacate the seat.
Duan Qimo was a character as deep and treacherous as a thousand-year-old pool. Her heart had already cooled, and she regained her composure. Standing up with effortless grace, she smiled and gestured for Wen Jiang to take the seat, teasing, "The tone was set by Miss Wen herself; everyone saw it clearly. Whether she wins or loses in a moment, do not lay the blame at my door."
The atmosphere had been too eerie just moments ago. Now that they had the chance, the crowd erupted in cheers, driving away the chill that had permeated the room. Amidst the clamor, Wen Jiang covered her lips and laughed softly. "Naturally, I won't need you to pay my debts or cede territory on my behalf. President Duan may rest easy."
Turning to Zhang Xifei, she gave a graceful bow. "I wonder if Miss Zhang would prefer to play two pieces together, or if we should each perform one?"
"If Miss Wen is willing to play in ensemble, it would be Xifei’s honor."
"That is wonderful. Which piece would Miss Zhang like to choose for our duet?"
"How about the first three sections of *Dialogue between Fisherman and Woodcutter*?" Zhang Xifei likely considered Wen Jiang’s skill level and avoided choosing anything too difficult. This piece featured a call-and-response structure and was well-suited for a duet; she was truly giving Wen Jiang plenty of face.
Wen Jiang agreed immediately, but for her solo, she chose the impassioned and notoriously difficult *Wine Mad*!
As the music began, I was surprised once again. To be honest, I had heard that Wen Jiang had been obsessed with banquets and revelry, neglecting her home for four or five years. I assumed her zither skills had largely withered away. I hadn't expected that after two months of intensive practice, while she was indeed far inferior to Zhang Xifei, she was by no means an embarrassment. Her playing was respectable and fit for the stage. Observing her conduct just now, how could she possibly be a fool?
When it came to her own choice, *Wine Mad*, Wen Jiang’s notes took on a frantic, manic quality. It sounded like bursts of shrill, mocking laughter—laughing at Duan Qimo, laughing at everyone in the hall, and laughing most of all at herself. The music swayed and surged with a violent momentum. Had Zhang Xifei not kindly stabilized the rhythm and held the melody together, the piece might have descended into true madness. Wen Jiang seemed to be singing a wild, loud cry: *The world’s sentiments are all wicked; only wine is my confidant. I want to drink until I am lost in madness, drink until I die!*
Recalling her frail, sickly appearance that night at my home, I couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache for the pain behind this frenzy. Duan Qimo, however, simply stood there coldly, listening, her face showing not a single ripple of emotion.
When the piece ended, Wen Jiang slumped her head over the zither for a moment, her shoulders trembling slightly, making it impossible to tell if she was crying or laughing. When she looked up again, she wore a radiant smile, hauntingly beautiful. She bowed to Zhang Xifei with perfect etiquette to express her thanks.
In truth, there was no need for Xue Yishan and the others to judge; the difference in skill was too obvious. However, Wen Jiang had vast social connections, and people are always exceptionally lenient toward a beauty. For a time, the cheers nearly took the roof off. Xue Yishan did something rare: she left her seat and went to Wen Jiang personally. Taking Wen Jiang’s ten fingers—red and raw from over-practicing—into her own, she said, "This is not the way to practice. If the obsession and resentment are not resolved, *Wine Mad* will never be mastered."
Wen Jiang thanked her coolly for the guidance, ordered someone to carry her zither, and descended from the stage.
The drawing of lots thus came to an end. As the banquet truly began, Duan Qimo, while playing pitch-pot, likely lost on purpose to the daughter of a Marquis. Now it was time for her to fulfill her promise and showcase a talent. The crowd clamored that the finale had to be spectacular. She gave a faint smile and flipped her hand to summon a spiritual sword. It was actually one of the six spiritual swords once kept by Sun Quan, named Meteor. It was as blue as the clear sky, matching her blue robes perfectly. She intended to perform a sword dance.
Only then did I remember that although Duan Qimo spent her time mingling with the socialites and playboys of the capital, accompanying them in meals and laughter and appearing harmless by staying out of everything but business, she was a genuine mid-stage Cloud-Swallowing cultivator. Given her age as a member of the demon race, she was undoubtedly a genius. I didn't know what her actual combat methods were, but she was, after all, someone from the underworld... If Master Wei hadn't helped me reach the late stage of Cloud-Swallowing, even if I wanted to protect Sister Jiang, I might not have been able to beat her with my own strength.
Duan Qimo was tall and handsome. With the sword in hand, a sharp, murderous aura suddenly erupted from her, making the hearts of the sheltered young ladies present skip a beat. She narrowed her eyes and smiled playfully. "A solo dance is not as beautiful as a duet. I would like to boldly invite Miss Yan Xiangjun to the stage. I wonder what Miss Yan thinks?"
