Having just parted ways with Yuan Jin’er and returned to the second floor, Ning Yi found the Su family members still discussing how they might still win Lü Xia over to their side. Though they understood well enough that the Xue family surely had their own leverage, Su Wengui and the others were nonetheless fairly confident, mainly because they were regulars at the Swallow Jade Pavilion themselves. Among them, Su Wending was close to the eldest branch of the family, Su Wengui and Su Wenxing belonged to the second branch, and Su Wenluo and Su Wenji to the third—normally they wouldn’t have banded together, but tonight they’d chosen to pool their connections regardless.

The result looked promising enough on the surface. Some knew the more influential stewards of the establishment, some were close with Madam Chen, and some had personally supported Lü Xia on several occasions and considered themselves on close terms with her—naturally they all spoke with confidence. Taken together, it seemed like a sure win. By this point, the Su family men had been busy currying favor up and down the establishment, and had put up a considerable sum of silver besides, on top of Li Pin’s poetry—altogether quite promising.

If it weren’t for the fact that Lü Xia and Xue Yan had already developed some kind of relationship, then with enough face given and a poem or two of real brilliance, tonight might not have been a lost cause. But at this point, it was no longer a matter of competition. Of course, Yuan Jin’er’s suggestion of hiding outside until the performances were over before going back in clearly wasn’t a good plan. Ning Yi went up and, with a smile, filled Li Pin in on the situation; Li Pin laughed as well.

“Ha, no wonder they looked so confident downstairs—I’d suspected as much already. So that’s how it is.” Despite the laugh, his manner remained easygoing. He chatted a bit more with Ning Yi, then took up paper and brush to write a second poem, once again handing it to a nearby woman to take down—a poem that was neither mocking nor bitter, still simply in praise of Lü Xia. Not long after, Lü Xia’s second performance of the evening began; once it ended, the Xue family offered two hundred taels of silver, and the Su side three hundred, along with the accompanying poems, awaiting Lü Xia’s decision.

When the final result came, the hall erupted in its usual uproar, and the Su family men were visibly indignant. Not long after, Xue Yan, Xue Jin, Liu Qingdi and the others brought Lü Xia over to pay their respects. From Lü Xia’s position, she naturally thanked the Su family for their generous favor; Xue Yan and the others, all smiles, spoke up.

“Ha ha, today’s matter must have put Miss Lü in quite a difficult spot—choosing one side inevitably upsets the other. Wenxing, Wenji, our families have been friends for generations, so let me apologize first—if there’s ill feeling, direct it at me. Ah Xia was truly caught in a hard position; please don’t take it to heart…”

Xue Yan’s words were meant to shield Lü Xia from the Su family’s displeasure, though in truth they were merely a way of putting on a magnanimous “I’m not upset” pose while needling the other side all the same. Everyone made a show of cordial laughter and small talk, and Wenxing, Wenji and the others could only affect an open-minded air here as well, though their eyes stayed on the mood of the whole hall—by now, most people’s attention had, in fact, already turned this way.

Amid Lü Xia’s apologies and Xue Yan’s remarks, Li Pin raised his cup with a smile. “The bond between Brother Xue and Miss Lü is something we’ve long been aware of. As for tonight’s matter, seeing a good match come together brings me genuine comfort. I wonder when Brother Xue plans to marry Miss Lü—we’d all be glad to have played some small part in a fine romance, which is really the meaningful thing here…”

“Brother Li… whatever do you mean…” At these words from Li Pin, Su Wenxing and the others looked a bit puzzled, though on the surface they naturally put on knowing smiles; Xue Yan and Lü Xia, however, changed expression slightly. They knew the truth of the matter—if Li Pin genuinely knew about the relationship between the two of them and said such things aloud where people believed it, others might well say the Su family, knowing full well they’d lose, still chose to gracefully support a good match, while the Xue family looked petty by comparison. For Lü Xia’s side, this was even more troublesome—if she really did marry into the Xue family after this, it would only confirm the rumor, and if that happened, it might well close off her chances of entering the Xue household at all.

