The easternmost part of Prince Yao’s estate was a stretch of bamboo forest. As Ziqing and Jun Beiyue walked along, they both felt an unconscious pang of shame — as mistress of this estate, she still hadn’t managed to fully explore it.
She’d never known there was such a dense bamboo grove at the easternmost edge, and even less that Jun Beiyue had built her a secluded zither pavilion within the bamboo.
It was exactly midday. The moment they stepped into the bamboo grove, a cool freshness swept over them. The dappled sunlight filtering through carried no warmth and no brightness — the surroundings were cast in dim shadow.
It felt as though, the instant one entered the grove, one was cut off from the world. The clamor of the outside no longer reached their ears; instead, there was only the faint murmur of a flowing stream.
Never mind Ziqing — even Baili Weisheng was fond of this place.
“When was this built?” Ziqing asked as she walked.
“That year, when I came back for New Year,” Jun Beiyue said flatly. Though he offered no further explanation, Ziqing understood at once — it was the very Spring Festival when she had been abducted by Yanzi.
She forgave him. This man had prepared far more than just a wedding.
“So, are you still giving it to me now?” Ziqing asked with a smile.
Jun Beiyue smiled too. “Do you still want it?”
“Of course.” Ziqing nodded as though it were only natural.
As they walked on, the sound of the stream grew nearer, until at last they saw it — a little brook flowing beneath a bamboo stilt house, babbling on into the depths of the grove.
Prince Yao’s estate sat in the most bustling part of the capital of Da Zhou — how could there possibly be a natural stream here? This was clearly man-made. There was no telling how much thought and effort had gone into it.
Ziqing felt both moved and delighted. She hurried across the log bridge over the stream, and there, above the bamboo house, she saw the inscribed plaque: “Pavilion of the Clearing Heart.”
Clearing heart, clearing heart — when the heart holds clear skies, the heart itself clears.
Just as she was lost in the moment, Baili Weisheng’s exclamation shattered the stillness of the forest. “Ayaya… tsk tsk tsk! Tsk tsk ah! Tsk tsk tsk!”
Ziqing shot him a glare, too weary to banter with him. “Let’s go in!”
“I like this place. I’m going to build one for myself too!” Baili Weisheng muttered to himself, utterly serious.
The Pavilion of the Clearing Heart wasn’t large — to be precise, it was simply a single zither room.
Inside there was no excess furnishing, just two zither stands facing each other, holding the Wuzheng and the Xuezheng. Scattered casually to one side were a few cushions. In the dim light, the simple arrangement matched the primal, ancient aura of the two zithers perfectly, lending the whole room an unintentional sense of mystery.
Ziqing stood in the doorway, and for some reason, found herself momentarily lost, staring blankly.
“What are you standing there for? Go on in.” Baili Weisheng’s urging snapped her back to her senses.
“Are you ready?” Jun Beiyue asked with concern.
He had heard from Jue Mingzi that if one lacked sufficient mental strength, forcing oneself to play the Enchanting Melody of the Demonic Sound could, at best, fail to produce the intended mood or illusions, and at worst, send the player into a state of inner demons.
“Don’t worry! I’m fine.”
Ziqing had never been a frail woman — it was only that the matter of the deserted island and Xuanyuan Lige’s death had struck her rather hard, both at once.
But even so, she was still the same unbeatable Han Ziqing as before!
She took a deep breath and sat down beside the zither stand.
Xuanyuan Lige — whatever it is you’ve left behind for me, I have the courage to accept it.
Seeing that Ziqing was ready, Baili Weisheng and Jun Beiyue sat down cross-legged to one side. Neither of them — not Jun Beiyue, nor Baili Weisheng — had ever before sat so earnestly as listeners to Ziqing’s playing.
Ziqing gently rested both hands on the Xuezheng. She wasn’t sure if it was because her state of mind was especially good today, but the blood-stained strings seemed to take on a spirit of their own, as though there were some invisible pull between them and her ten fingers.
