At Prince Qing’s residence, a banquet had also been laid out.
Though called a banquet, only three people sat at the table.
Duke Jin’an sat upright and lifted his tea bowl.
“Do we still need a speech?” he said with a laugh. “I’ve never actually hosted a banquet before – this is my first time.”
“Of course we do,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied earnestly, also lifting her wine bowl. “Congratulations to Prince Qing and Your Highness on moving into the residence.”
Duke Jin’an laughed heartily, raised his bowl, and drained it in one go.
Meanwhile, Prince Qing was already eating mouthful after mouthful with great appetite.
“Since it’s a banquet, there must be music and dance,” Duke Jin’an said with a laugh, winking at Cheng Jiao-niang. “Not from our own household – borrowed from the palace.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled.
“Before the performance, I would like to first present a congratulatory gift to Your Highness,” she said.
Duke Jin’an quickly straightened up.
“A gift? Then I’d better sit properly to receive it,” he said with a smile, his tone full of anticipation.
“Before I present it, I’d like to borrow a qin from Your Highness’s residence,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Duke Jin’an nodded. A nearby attendant hurried off to fetch one. Though the residence didn’t own a qin yet, the musicians and dancers borrowed from the palace had brought one with them, and it was soon carried in.
“The preparation was a bit rushed, this qin isn’t a fine one – please forgive the inadequacy, my lady,” the attendant said respectfully.
“So long as it’s a qin, it will do,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, reaching out to take it. She plucked a few strings to test the tone, then looked toward Duke Jin’an. “Your Highness lacks for nothing – anything I could give, others could too. I have nothing particularly special, so since this is a new residence, I shall use the sound of the qin to cleanse and bless it.”
Cleanse the residence with music? Everyone present was momentarily taken aback.
As the first note rose, the hall did not quiet down – for Prince Qing was still eating and drinking heartily, shouting from time to time, his noise easily drowning out the mellow sound of the strings.
The palace musicians and dancers were already waiting in the side hall. Since the qin had just been borrowed from them, they knew they wouldn’t be performing for the moment and had relaxed.
Not that they’d been tense – after all, they were palace performers, accustomed to appearing before the Emperor himself and at grand ceremonial rites. What was a small duke’s banquet compared to that? Especially one with only a single guest.
Yet, when the voices from the main hall drifted over, even the air around them seemed to subtly change.
“…‘The qin isn’t very good,’ she said…”
A few of the musicians turned their heads – indeed, not only they, but several others as well. All their gazes landed on the palace qin master from whom the instrument had been borrowed.
The qin master had already been displeased at having his instrument taken; upon hearing those words, his face darkened even more.
“…She said Master Cui’s qin isn’t good?” one of the dancers whispered behind her hand with a laugh. “…Then I suppose there are fewer than ten good ones left in the whole world.”
“…The attendant was really thoughtful, saying that to spare the lady from embarrassment,” another singer murmured with a chuckle.
Their hushed, teasing voices rippled through the side hall. Though they could hear the faint strains of the qin from the main room, the sound was somewhat muffled – and with Prince Qing’s noisy shouting and eating, the quiet playing on the other side only seemed all the more ridiculous by contrast.
They were still laughing and chatting when, all of a sudden, Master Cui stood up, his expression one of astonishment.
“What’s wrong with Master Cui?” someone beside him asked in confusion.
“Careful – it’s in front of Prince Qing, don’t go doing anything rash,” another whispered anxiously, afraid he had taken leave of his senses.
But Master Cui ignored them and took a few steps forward.
“Listen,” he said.
Everyone froze for a moment – listen to what?
Yet instinctively they all tilted their heads, straining to hear.
Inside the hall, the low murmur of conversation continued, and Prince Qing’s loud shouting still rang out from time to time. The sound of the qin, however, did not cease.
Not only did it continue – it spread. Each note seemed to flow through the clamor, winding around their ears.
It was said that music enters through the ear, but this sound did not enter – it hovered, circling softly around them, brushing against their senses, as if invisible hands were stroking both ears. The feeling grew stronger, until the very pores on their skin seemed to open.
