Young Master Pei walked up to Xie Little Flower and patted his shoulder.

“Xie Wushi and I are good brothers. What—he can see you off but I can’t? Xie Little Flower, who are you looking down on?”

Xie Little Flower’s eyes moistened. “Young Master Pei?”

Young Master Pei snorted coldly: “Count me in!”

Huang Qi: “Steward Xie, when you’re old, I’ll empty your chamber pot and clean up after you!”

Ding Yi: “I’ll handle washing your feet and wiping you down!”

Zhu Qing: “Steward Flower, when you’re seventy or eighty and can’t walk, I’ll carry you on my back.”

Li Buyan: “I don’t have other skills, but I can make some decent food.”

Yan Sanhe walked over and, mimicking Young Master Pei, patted Xie Little Flower’s shoulder.

“In the future, if your coffin lid won’t close, I won’t charge you a single tael of silver. I’ll resolve your heart demon for free.”

Xie Little Flower’s mouth hung open: “……”

“Of course, it would be best if it closes.”

Yan Sanhe said softly: “If it closes, it means you’ve truly let go.”

Xie Little Flower’s eyes moistened and he dropped to his knees with a thud. “Miss Yan, this old servant…”

“Li Buyan, break his leg.”

“One or both?”

“Whichever leg he’s kneeling on, break that one.”

The fat Xie shot up with remarkable agility and grinned at Yan Sanhe:

“Can’t break them, can’t break them—this old servant’s legs still need to serve Third Master and Miss Yan!”

Yan Sanhe looked at the smile on Xie Little Flower’s face and pressed down the last trace of tears in her eyes.

Everyone who appeared calm and untroubled on the surface had actually endured hardships that ordinary people couldn’t bear.

She gave him a faint smile: “Now let Miss Yan witness Steward Flower’s qin artistry.”

Wah!

This was the first time Miss Yan had smiled at him.

Xie Little Flower felt immensely proud. He quickly lifted his robe and sat down, his fingers lightly plucking the strings, producing a clear “zheng” sound.

After just a few notes, Yan Sanhe shook her head. “Change to another piece.”

He’d barely started—why change already?

Xie Little Flower quickly switched pieces.

For the second piece, after just a few notes, Yan Sanhe called for a stop again…

After switching through eight pieces consecutively, Xie Little Flower cast a resentful look toward his little cub: Is Miss Yan toying with me? Who listens to music like this?

The little cub shook his head: Stop your nonsense. However Miss Yan wants to listen, you play accordingly.

I just praised your filial piety moments ago!

Unfilial son!

When Xie Little Flower played the ninth piece, Yan Sanhe’s expression suddenly changed.

“Stop. What’s this piece called?”

“This piece is called ‘High Mountains, Flowing Waters.'”

“This is the one.”

Yan Sanhe slammed the table: “Does this piece have any story behind it?”

“Legend has it that the qin master Bo Ya played the qin, and only the woodcutter Zhong Ziqi could understand the meaning within the music. After Zhong Ziqi died, Bo Ya, having lost his soulmate, smashed his qin and severed the strings, never playing again for the rest of his life.”

Xie Little Flower sighed: “Thus came the saying ‘the tune is too refined for common ears, true soulmates are hard to find.'”

Yan Sanhe’s gaze turned toward Xie Zhifei.

Xie Zhifei clearly understood the meaning in her look: Why did that man surnamed Dong play this piece for her? What was his intention?

“Miss Yan, should I continue playing?”

“Play!”

Xie Little Flower plucked the strings again, and for a moment, lingering melodies filled the flower hall.

Just as everyone was listening with great interest, Yan Sanhe’s head drooped—she had fallen asleep again.

The qin music stopped abruptly.

Xie Little Flower looked aggrieved: Has my qin skill deteriorated to this degree?

Li Buyan: This piece isn’t a lullaby though.

Huang Qi: I found it quite invigorating!

Ding Yi: I was almost moved to tears.

Zhu Qing: Miss Yan doesn’t know how to appreciate it.

Pei Xiao: Turns out the strange one is the spirit medium, not that man surnamed Dong.

Xie Zhifei looked at Yan Sanhe, his gaze gradually becoming distant and empty.

Why did she fall asleep both times?

What was the reason?

