The sound of the qin was meant to purify the house – to drive out evil and dispel gloom, to calm the spirits within – not for human ears to enjoy.
Thus, the eunuchs, servants, and court musicians present all continued chatting and laughing as usual; they heard the music, but it passed through their ears without stirring their hearts.
Prince Qing, however, not only heard it – he felt the chill it carried.
That meant he was different from ordinary people; or, to put it less kindly, that he was not human.
“What about Master Cui, the qin player then?” a minor official asked hurriedly. “Is he also not human?”
The one who spoke before gave a short, mocking laugh.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he said. “That Master Cui is indeed different from ordinary men – different in that his art transcends the mortal realm, a qin player of such skill that it borders on the divine.”
“So many qin players were there, yet he was the only one who fell under the spell. Which just shows,” came the reply, “that his skill surpasses them all.”
While those on one side were still laughing and chatting merrily, a few officials came striding over, stamping their feet heavily.
“What kind of behavior is this!” one of them barked.
The clerks turned around and, seeing that it was several high-ranking ministers, scattered like startled birds.
“All over the city they’re talking about Maoyuan Mountain,” one minister said with a laugh. “At court, everyone’s praising the Divine Arm Bows, and in the streets, people are practicing her stele-style calligraphy. And now, before the last wave of excitement has even faded, everyone is talking about this purifying qin music.”
“I wonder what other talent that Lady Cheng will unveil next to astonish us all,” another official said with a smile.
It was nothing unusual for a duke to host a private banquet – in the capital, noble families and imperial kinsmen held feasts almost every day, and no one found it improper, so long as no court officials were invited.
Only this time, the duke had invited Lady Cheng, a woman of great renown in the capital.
Still, that too was understandable. Considering Prince Qing’s condition, even though Lady Cheng had repeatedly said his illness could not be cured, having a divine physician visit from time to time could still be seen as a blessing upon the household.
Yet to everyone’s surprise, this time Lady Cheng did not examine a patient, nor did she write calligraphy – she played the qin.
She played one piece, and it bewitched a fellow qin master, and startled a foolish prince.
Most sensational of all was Duke Jin’an’s remark: “The qin was not meant to be played for human ears.”
That single sentence spread through the capital like wildfire.
Although he later went on to explain that ordinary people, being distracted, were unaffected by the sound, while Prince Qing, whose mind was empty, felt its power – which meant not that he could be healed, but that his foolisheness was beyond cure –
few paid attention to the explanation.
It was the first part that thrilled the listeners.
Whether Prince Qing could recover or not hardly mattered to the public; what they loved most were strange and wondrous tales.
Among the officials at the magistrate, the talk and laughter still stayed within bounds.
But in the taverns and teahouses, the stories grew wilder and more exaggerated.
“If the music wasn’t meant for human ears,” someone said, “then it must’ve been meant for ghosts and spirits!”
“…Ordinary people can’t see ghosts or spirits,” another added, “but living creatures -dogs, donkeys, that sort of thing – can…”
“You mean to say Prince Qing is a dog?”
“Are you mad? Watch your tongue!”
“You lot don’t understand,” someone else cut in. “Prince Qing has no mind – he isn’t quite human. It’s like with small children: a child’s eyes are pure, without distraction or thought, so they can see and sense what ordinary people cannot.”
“Ah, that makes sense… But what about Master Cui, the qin player?”
“Master Cui isn’t a fool, naturally – he must be a transcendent being!”
“Shouldn’t that make him some kind of animal spirit then?”
“Animal spirits don’t fall into trances. Only divine beings can hear such celestial music.”
“Exactly! So many musicians and performers were there – why was he the only one entranced? It shows he was born with spiritual insight, awakened by the touch of immortals.”
“Yes, yes! They say when Master Cui came out of his trance, he was filled with revelation, and his skill soared to new heights.”
“I’ve long said Master Cui is the finest qin player alive.”
“Finest? Can we still call him that?”
“Lady Cheng doesn’t count – Lady Cheng is a disciple of the immortals. How could she be compared to mere mortals?”
Hearing this, Old Master Zhang burst into laughter.
“So it seems,” he said, “that she’s enlightened yet another one this time.”
The old servant sitting beside him nodded with a smile.