Then the music suddenly swelled – soaring, like drifting clouds and flowing water, like a scatter of stars flashing chaotically across the night. The strings raced but never lost order; slowed yet never broke. The tone was sorrowful, each note striking, striking again – and somewhere nearby, a faint sound of weeping began to rise.
Master Cui’s gaze swept the room. He saw many of the musicians and dancers bowing their heads in tears, whispering softly to one another – clearly, the music had stirred some deep sorrow within them.
“The season has only just turned to early winter, bleak and cold – how could she play such a lament?” he murmured. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a purification piece? Why does it sound instead like grief and mourning?”
As the thought crossed his mind, the sound of the qin grew even bleaker, colder – each note pressing upon the heart as if to squeeze the very organs from the body. His whole frame went rigid; he dared not even think further on the fingerwork, resisting the pull of the music itself.
“…For the sound of the qin to carry through the clamor of voices, the player’s heart must be utterly free of distraction.”
“That’s nothing rare – any accomplished qin master can play without being disturbed by the outside world…”
“…But to make the listeners forget distraction as well – to let them still hear the noise, even speak themselves, and yet have the music still pierce ear and heart alike…”
“…A mind cannot be divided – and yet what kind of music allows one to think of two things at once?”
Master Cui’s thoughts raced, yet the sound of the qin did not falter for even an instant -confirming his suspicions all the more. He couldn’t help but shiver.
No – it wasn’t fear that made him shiver. It was the chill itself.
The music was filled with the bleakness of autumn and the cold of winter; it made one feel as though they were standing amid ice and snow, unsteady on their feet, compelled to pace – perhaps even to flee.
Flee…
So that was it – this was what she meant by “cleansing the residence.” To drive out all that was impure and defiled, to make the foul things unable to endure and force them to flee.
Master Cui clenched his teeth, forcing down the tingling numbness spreading through his body.
“It’s only because there’s sorrow in one’s heart that it becomes disturbed,” he thought. “That foolish Prince Qing, over there, remains completely unaffected…”
Before the thought had even finished forming, Prince Qing’s voice suddenly rose sharply from the hall.
“I’m cold – so cold!” he cried out, his voice breaking into sobs.
Master Cui was stunned. Even that foolish prince – numb to all feeling, unaware of heat or cold – was shivering and weeping from the chill stirred by this music. Then this qin technique…
He could no longer contain himself; his body trembled uncontrollably. And just then, the music shifted – like clouds parting for the sun, ten thousand rays of golden light streaming down. Insects chirped, trees swayed, the earth awoke to spring – warmth flooding in waves.
From deep within, Master Cui let out a long sigh, his whole body relaxing, unfurling like shoots breaking through the soil – alive once more.
Laughter was rising now in the hall. Master Cui closed his eyes; it was as if he could see children and maidens before him, walking through the spring fields.
He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. All around, people’s faces were lit with joy; laughter, chatter, and clamor filled the air again. Everything was as it had been – as though the moment before had been no more than an illusion.
Yet when Master Cui reached back and touched his neck, the dampness of sweat beneath his fingers reminded him – it had not been a dream.
“Master Cui, your qin,” an attendant said as he entered from outside.
Startled, Master Cui snapped back to himself. He hurried forward, but when he saw the qin cradled in the attendant’s hands, he stopped in his tracks.
This qin had been a gift from his teacher. From the time he had first mastered his art until now, twenty full years had passed – twenty years of sleeping and waking beside it, as familiar to him as his own hands and feet. Yet at this very moment, as he looked at it, a faint sense of strangeness rose within him – along with awe.
“Master Cui?” the attendant urged, a hint of impatience in his voice.
Master Cui quickly stepped up and took the instrument into his arms. He was to perform in the main hall, then – perhaps he would finally see that lady, and find a chance to seek her instruction.
Holding the qin tightly, his expression stirred with excitement, he followed as the others began to move under the attendant’s direction. Eager not to fall behind, he pushed forward to be first through the doorway – only to be stopped the moment he reached the hall’s entrance.