……

Yan Sanhe felt herself step into emptiness, and suddenly jolted awake.

Opening her eyes, she found everyone’s gaze fixed on her.

“I fell asleep again?”

Everyone nodded.

Yan Sanhe felt no embarrassment. She thought to herself that she should blame the qin music—so heavy and slow, it would be strange if it didn’t induce sleep.

“That’s right, this is the piece, but that person played it better.”

Xie Little Flower thought to himself: You listened until you fell asleep, yet you can still distinguish who plays better or worse?

“Miss Yan, how much better?”

“About fifty or sixty percent better.”

What?

Fifty or sixty percent?

Isn’t that an insult?

Xie Little Flower felt indignant.

He’d practiced this qin for how many years—when he felt empty, lonely, and cold at night, he’d take it out to practice. He could accept being one or two-tenths inferior, but fifty or sixty percent…

“Miss Yan, I’m not boasting, but in the capital, there really aren’t many people whose qin playing exceeds mine by fifty or sixty percent.”

“His playing truly is fifty or sixty percent better than yours, and moreover, that person’s appearance doesn’t resemble someone from the Central Plains—he looks somewhat like a foreign ethnic person.”

Xie Little Flower became even more indignant. He thought to himself: Miss Yan, do you even have any common sense?

In this world, the cleverest people are Central Plains people; those best at qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting are also Central Plains people.

Why?

Because all these require using one’s brain!

When the brain is good, the fingers become nimble.

Those foreign ethnic people are all tall and burly, with hands as stiff as anything—how could they possibly play the qin well…

Suddenly, Xie Little Flower’s expression changed. “Miss Yan, about how old was that person?”

Yan Sanhe: “Early forties, very tall.”

Xie Little Flower: “Man? Woman?”

Yan Sanhe: “Man.”

Xie Little Flower’s complexion changed. “Are you certain he’s a foreign ethnic person?”

Yan Sanhe: “His eye sockets are very deep—he truly doesn’t much resemble a Central Plains person.”

Xie Little Flower exclaimed “Aiya,” his two sparse eyebrows knitting together.

“Why are you exclaiming?”

“Miss Yan, I may have spoken too hastily. To my knowledge…”

“To your knowledge, there truly is a foreign ethnic person whose qin playing exceeds yours?”

Yan Sanhe’s gaze pressed down: “Is that correct?”

“Correct!”

Xie Little Flower nodded repeatedly.

“Miss Yan, if you’d said the person playing qin was a woman, I could pat my chest and say she definitely couldn’t match me. My qin practice—winter training in the depth of winter, summer training in the height of summer, every night…”

Seeing his old history about to spill out again, Xie Little Flower quickly stopped himself.

“Miss Yan, it’s not that I look down on women, but among the four arts of qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting, those at the very top are all men.”

“Continue.”

“To my knowledge, over twenty years ago, on the Qinhuai River boats in Jinling Prefecture, there was a male entertainer named Chengfeng who played the seven-stringed qin exceptionally well.”

Xie Little Flower: “Moreover, this person looked different from Central Plains people and was reportedly very handsome.”

Yan Sanhe’s heart stirred: “Have you seen him?”

“How could I? I also heard about him from the prostitutes in brothels and flower houses.”

Those little flirts talked about nothing but which young master was handsome or which young master was wealthy. Occasionally, they’d also gossip about their southern counterparts—the Ten-Li Qinhuai.

The Ten-Li Qinhuai had both the vulgar and the refined.

Vulgar referred to Qinhuai prostitutes.

Refined referred to the entertainers on the pleasure boats who specifically accompanied literati to drink wine, taste tea, play chess, and perform music.

These entertainers included both men and women, selling only their art, not their bodies.

At first, those little flirts discussed not this person called Chengfeng most often. Later, someone took a trip to Ten-Li Qinhuai and, upon returning, began talking about him.

Yan Sanhe: “What did they say about him?”

“They said his piece ‘Three Variations on Plum Blossoms’ could move how many people to tears, how many high officials and nobles were willing to spend fortunes just to hear him play one piece.”

Xie Little Flower looked somewhat embarrassed:

“They also said he was tall and burly, didn’t look like a Central Plains person, and if one could spend a spring night with him, who knows how many times one’s soul would ascend.”

—