"Moon Atop the Plum Tip" is recorded in the *Xilutang Qintong*, though the original manuscript of the complete score has long been lost. Regarding this piece, the annotations state: "Immortal Bu built his hut amidst the Solitary Hill. Chanting poems by his small window at night, he saw the plum blossoms and the moon vying for purity, and thus composed this melody. It should be regarded as a masterpiece of resonance, sharing the same spirit as his verses on 'faint fragrance' and 'sparse shadows.'" Since the name Mei Niang was derived from Lin Bu’s poetry, using this piece as her personal footnote was exceptionally elegant and fitting.
The grand painted boat, which had been gliding steadily, suddenly lurched. This was because the crowd had rushed to one side, pulling back the heavy curtains that shielded them from the wind and snow, vying to peer through the casement windows toward the direction of the music.
The moment their gazes swept outward, it felt as if a gale had suddenly risen from the distant horizon. The snowflakes, mingled with the fluttering reed catkins, abruptly grew denser. Like disoriented birds, they buffeted against the carved beams and painted pillars of the colorful galley. They also delivered a chilling slap to the "peach-blossom faces" of the crowd—flushed warm by fine wine, charcoal fires, and feminine beauty—instantly snapping them into sobriety. Squinting eyes flew wide as a plain, unremarkable old grey boat appeared in their field of vision. Its roof was piled high with heavy white snow as it sailed against the wind; the sound of the zither drifted from that simple, cramped cabin.
Though the snow fell in thick clusters and the fierce wind howled piercingly, the zither music showed no fear. It reached everyone’s ears with crystalline clarity, each note falling like a plum petal before their eyes—truly possessing the lofty pride of one who braves the wind and contends with the snow.
Those present were all connoisseurs cultivated in the dens of pleasure; they broke into cheers. Even the usually composed Lin Shaozong struck the table in rhythm, exclaiming, "This woman is extraordinary!"
"Turn the ship! Follow that boat! Faster!" Zhang Fangying immediately barked at his servants to instruct the boatman.
This vessel was embedded with dozens of expensive floating crystals, and an ample supply of source crystals provided vigorous power. It should have been able to gallop across the water, yet until the melody reached its end, the distance between them and that shabby little boat had not decreased by much. That small craft, looking like a tuft of duck down, appeared no larger than a small cup on a wine table, yet it remained tantalizingly out of reach, as if it were on the edge of the sky.
"Hey!" someone shouted. "This woman is playing us!"
"Chase her! We must catch up!"
I looked at the brightly lit great ship that had been circling within a three-mile radius the entire time and scratched my nose guiltily. "I accidentally made the illusion a bit too strong..."
If the Zhang family’s boatmen had possessed sea-grade long-range optical instruments, they would have been able to see the full view of this disguised old fishing boat: a woman draped in a crane-feather cloak, pressing the strings as she sang; a frail-looking young master wrapped in fine furs, a book resting across his knees, holding a white jade whisk as he tucked his hands into his sleeves by the fire; and two maidservants standing behind each of them. Two boatmen stood at the bow, braving the wind and snow as they leisurely worked the sculls. Additionally, another woman sat atop the snow-covered canopy, playing with a fuzzy reed stalk in her hand while swinging her legs, looking on with a mix of amusement and exasperation—that would be me, Su Yuzhi of Mount Gomeng.
Wei Qingming turned a page of the book on his knees with the hand not holding the whisk and replied with a smile, "No rush. There are many who are willing; they will naturally take the bait." A whisk—an object held by the refined scholars of the Wei and Jin dynasties during their "Pure Conversations"—was originally an accessory for shooing mosquitoes or dispelling summer heat. To hold such a thing while roasting by a fire in the dead of winter instead of using fire tongs... he really was putting on quite the act.
That "Mei Niang" finally finished her piece. Seizing the hard-won interval of rest, she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and said, "Lord Wei has been plotting for half a month; he has indeed staged quite a fine play." Such zither skills, combined with such a tone of talking back to a superior—this was, naturally, Yindeng.
If one were to tell a resident of the capital that this was the long-famed, radiant Miss Yindeng who had recently vanished without cause, even her closest acquaintances would be shocked. Although Yindeng was beautiful in every aspect, her most captivating quality had always been that expression—at once charmingly coquettish and intimate, yet containing an infinite mystery and a boundless sense of distance. It made one dimly realize that her willingness to please you was predicated on your ability to please her first. It was a kind of tenderness that was only an approximation of tenderness, always tinged with a hint of mockery and the coldness of pride.