Jun Beiyue’s eyes, always cold and deep, warmed slightly. Baili Weisheng’s clear, bright eyes carried a touch more playful appreciation, as though admiring a work of art, as he watched Ziqing.
In truth, for these two men, simply watching her like this was intoxicating enough without a single note played.
“A’Li, I’ll treat this zither as you,” Ziqing said silently in her heart.
“Keng…”
Amid the stillness, the sound of the zither rose!
The first note wasn’t even properly pitched — even someone versed in music could only tell that the tone was somehow off.
But for some reason, both Baili Weisheng and Jun Beiyue immediately sensed that this sound was different — utterly unlike what Ziqing had played in the past few days.
They couldn’t say exactly how it was different — it simply felt different, as though it weren’t the same person playing at all.
This first note was like a clear breeze and bright moon, a crane soaring through the empty sky — its mood lofty and far-reaching!
Ziqing sat with her head lowered, fully focused on the strings, her hands moving across them like a pair of butterflies dancing upon the strings, light and graceful.
As Ziqing’s hands swept across the strings, the zither’s tone rang out clear and resonant, the melody rising, rising, rising higher still!
It had only just begun, yet already Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng felt their entire hearts swept up in the melody. Not only their hearts — even their breath seemed to catch, refusing to release, being drawn ever upward, ever upward.
The music seemed to express a climb toward some towering, heaven-piercing peak — but then, suddenly, as Ziqing’s right hand swept across with effortless grace, a single “keng…” rang out, like a waterfall plunging from the ninth heaven, cascading a thousand miles in a single unrestrained rush!
At that moment, Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng both let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding — and even Ziqing herself exhaled in the same instant!
No one knew what this piece composed by Xuanyuan Lige was called, so let it simply be called “The Parting Melody.”
This Parting Melody — when Ziqing had played it a few days ago, it had felt light and lively. The same piece, the same zither, the same person, and yet now it carried an entirely different feeling.
A zither, it seemed, truly was an expression of emotion!
Once the melody slowed, the piece seemed to properly begin — steady and resonant, calm and ordinary, as though no different from any common tune.
Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng both listened intently, yet felt somewhat puzzled, waiting for the shift that was surely still to come.
But to their surprise, the melody remained calm from that point on, plain and unadorned, as if quietly recounting some ordinary memory of the past.
And yet it was precisely this calmness that, the longer one listened, gradually wrapped the listener in an indescribable sorrow — faint, hazy, and somehow, without knowing quite how, one found oneself growing sorrowful along with it.
As Ziqing continued to play, her once-focused expression began to shift, a trace of melancholy settling between her brows without her even realizing it.
This faint sorrow was not as fierce as overwhelming grief or agony, yet it was inescapable, impossible to shake off.
This feeling — so familiar. Wasn’t this exactly the aura that Xuanyuan Lige used to give off?
His sorrow had always been silent, always so quiet and still.
Ziqing suddenly felt as though Xuanyuan Lige had returned, as if he were right there beside her.
The thought struck her heart with a sudden pain, and her fingers pressed too hard on the strings — “Keng!”
At once the tone shifted sharply, as though the heaviness within had finally found an outlet. Ziqing’s fingers suddenly bore down with far greater force, and the zither’s ringing tone turned abruptly tragic and stirring.
Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng both seemed to hear something in it — one man’s brow furrowed tightly, the other’s face turned grave.
A man’s heart, a man’s feelings — perhaps, heard by other men, they struck even deeper.
As for Ziqing, she had already lost herself entirely in the music, forgetting everything around her, sinking into the sound without even trying.
Zheng zheng! Keng keng!
The zither’s sound suddenly quickened, rising high one moment, sinking low the next, high and low alternating without pause, as though one had been thrust into a battlefield stretching ten thousand miles — clashing spears and armored steeds, iron cavalry and blades, sinking! sinking! sinking!
Magnificent!