“What are you doing?” The attendants at the doorway blocked his way, their faces unfriendly.
Master Cui froze at the shout.
“I’m here to play,” he said.
“Play what? The banquet ended long ago,” one of the attendants replied with a frown, looking at him as though he were a fool.
Ended? Long ago?
Master Cui turned in astonishment toward the hall – sure enough, it was empty. Only a few maids remained, tidying up the tables and trays. When he glanced back, the musicians and dancers who had followed him from the side hall were staring at him in the same confusion.
“…It’s been over for quite some time,” the attendant added beside him.
A tingling numbness shot from Master Cui’s soles to the crown of his head.
Lingering in the rafters for three days!
So this was what the sages had spoken of – music that lingered for three days after the sound had ceased!
His knees gave out; clutching the qin to his chest, Master Cui fell to the ground in reverence.
“Master Cui, what’s wrong?!”
The doorway burst into commotion.
The lively commotion at the hall entrance was entirely unknown to Duke Jin’an, who was at that moment seeing his guest to the gate.
“You know the way to this house now – come by whenever you like,” he said as he walked at an easy pace.
“Though I’ve moved out, you know, a duke still isn’t free to leave his residence as he pleases.”
A few steps behind, Cheng Jiao-niang responded softly, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Thank you for your gift,” Duke Jin’an said, turning back with a smile. “After hearing it, I feel much better today.”
“I don’t think so,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, shaking her head. “That piece wasn’t meant for people.”
Duke Jin’an paused mid-step, momentarily startled.
“Hey, hey,” he said, leaning a little closer to Cheng Jiao-niang and lowering his voice, “Confucius said not to speak of ghosts and spirits.”
“Confucius only said not to speak of them – he never said not to listen,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, a faint smile curling at her lips as she looked at him. “Are you afraid?”
Duke Jin’an let out a short laugh, straightening his back and flicking his sleeve.
“Joking!” he declared.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled and continued walking.
“I’m serious,” Duke Jin’an said, catching up with her. “You don’t know – yesterday I received a letter from my mother, and it truly made me sad.”
“What did your mother say?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
Duke Jin’an clasped his hands behind his back and sighed.
“My mother wasn’t very pleased. She blames me for not securing a reward for my younger brothers before leaving the palace,” he said. “She thinks that with such a great opportunity, I should have asked for something on their behalf instead of simply requesting to live with Prince Qing.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“That’s only human nature – nothing worth resenting,” she said.
“So you think I’m just worrying over nothing?” Duke Jin’an frowned.
“That too is human nature,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “It’s not needless worry.”
Duke Jin’an looked at her and laughed.
“So whichever way you put it, it makes sense,” he said with amusement. “My brothers are often by my mother’s side – close and affectionate. Naturally, she cares more for those near her. That’s human nature. And I, too, am her child. Living apart, seeing her heart fixed entirely on my brothers – of course I feel a little jealousy and bitterness. That’s human nature as well.”
“Isn’t it?” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“It is,” Duke Jin’an replied with a smile. “So, you shouldn’t take things too much to heart either.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly and bent in a graceful bow to him.
…
“Duke Jin’an invited that Lady Cheng again?”
The Imperial Consort asked in surprise.
“Yes,” the attendant replied softly.
“Does His Majesty know?” she asked.
“He does. His Highness even came to the palace to borrow some of the palace performers,” the attendant said. “He’s just returned them and gone to see His Majesty.”
“He personally came just to return them? Hmph – clearly just an excuse to get into the palace,” the Consort said with a cold laugh. “I knew he wouldn’t give up so easily.”
He wouldn’t give up – kept coming to the palace, pestering the Emperor and the Empress Dowager; wouldn’t give up hoping Prince Qing might be cured.
“Your Highness, His Majesty has sent some refreshments,” came a voice from outside.
The Consort immediately straightened, her face lighting up with a pleasant smile.
“They were sent in by Duke Jin’an,” another attendant said respectfully as he entered. “His Majesty ordered that portions be delivered to all the consorts.”
The smile on the Imperial Consort’s face froze at once.