Now, that hint of coldness had replaced the incomplete tenderness, becoming the primary tone of her image. Her makeup and attire all served to reinforce this: for instance, the corners of her eyes were drawn with an upward flick, transforming those peach-blossom eyes—usually brimming with smiles—into a sharp, solitary, and cold glare. Her lips were painted slightly thinner, turning the playful wit she loved to utter into embarrassing irony. As these subtle details stacked up, she had become an entirely different type of courtesan, an entirely different person. This was an illusion far superior to mere sorcery.
This cold "Mei Niang," however, softened her expression and called out to me with a giggle, "A-Zhi, isn't it cold outside? The chestnuts Biyao is roasting for you are almost done!"
And so, I scurried into the cabin to "pull chestnuts from the fire," eating with great relish.
The maidservant behind Yindeng was, of course, Biyao, and the one behind Lord Wei was Xuesu. The little girl had already grown accustomed to this treatment, sitting cross-legged to one side in a daze. Her only dissatisfaction was likely the fact that she wasn't allowed to hold her blade, or any weapon for that matter.
Biyao and I used the leftover chestnut shells to play a game of jacks, betting wine on the outcome. By the tenth round, the large ship finally drew near us. We could hear the sound of a pipa drifting from within, playing in harmony. Yindeng listened to just one phrase before smiling. "As expected, Young Master Fang Weisong has taken action himself."
I tilted my head to listen for a while, then clapped and laughed. "Oh my, he’s someone who never forgets what he hears—he can turn a melody into a score as he listens!"
The pipa player took several of the most haunting and memorable phrases from "Moon Atop the Plum Tip" and mixed them with improvisational responses, repeating them to form a new melody. If Yindeng’s performance was the ethereal grace of a plum blossom and sparse shadows under the moon, then Fang Weisong was the moon itself reflecting upon the dark night, lamenting the tangled, inescapable clouds. Even with its clear radiance, it was a solitary and futile effort, unappreciated by any. The original meaning and mood of the piece were no longer important; he played it in a way that was flickering and elusive, like a faint scent of plum blossoms carried by the wind—lingering at the tip of the nose before vanishing, leaving only a fleeting memory of fragrance.
Wei Qingming poured three cups of freshly boiled tea, handing one each to me and Yindeng first. His hand holding the pot paused for a moment, and he actually turned to ask Xuesu behind him, "How is this music?"
"Fake," the Hehong Fairy replied, her words as precious as gold.
If his talent were truly like the moon, how could it go unappreciated? His fame and success were within his grasp ten years ago, yet he has not claimed them to this day. Is this Young Master Fang truly a "tree standing tall above the forest," suppressed by the winds of circumstance?
Wei Qingming narrowed his eyes with an interested smile and looked at me. "It is time to withdraw the illusion."
I chirped an excited "Right away!" The Huanzhen Flower in my palm gave a clever shiver, and the mist that had been perpetually entangling the Zhang family’s pleasure boat vanished instantly. The people on the ship were entirely unaware; they opened up the power to the maximum and sped toward us. Soon, the two boats were sailing side by side, separated by less than an arrow’s flight. With a few more strokes of the oars and a short gangplank, they would be connected.
A commotion broke out on the painted boat as everyone vied for a glimpse of Mei Niang’s beauty. Green youths like He Yankun went without saying; if necessary, they wouldn't hesitate to jump into the lake and swim toward the beauty even in the depths of winter. The older lechers were more restrained, yet they too crowded before the cabin door, pushing and shoving, rolling up their sleeves and glaring. Ultimately, it was Lin Shaozong who stabilized the situation. He blocked the first man trying to rush onto the deck and laughed, "You aren't the one playing the pipa. Let's hear what the lady has to say first."
On this side, Fang Weisong had already sent his page boy to the bow. The boy was only twelve or thirteen, handsome and articulate. He gave a respectful bow toward our boat. "This is the pleasure boat of the East Society. My master’s surname is Fang, and he respectfully invites Miss Mei Niang to join us for a conversation."