“That Master Cui may have fine skill,” he said, “but he was never all that famous. People used to say he only lived under the shadow of his teacher, the great Master Cui Da-jun. Some even joked that the only thing worth praising about him was his qin itself. But now – falling into a trance and finding the Way, he’s made his name at last. Truly, divine aid indeed.”
“To forge iron, the metal itself must be strong,” Old Master Zhang sighed. “If his own skill were poor and his understanding of the qin shallow, how could he have been so deeply moved? Even when immortals grant revelation or lend a hand, one must still have the strength to climb up by oneself.”
The old servant nodded again.
“Just like that Xu Sigen who got the horseshoe and buried himself in study to invent new designs; or that Fan Jianglin who received the divine crossbow and dared to take action with his own hands,” he said.
“And like the cook Li Dashao,” Old Master Zhang added with a smile, “who lost the use of one hand but neither gave up nor lost heart.”
“Indeed – and there’s also that Lu Zheng, who gained insight into law while reading a petition about diluted wine, and those who learned the art of calligraphy from gazing at her inscriptions…” the old servant continued, then clapped his hands with a grin.
“And our own Ban Qin, too – clever and deft, devoted to her craft alone!”
Old Master Zhang laughed heartily.
“So many already – I can hardly remember them all. I must write them on the screen when I get back,” he said, chuckling as he lifted his robe and stood up. “Let’s see if I can fill the whole thing.”
The old servant smiled and reached out to steady him.
“It’s just that the Master is not fond of such arts,” he said quietly.
“What does it matter whether he likes them or not?” Old Master Zhang replied with a laugh. “That young lady – she doesn’t pursue office through the examinations, doesn’t use her skills for profit, doesn’t use them to secure a marriage, and doesn’t use them to harm others. She follows her heart, lives freely, seeks nothing – who could she possibly offend?”
“I only fear,” the old servant murmured, “that she may suffer for possessing too rare a gift.”
The two walked through the bustling hall, their ears filled with laughter and chatter.
When they reached this point in conversation, Old Master Zhang suddenly stopped.
“I only said she doesn’t use her talents to harm others,” he said in a raised voice, smiling at his somewhat hard-of-hearing servant. “I never said she wouldn’t defend herself or strike back.”
Because his voice was rather loud, everyone nearby stopped talking and turned to look.
The teahouse fell silent for a moment.
Old Master Zhang merely smiled, lifted his foot, and stepped out of the teahouse, the old servant hurrying after him.
A brief hush lingered behind them – then the clamor and laughter resumed.
Meanwhile, at the Cheng residence by Yudai Bridge, all was as calm and quiet as usual.
“So that day, the engagement you went to keep was with Prince Qing’s household,” Qin Shi’san-lang said, taking the cup of tea that Ban Qin offered him.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“Oh, then that was something you couldn’t refuse,” Qin Shi’san-lang said with a smile.
“It wasn’t that I couldn’t refuse,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “It was that I had already agreed. Once a promise is made, it cannot be withdrawn.”
Qin Shi’san-lang laughed.
“But tell me – was it really you who said that?” he suddenly asked, as a thought struck him.
“What?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
“The one Duke Jin’an quoted – when he said you claimed the qin’s music was not meant for people to hear.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “I said that.”
Qin Shi’san-lang frowned.
“That was not a wise thing to say,” he said.
“It was the truth – what harm is there in speaking the truth?” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with a gentle smile.
“You can say it to him, of course,” Qin Shi’san-lang said, shaking his head, “but it’s improper for him to repeat it so freely. This isn’t like talk of a divine doctor – it’s far too fantastical. The sages taught us not to speak of ghosts, spirits, or strange forces. Your reputation is high now; the more such words spread, the more they’ll be twisted.”
His brows knit even tighter as he continued, “‘Feigning mystery’ is never a good phrase to have associated with your name.”
“The speaker may be without intent, but the listeners have their own,” Cheng Jiao-niang said with a smile. “That’s something one cannot control.”
“Precisely because of that,” Qin Shi’san-lang said, “the speaker must be all the more cautious. Has he thought about the consequences? About the trouble this might bring you?”
“Which is why,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied serenely, “since the speaker has no intent and the listeners do, there’s no need to concern oneself with it.”
