“Are you living up to that person’s teachings?” Chen Hong Zhu asked angrily.
“What does it have to do with anyone else?” Song Qian Ji asked, puzzled.
He felt she had misunderstood.
First, he didn’t know about the traditions and significance of gifting qins in aristocratic families—he simply bought the lightest one. In his eyes, all the qins in the pawnshop were ordinary. As long as they followed the same pattern, and used the same lacquer and wood, anyone could make a qin called “Green Ripple Platform.” Regardless of how many spirit stones they cost, they were all just for show.
Only instruments like “Nine Heavens Jade Pendants,” “Withered Wood Dragon’s Cry,” or “Ancient Primordial Sound” that carried the power of their makers and were unique in heaven and earth deserved to be called famous qins.
Second, the old sword was already useless to him. It just gathered dust and took up space in his room.
He had traded the most useless thing he owned to ensure his beloved vegetable garden wouldn’t be damaged and to regain his peace.
It seemed like an excellent deal no matter how he looked at it.
Chen Hong Zhu urgently said, “If I had your opportunities, I would never waste them.”
Song Qian Ji was even more confused: “And what does that have to do with you?”
Chen Hong Zhu stomped her foot and stormed off in anger.
She finally realized that every time she met Song Qian Ji, no matter how things started, they always ended with her getting angry.
When “that person” was in high spirits and casually taught him, was it because he saw Song’s innate talent for making people angry?
After all, there was a saying: A master takes on disciples to find a younger version of himself.
He Qing Qing worriedly watched the end of the path where the red dress had fluttered and disappeared.
Song Qian Ji pushed the qin case into her hands: “Go back quickly.”
“It’s too valuable. I cannot accept it.”
She didn’t dare to accept it.
Song Qian Ji was startled. Don’t do this to me, was all my effort tonight for nothing?
He Qing Qing heard the young man sigh softly, seemingly helpless: “They originally wanted to intimidate me by bringing you here today, but later they became angry and took it out on you. This disaster that befell you was entirely caused by my casual remarks. This qin is a gift to you, consider it as my apology. Please take it.”
Apology? No one had ever apologized to her before. It seemed like everything she suffered was deserved. Year after year, even she thought so.
He Qing Qing looked up. The moonlight outlined the young man’s handsome profile, softening his sharp features and coating him with a faint silver glow, like a deity who felt compassion for the world.
People said there was a god at Qingai Academy. The Proctor Zi Ye Wen Shu always maintained an expressionless face, forever just and impartial, cold and unapproachable—seeing him reminded one of all the strict rules in the world.
He Qing Qing had seen him in person and felt the description was exaggerated. Senior Brother Zi Ye was indeed indifferent to personal desires but remained in the mortal realm.
The young man before her seemed more like a true deity. He appeared close at hand, yet was unreachable.
“Go back quickly and practice your qin. I wish you great success at the Dengwen Elegant Assembly, and a bright future.”
Song Qian Ji finished speaking but heard no response. Sensing something was wrong, he looked carefully…
Oh no, why is she crying again?!
He Qing Qing’s tears flowed silently: “Even with a qin, I cannot attend the Dengwen Elegant Assembly. Senior Brother, please take the qin back to the pawnshop and redeem your sword!”
“Why not?”
“I cannot play Celestial Maiden Miao Yan’s music. It is fated that I do not deserve such a fine qin. But Senior Brother Song’s kindness to me, I will forever keep in my heart. In the next life, I wish to be a sparrow returning a favor with a ring in my beak, or to serve as an ox or horse…”
“Wait,” Song Qian Ji interrupted her, somewhat puzzled. “What does this have to do with Miao Yan again?”
Why is she involved in everything?
“As long as I report Celestial Maiden Miao Yan’s music for my performance, the registering disciples refuse to enter my name. They say for someone like me to dare play the Celestial Maiden’s music is disrespectful to her.”
Almost all popular qin music nowadays was composed by Celestial Maiden Miao Yan. He Qing Qing couldn’t afford sheet music, but she had an exceptional memory for melodies—hearing others play once, she could reproduce it exactly. But she had only heard others play Miao Yan’s music.
Song Qian Ji thought for a moment: “That’s not a difficult problem. I’ll write a piece for you that won’t be inferior to hers.”
“Senior Brother Song, you understand music too?”
“A little, I suppose.”
Song Qian Ji had already used brush and ink tonight, though he had only written two characters and a talisman. The feeling of writing was still fresh, and his hand even itched somewhat.
In his previous life, after Miao Yan became engaged to him, she no longer composed her music. Half of the pieces she played were obtained by him risking his life exploring ancient ruins, and the other half came from his visits to earthly musicians. Whether imperial court musicians or street performers, he didn’t care about status and humbly learned from them all.
During this process, Song Qian Ji naturally learned to play the qin as well and developed unique insights into sound attack techniques that differed from the traditional methods of the Celestial Sound Sect.
But Miao Yan said his killing intent was too strong and playing the qin would damage its spirit, so he rarely played.
Song Qian Ji initially intended to write something simple.
He began with the melody of “Hegemon King Removes His Armor,” and then paused briefly.
Looking up at the moon, he suddenly felt tonight’s moonlight was exceptionally cold, with peach blossoms fluttering down like falling snow.
Just like that final snowfall during his escape, at the end of his life.
He had encountered many heavy snowfalls in his life, yet none had chilled him to the core like that one.
His intentions flowed through the brush onto the paper, naturally coming together. By the time he finished, the melody had changed.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a bad change. Song Qian Ji mentally played it once and felt somewhat satisfied.
“Take this to the Dengwen Assembly, but don’t say I wrote it—that would cause trouble.”
He handed over the paper with its still-wet ink but worried that this young girl might encounter other problems and come crying at his door again.
Even if he could bear it, the two vegetable patches by the academy gate couldn’t.
So he said: “I don’t want your repayment. I only want you to promise me one thing.”
He Qing Qing hadn’t expected Song Qian Ji to compose so effortlessly, writing a complete piece with just one stroke of the brush. Taking the sheet music, she still couldn’t believe it.
“As long as I can do it, I’ll go through fire and water without hesitation!”
“Don’t cry anymore,” Song Qian Ji said.
“What?”
“Just this one thing—no need to go through fire and water.”
Having said this, Song Qian Ji closed the door, feeling refreshed.
A night without sorrowful crying, accompanied by flower fragrance and insect sounds, would bring sweet dreams until dawn.
Tomorrow would be another fulfilling day of farming.
He Qing Qing, hugging the qin, made her way alone through the night.
She took a shortcut. The stone steps were rugged, with a cliff on one side and an abyss on the other.
The moonlight was obscured by night mist, and only the roaring of water and echoing beast howls could be heard.
Strong winds howled past, blowing up her thin white dress as if threatening to blow her frail body into the thousand-foot-deep abyss.
But she walked at a steady pace, and each step was firm, her back as straight as a pine tree.
It was as if she were walking on a grand avenue, looking straight ahead as she passed through thousands of people.
I will never shed tears again, she thought.
Perhaps there is a fixed amount of tears in one’s life, and I have already shed all of mine. Now it’s time for others to cry.