A scholar’s attendant naturally spoke with refinement, but Biyao’s response was far more direct. She brushed the chestnut crumbs off her hands, stood up, and walked to the door of the fishing boat. Lifting the curtain, she smiled and said, "Our boat is small. Tell your master to come over himself!" As she spoke, her hand did not let go of the straw curtain. Once she tossed out that crisp sentence, Biyao spun around and released her grip. The curtain fell with a *snap*, and she was gone.
Yindeng shared a smile with her, covering her mouth. Wei Qingming and I naturally had no objections; Yindeng was an expert at dealing with sour scholars, and her arrangement was undoubtedly the best.
As one might imagine, such an arrogant attitude provoked a wave of clamor. Having all been drinking, several young lords began shouting curses. Only the old hands at romance sensed something special in this. Many in this group were from the capital and were used to grand occasions; although Biyao was only a maid, her mannerisms and accent were entirely in the style of the capital, clear at a glance. Those with finer minds naturally refrained from crude language; some of the more mature and cautious ones even guessed that the people sitting in the small boat were of no ordinary status. Instead of joining the ruckus, they turned back to the banquet tables.
Since the boat had come to a halt, I had flipped back onto the canopy, resting my chin in my hands as I watched it all with a smile. It wasn't until a few local bullies ordered their guards to untie a small boat, intending to personally provide a "grand invitation," that I raised my hand and traced a line of sword qi. The calm lake suddenly erupted into a three-zhang wave, tossing the servants and thugs who were busy jumping toward our boat into the water. *Plop, plop*—it was like a batch of dumplings being dropped into a pot.
The crowd was momentarily stunned, only then noticing the woman sitting on the roof.
"Young Master Fang." I idly tossed the blue-glowing Xiaolian in my hand and said lazily, "Please, come aboard."
Fang Weisong stepped out from the crowd and cupped his hands toward me. He had spotted me by the cabin door earlier, a flash of surprise in his eyes followed by a look of realization. Now, he was perfectly composed. He turned back to the gentlemen and smiled. "Allow me to go and pay my respects to this Miss Mei Niang first." The implication was that he was merely scouting the way for everyone. If this Mei Niang’s beauty wasn't outstanding enough—judging by Mentor-Minister Lyu’s comment that her "ethereal grace does not enter the haunts of youth" and her persistent avoidance of people—then there was no need to fight so fiercely over her.
None of those attending this gathering held official posts; Xie Bin, Hua Lingheng, and Wen Siming had not come to these depths of the West Sea. Every face was filled with jealousy and envy. Yu Yingmin simply refused to leave the interior of the ship, watching Fang Weisong through the window with a sour, cold sneer. A small group led by Qian Danxu had already flicked their sleeves and departed in displeasure, priding themselves as upright gentlemen who did not crave feminine beauty. However, Master Hou Tianyong, the author of *The Pear Blossom Fan*, was quite carefree. He gave a cheeky grin and winked at Fang Weisong.
Fang Weisong seemed entirely oblivious to all of this, neither looking nor listening. He straightened his robes and cap, and supported by his young page, he stepped onto the temporary gangplank. He boarded the small craft with steady steps, then lowered his head to duck under the curtain Biyao held up, finally coming face-to-face with the beauty of Mei Niang.
I put away my dagger and swapped places with Xuesu, letting her stand guard. Before leaving, I swept a smiling gaze over the crowd on the large ship and offered a word of kind advice: "Behave yourselves." Then, I too returned to the cabin.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 西麓堂琴统 | Xilutang Qintong | A famous Ming dynasty zither manual (1525). |
| 逋仙 | Immortal Bu | A respectful nickname for the poet Lin Bu. |
| 孤山 | Solitary Hill | A hill on the West Lake in Hangzhou where Lin Bu lived. |
| 麈尾 | Whisk / Fly-whisk | A traditional accessory used by scholars, often made of deer tail hair. |
| 浣真花 | Huanzhen Flower | Su Yuzhi's magical artifact/ability. |
| 宵练 | Xiaolian | Su Yuzhi's dagger/sword. |
| 梨花扇 | The Pear Blossom Fan | Likely a fictional play or literary work within the story. |
| 侯天慵 | Hou Tianyong | A character, likely a playwright or scholar. |
| 钱丹旭 | Qian Danxu | A character among the scholars. |
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