Zhu Yixin instinctively gripped my hand, hitting my arm repeatedly in her excitement. We both knew that with Yan Xiangjun’s love for the spotlight, having been denied it all night, she must be itching to participate. She would definitely agree!
"I would be honored to comply." The Immortal Maiden Yan actually used a spell to make her voice sound distant and ethereal, echoing throughout the hall as if descending from the heavens. She rose like a gust of clear wind, her jade-green skirt fluttering and blooming like an orchid. In an instant, she drifted from over ten yards away to the edge of the stage.
Duan Qimo had already politely extended a hand. Yan Xiangjun naturally took it as she landed. Before the dance even began, the two shared a smile, creating a picture of supreme beauty.
The room was filled with envious cries and gasps. Only Brother Yan gave a bored yawn, clearly well-acquainted with his sister’s skill level and uninterested in watching a sword duel of this caliber.
Zhu Yixin and I hurriedly scanned the faces of the others. Wen Jiang seemed to be experiencing Duan Qimo’s betrayal for the first time; she was stunned, her beautiful eyes wide with shock and her lips trembling slightly. But the lapse lasted only a moment. Soon, those lush, crimson lips curled into a slight smirk, and she let out a soft, indifferent huff.
Yan Xiangjun had been the lead dancer at the ceremony welcoming the Crown Prince. Now, she too drew a spiritual sword. After exchanging bows with Duan Qimo, she spread her sleeves and began to dance. She trained under the Head of the Jianfu Palace, who was in charge of rituals within her sect, and was a master of divine dances. Using only a fraction of her skill now, she appeared ethereal and immortal, her movements so fluid and graceful they made one forget the mundane world. Even Zhu Yixin and I, who knew her well, were left agape, to say nothing of the others in the hall.
Duan Qimo, however, used a sword style full of demonic characteristics—unpredictable, treacherous, and steep. Together, they seemed to be performing a thrilling drama of a goddess subduing a demon. After watching closely for a while, I marveled that her sword technique possessed great spiritual power and profound meaning; it was certainly not just for show. Even Qiao Songlin, who hadn't uttered a word all night, remarked, "That should be the Duan family’s own sword style. A thousand years of heritage—exquisite and extraordinary."
The young lords and ladies in the hall, who had never seen real combat, didn't understand the technicalities. They only saw fluttering sleeves and flashing sword light. Since it was an improvised dance, there were plenty of perilous, hair-raising moments that were truly magnificent to behold. When the two finally held hands and bowed, the applause was like the tide of the Yang River, and the cheers were like thunder rolling into the sea.
As if this joy weren't enough of a conclusion, the top dancer Dong Banyuan seemed inspired by the display and unexpectedly stepped onto the stage with grace. Dressed in long, soft red gauze that pooled on the floor, she looked as though she were wrapped in the misty clouds of a maple forest under the evening sun. Her shimmering, autumn-water eyes scanned the room before she suddenly broke into a smile. "Tonight is the time when the golden wind and jade dew meet. Banyuan also wishes to build this magpie bridge to a return path, to find a person of my heart to accompany for a lifetime. I am willing to offer three dances. Should there be an accompanist who touches my heart, I shall redeem my own freedom and serve that person as a maid or concubine, to stay together forever."
The hall fell silent for a breath before erupting into an absolute uproar. Did this not mean that if one won the beauty’s heart, they could possess a true top courtesan without spending a single copper?
When she spoke, she was poised and faced everyone, yet I had a feeling that her gaze and her soul were fixed on only one person. She was waiting for that person to stand up and play a song for her.
Yindeng, who had been lounging lazily in the musicians' pit all night, actually spoke up. Her tone was cheerful, yet it carried a hint of inexplicable warning. "Sister Banyuan wishes to find someone to grow old with; how sincere her vow is! But is the only condition that the accompaniment matches your heart? Then, if this little sister plays something you like, would you be willing to leave with me?" As she spoke, she glanced toward Xue Yishan, a certain expectant light flickering in her eyes.
The crowd thought Yindeng was just being witty and laughed heartily. Dong Banyuan replied with a smile, "Sister Yindeng always loves a good joke. Naturally, it must be a man who applies. Otherwise, if Sister Caibing, Sister Wu Yin, and you all stepped forward and played your way into my heart, I wouldn't be able to split myself into three pieces to live!"
Xue Yishan’s expression suddenly turned cold. Her hand, resting on the armrest, tightened imperceptibly. Seeing that her provocation had worked, Yindeng laughed and smoothed things over. "I wouldn't dare. I shall leave it to the gentlemen." Wu Yin was actually skilled not only with the zither but also the pipa. Holding her pipa, she smiled at Dong Banyuan. "You only had me accompany you this afternoon, yet you never mentioned such a grand bargain was to be had. Ah-Yuan, you truly wound my heart!"