The light was somewhat dim. Liu Qingdi, hearing Li Pin’s words, stepped forward with raised cup. “My thanks for your kind words, Brother Li. Today’s matter was indeed a case of the Su family graciously yielding ground—if Liheng had put forward a poem as well, I daresay I wouldn’t have dared offer up my own poor efforts, and then who Miss Lü might have chosen would truly have been hard to say…”

This attempt to stir trouble had little effect, because the Ning Yi he’d mentioned was, at that moment, standing by the railing looking down at the stage below. Lü Xia found no comfort in the remark, watching Li Pin’s face uneasily. Li Pin sighed, raised his cup, drained it in one go, and said nothing more with a smile. As he turned his head to look at Ning Yi, his gaze followed downward; before long, Xue Yan, Xue Jin, Su Wenxing, Lü Xia and the others had all turned to look down as well.

The sound of strings and pipes had already, quietly, begun.

Amid the still-noisy hall, what came into view was a stage lit somewhat dimly. A woman in white sat at its center, gently caressing the guqin before her, her long hair gathered into a knot at the back of her head, spilling down; her white skirts spread out across the stage like unfurling lotus blossoms. The notes of the qin rang out, soft and soothing, blending into the surrounding murmur of voices.

The spot where the Xue and Su families were talking on the second floor had already been the center of attention, but now even more eyes turned toward the stage; the noisy chatter gradually gave way to hushed whispers, as if smoothed over by that gentle, unhurried music. Little by little, the notes seemed to grow clearer, and the hall itself grew steadily quieter.

The woman looked as if she’d been painted onto the stage in ink wash. As her slender fingers plucked gently at the strings, an air of refined elegance radiated from her, drawing the eye. A veil wrapped around her face, and in the faint downward tilt of her head, only her calm, unhurried gaze and rose-pink lips showed through; though her full features remained hidden, she was unmistakably a woman of exceptional beauty. She seemed entirely unconcerned with the audience in the hall, playing instead as though alone amid distant mountains or by some quiet lake.

Perhaps only a few could truly grasp the impact that figure had created in these few brief moments.

“Who is that?”

By the railing on the second floor, Xue Jin asked quietly—directed at Lü Xia, naturally, but Lü Xia only shook her head, looking puzzled herself. Xue Yan glanced at those beside him and murmured, “What song is this?”

Liu Qingdi, standing nearby, frowned, glancing instinctively toward Ning Yi—only to find him gazing down, head tilted, fingers tapping lightly on the railing. He shook his head. “Sounds like something I’ve heard before, but… hard to say for certain right now…”

“Sounds like ‘Prelude to the Water Melody’…” Lü Xia offered softly.

“That song’s been sung everywhere lately—I must have heard it ten or twenty times by now. This melody though…” someone murmured. “Did she play it wrong?”

The remark came out without much conviction, and before it had even fully faded, the woman on stage finally lifted her head, her clear gaze sweeping across the hall, pausing briefly here at the second floor. From behind the veil, her voice rose in song, unhurried.

“When will the bright moon appear…”

Prelude to the Water Melody.

This piece had been sung countless times across Jiangning over the past year, and for the regular patrons of these establishments, it held little novelty left. But the voice singing it now felt different from the usual renditions—still following the familiar melodic bones of the piece, yet the voice conveyed something unhurried, ethereal, winding, while still losing none of the grandeur of the original lyrics, making it hard to say whether the performance was orthodox or radically unconventional. A ripple of whispers ran through the hall again, then quieted before long—by now most had already realized how beautiful the singing was, and thought it best to hear it out before saying anything more.

Of course, no matter how the melody shifted, the next line remained the same.

It was: “Raising my cup, I ask the azure sky.”