Qin Shi’san-lang looked at her.
“So you’re… defending him now?” he asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang met his gaze.
“How is that defending him? It’s simply something not worth minding,” she said.
“You don’t mind – but am I allowed to mind?” Qin Shi’san-lang asked. And before Cheng Jiao-niang could reply, he went on, pointing at himself. “Let me guess – what you’re about to say is that this is my business, whether I mind or not, and that you don’t mind whether I mind?”
Even Ban Qin, long accustomed to her lady’s conversations that often turned into twists of logic no one else could follow, felt dizzy listening to this round of you mind, I don’t mind, do you mind or not mind.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him and smiled.
“I didn’t accept your invitation, nor did I give you the gift you wanted – are you really that upset about it?” she asked teasingly.
See? She’d turned the conversation again. Ban Qin, feeling her head spin from trying to follow, quickly lowered her gaze and began pouring more tea.
“That’s not what I’m upset about. Don’t change the subject,” Qin Shi’san-lang said. “Cheng Jiao-niang, can’t you think for yourself for once?”
“I am thinking for myself – that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “Qin Hu, the speaker may be without intent, but the listener interprets as they will. If every word one says must take into account what others might think, then one could never speak at all. Since I am the speaker, all I can do is ensure that I have no ill intent.”
Qin Shi’san-lang looked at her for a moment, said nothing, and finally sighed, raising his teacup.
“I hope you won’t take it to heart,” Cheng Jiao-niang said again.
Qin Shi’san-lang’s hand, still holding the teacup, paused midair.
“I wasn’t refusing your invitation, nor was I carelessly sending you a gift,” Cheng Jiao-niang continued. “It was simply that I already had another engagement. What I sent was a token of thought, not a formal gift.” She reached out and gently pushed the plate of pastries toward him.
Qin Shi’san-lang looked at her, then at the pastries.
“Truly?” he asked suddenly.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly.
“I don’t lie,” she said.
“I was only joking – you really took it so seriously?” Qin Shi’san-lang laughed, picking up a pastry and popping it into his mouth.
“I don’t take it seriously,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with a soft smile.
Qin Shi’san-lang shook his head, still smiling.
“But in all seriousness,” he said after a moment, his expression turning thoughtful, “you should be more cautious with your words in the future. After all, one who holds a jade invites his own guilt.”
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed slightly in thanks.
With a bowl of tea and three small pastries for company, Qin Shi’san-lang finished his snack and rose to take his leave.
“I won’t be coming by again before the New Year,” he said at the doorway. “The exam period is approaching – I’m going to stay at my tutor’s house and study behind closed doors. If anything comes up, just send someone to find me.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded with a gentle smile and bowed, standing by the door to watch as he mounted his horse and rode away.
“At this time of year, he’s going back to his tutor’s to study?”
Madam Qin was astonished when she heard.
“Didn’t you say you didn’t need to go anymore?”
“I just feel a bit uneasy,” Qin Shi’san-lang said with a grin. “I’ve been boasting so much – if I fail the exam, it’ll be Mother’s reputation that suffers. So I’d better buckle down and study.”
“Oh my, our Shi’san actually gets nervous now?” Madam Qin laughed.
“Mother, it’s not nervousness – it’s discipline,” Qin Shi’san-lang replied, straightening his expression. “The pursuit of learning has no end; one must never treat it lightly.”
“Well said,” said Qin An, emerging from inside and nodding approvingly. “To respect your teacher and the Way – cleverness alone is not enough. You must not be frivolous. Since you’ve chosen to enter the world, you must conduct yourself with gravity.”
Qin Shi’san-lang bowed deeply.
“Then tomorrow I’ll pack up and move to my tutor’s house for secluded study. I’ll return on the twenty-third of December,” he said.
Qin An nodded.
“Shi’san,” Madam Qin called softly as her son turned at the door.
“You really can’t restrain yourself anymore, can you?” she said quietly.
Qin Shi’san-lang’s step faltered for a brief moment, but then he continued walking at the same calm, unhurried pace, as if he hadn’t heard her words at all.
Madam Qin sighed.
“He doesn’t even make jokes anymore – clearly, this time it’s something serious.”