I could sense they were all intentionally or unintentionally stalling, perhaps even trying to get Dong Banyuan to change her mind. But on stage, she was resolute, parrying every attempt, soft or hard. She raised her sleeve. "A fine night fades easily, and a joyous banquet cannot last a thousand years. If any of you are willing, please come forward."
Finally, the first person who couldn't restrain himself rushed up. He had clearly admired Dong Banyuan for a long time; even his voice was trembling. Dong Banyuan recognized him and nodded with a smile. "It is the second Young Master Wen. We have known each other for seven years and have always had a harmonious friendship. Thank you for your support."
This Wen Zhengchu had seemingly never been treated with such tenderness by her. He was so excited he nearly dropped his long flute. After some pleasantries, Wen Zhengchu steadied his nerves and sat on the stage. "What music does the lady wish to dance to?"
"There are no limits," she replied. "I shall dance my dance; you may choose any piece you like to play."
Wen Zhengchu nodded. Once Dong Banyuan began her movements and set the tempo, he chose to play *The Song of Red Beans*. For someone with the courage to apply, his skill was naturally good. Perhaps the choice of this song was related to his private history with Dong Banyuan, for she smiled the moment she heard it and turned to give him a gentle nod.
When the dance and the music ended, Wen Zhengchu actually shed tears. Stroking his flute, he choked out, "When I first met you, this was the only song I could play well. Now my skills have grown, yet I still cannot keep up with your dance, and even less can I keep up with your heart. I... wish you your heart's desire, a life of happiness, peace, and health."
Amidst a silent room, he slowly walked off the stage.
Dong Banyuan, however, still wore that mask-like smile, feigning cheerfulness as she asked, "Is there anyone else?"
"I, Xie Bin, would like to try."
This Xie Bin was a scion of a great clan from the south. He had already passed the imperial examinations in the capital and was living a leisurely life while waiting for an official posting; he had a reputation as a romantic talent. This was likely his first time meeting Dong Banyuan. His attempt was merely a meeting of minds through music, with no other lingering desires. He chose the free-spirited and unrestrained *Ospreys and Herons Forgetting Schemes*. The two coordinated perfectly, and even Dong Banyuan’s smile became a bit more sincere and joyful. When the song ended, they laughed together. Xie Bin didn't even ask for the result; he pushed the zither aside and left, not even caring to see the competitors who would follow.
I realized, however, that Dong Banyuan’s two dances were actually variations of the same dance—the only dance of hers I had ever seen in this life: the *Banquet of a Thousand Autumns* from the Emperor’s Birthday Festival.
Soon, someone who had made the same discovery as I did took the stage. Song Zhixian stepped forward personally, grandly sitting down with a zither. He narrowed his eyes and gave Dong Banyuan a faint smile and a nod. It was both a trial and a hint as he played the first few notes of *Banquet of a Thousand Autumns*.
Only then did the light in Dong Banyuan’s eyes flicker. It was as if she could no longer hold it back. When she looked up, the tears in her eyes were like scattered dew, impossible to hide. She spoke no more, simply raising her sleeves. To the accompaniment of Song Zhixian’s music, she began the Liuyao dance, a performance of breathtaking beauty. In a daze, I felt as if I were seeing that Wang Wushan in the Purple Cloud Pavilion again. She spun with total abandon before the eyes of her beloved, in that summer night where the lights were vibrant and the banquet would never fade.
But where had Han Xizai gone? A lifetime of fame, rising and falling; a vast fortune scattered in laughter; refusing the Emperor’s summons to board his ship. How much was Wang Wushan truly worth in his heart? He could petition the Later Emperor while feigning poverty, and he loved to dress as a blind old man, striking a clay pot and singing for food along the streets. The singing girls he kept gathered and then dispersed. Finally, he grew old and poor in the mountains, without a penny to his name, relying on the Emperor to bestow his coffin and burial shrouds. How long did Wang Wushan truly stay by his side? The history books never say; their story exists only forever within the illusory scenes of that night revelry painting.
After spinning dozens of times in succession, Dong Banyuan seemed to have danced until her strength failed. As the final note of the zither rang out, her delicate body collapsed, only to be caught just in time by Song Zhixian. Song Zhixian gazed at her intently for a moment, then suddenly scooped her up in his arms. The zither was knocked to the floor as he hurriedly carried her back to his room.
Dong Banyuan did not refuse. Instead, she closed her eyes, looking as though a heavy burden had been lifted, and fell into a deep sleep in his arms.
Everyone remained silent. Some sensitive women even began to weep. Amidst this, Xue Yishan took her zither and walked onto the stage.
She casually moved aside the zither Song Zhixian had left behind and gently placed her own famous Tang Dynasty zither, "Spring Thunder"—which never left her side—onto the stand. She gazed at it for a long time with a tender, soft look, stroking it for a moment with her smooth, slow hands, as if saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.
Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed a full jar of strong wine sitting nearby, and smashed it violently against the zither.
***