…

“I wonder what year it is tonight, in those palaces above the clouds… I wish to ride the wind and return there, yet I fear the jade towers and halls of crystal…”

Few in the hall spoke now. The zither music and the singing, in these brief moments, had cast their influence over everything around. The white robes, the guqin, the long hair, the veil—amid that clear, winding song, the whole scene seemed to conjure an immaculate, otherworldly fairy, both stirring and overwhelming. The music was unlike the usual style, the singing technique different too, yet it never strayed into the unorthodox—the underlying structure remained unchanged, only every turn, every trembling note, every rise and fall in the melody seemed to carry a soul of its own. Paired with that ethereal, exquisite voice, it created an entirely new artistic world all its own.

“Too cold up there at such heights, where I’d dance with my own shadow—how could that compare to being here in the mortal world…”

As the verse ended, the woman smiled faintly and returned her attention to the qin. Ning Yi, up on the second floor, caught the seemingly casual glance she’d just sent his way, and shook his head lightly. Of course, this did nothing to disturb the calm, faint smile in the woman’s eyes below. She hadn’t done anything like this in three years—and in truth, there’d been no real need to.

Before this, Ning Yi had never actually heard Nie Yunzhu sing in this classical style, though he knew exactly where this particular arrangement had come from. He’d taught her the modern way of singing “Prelude to the Water Melody” before, and told her he liked that style. She’d been rather dismissive of it at the time, though she’d never argued against it either—until this very performance. It was as if she’d fused the two versions together in some near-miraculous way, and yet it produced no sense of dissonance at all.

“Several stories tall, that one…”

“At least on this front—whether it’s poetry, songs, or even the folk tunes young master mentioned earlier—if Yunzhu can’t manage it, I doubt there are more than a handful of people in all of Jiangning who could…”

Recalling the things she’d said, sometimes playful, sometimes brimming with confidence, and the hesitant look on her face whenever she’d heard those songs of his, Ning Yi thought he understood now, more or less. But for the moment, all he could do, like everyone else, was listen quietly as the song continued.

“Turning past the vermilion pavilion, dipping past the ornate window, shining on the sleepless… it should hold no grudge, why does it always turn full just as we part…”

Meanwhile, at a window on one side of the hall, Yuan Jin’er gazed at the figure on stage, listening quietly to the song, Madam Chen listening beside her—until at some point Madam Chen frowned and murmured, “That’s Yunzhu…”

She’d heard Nie Yunzhu play the qin before, and with a professional ear at that. Back at the Golden Wind Pavilion, Nie Yunzhu’s skill in this area had been exceptional, though at least in temperament there had always been a certain proud aloofness to her—an air some people found appealing, much like Lu Caicai’s similarly detached quality, though Lu Caicai’s aloofness tended toward self-pity, never quite matching the cool, proud distance Nie Yunzhu carried.

But now, that coolness was gone. The once-distant pride had vanished entirely. In its place was only something as natural and gentle as a flowing stream, warmly enveloping everything, nourishing all things without a sound. Almost no one wanted to disturb a song and mood like this. Her appearance onstage needed no overpowering, high-handed display—it was as though there had never been any question to begin with, and she had simply won everyone over directly…

There was no need even to compare her to Lü Xia and the others—they simply weren’t operating on the same level or in the same category at all.

“People know joy and sorrow, parting and reunion; the moon knows shadow and shine, waxing and waning—since ancient times, such things are never whole…”

The woman sang the lines with a calm, contented smile, and before long, as her lips parted gently to sing “But I wish us long life, together beneath the moon though a thousand miles apart,” there seemed to be a note of wistful reluctance in her voice. Both the singing and the qin took a long while to fall silent afterward; she sat there quietly, head bowed, waiting for a good while before applause finally broke out.

Voices mixed with the applause as people on both floors began asking those around them who this woman was, or excitedly discussing among themselves how to invite her over.

Amid these sounds, the woman rose from the stage, smiling as she bowed slightly, saying nothing, offering only this gesture of thanks. She then walked toward one side of the stage—not toward the back, but to where Lü Xia had gone down earlier, pouring a cup at the small table there and taking it to Xue Yan. This woman, too, now picked up a porcelain cup, but rather than touching the wine jar, she walked to the side and poured herself a cup of tea instead.

Throughout the hall, people watched this, somewhat puzzled, murmuring among themselves as they waited to see what would happen next…