Chapter Sixty-Five: The Brocade Zither’s Unfathomable Melodies

So this is the famous Lady Jinse? He Chang’an only muttered it inwardly, not giving it much thought.

The girl did have some charm—seven or eight parts beautiful, a face both delicate and pleasant, skin as pale as snow, carrying a hint of scholarly grace. Looking more closely, she seemed even more frank than the little nun…

Forget it, time to move on.

In He Chang’an’s eyes, unlettered as he was, this celebrated courtesan of Chang’an was far less interesting than the “plump-cheeked girl” at his side, who chattered on endlessly.

“Your skills are… passable, I suppose…” The plump-cheeked girl deftly skewered meat, stuffing seven or eight pieces into her small mouth, cheeks puffed out like little sacks. She chewed energetically, still mumbling between bites.

Watching her eat, He Chang’an suddenly recalled—the little nun had eaten in just the same way. In fact, she was even more outrageous than this girl before him.

“Hey, what’s your name?” The plump-cheeked girl finally finished her skewer, licking a few green-stained fingers with some relish.

“He Chang’an.”

“I’m Lychee.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

“It’s so-so. Sounds tempting, but you never get to taste it.” Lychee hugged her knees, looking up at the sky just as a large clump of snow fell, landing on her rosy face.

“See? Is it really such a good name?” She brushed the snow and water from her face, grinned, and said, “He Chang’an, come often in the future. Grill meat for me, and I’ll sing you a tune for free.”

He Chang’an scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “Well, that sounds great.”

“Next time, remember to bring a few pounds of that… what did you call it, cumin powder?” Lychee licked her lips, smiling. “Ready for another round?”

And so, another round of grilling began.

Lady Jinse could hardly stand He Chang’an and Lychee any longer. With a parting remark about the “overpowering smell of lamb skewers,” she rose gracefully and went inside the small building.

As Jinse disappeared indoors, Lychee laughed. “Seems like Sister Jinse doesn’t care for you.”

“Uh, really? Am I not handsome enough?” He Chang’an teased, turning the skewers more intently. “She’s the top courtesan—what’s that got to do with me?”

So thin, just Li Yishan’s type.

Only just arrived in the Tang Dynasty, and already he’d been “seen through” by a delicate, ethereal female ghost. He Chang’an’s taste in women seemed to have shifted without him realizing it. Back in the day, he’d always preferred the lively sort…

“What now, feeling down?” Lychee nudged him with her shoulder, giggling. “You men, always pretending not to care, but deep down you’re obsessed.”

“We’re just not the same.” He Chang’an replied earnestly. “Besides, I don’t even know her that well.”

“Uh…” A blush crept over Lychee’s round cheeks; for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

This He Chang’an—thicker-skinned than any scholar. That’s not what she meant at all…

Seeing Lychee’s embarrassment, He Chang’an decided not to tease further. He lifted his head, speaking seriously. “Don’t worry—she’ll never have a man like me.”

Now that was a smooth comeback.

Lychee stared at him, forgetting all about her skewers, dumbfounded for a good while before exhaling and laughing. “You’re even more shameless than Li Yishan.”

“How about a pot of wine?”

“Of course! No feast is complete without wine. He Chang’an, I rather like you.”

…

The firelight flickered. In the snowy night, the wind howled, dropping lumps of snow onto He Chang’an and Lychee’s heads, making the two carefree grillers shiver.

Upstairs, the lamplight was hazy; someone was singing.

A tune both haunting and plaintive.

He Chang’an didn’t understand it, nor did he pretend to. He turned to Lychee and asked, “What’s Lady Jinse singing?”

“It’s ‘Three Feet of Snow at the Pass, Dreaming of Our Old Love Nest.’” Lychee answered absentmindedly, then fell silent.

He Chang’an listened for a while longer, but the sorrowful melody was too much for his youthful temperament; he simply couldn’t connect with it.

So, as he grilled, he quietly activated his spiritual sight, peering—unobtrusively—into her soul…

“As expected.”

He Chang’an understood now, muttering to himself: “Didn’t they say Chang’an is protected by a great formation? How come so many in this city have had their souls tampered with?”

“Remnants of the Night God Sect, all sorts of soul marks—it’s not much different from Weiyang County!”

Just like the little nun, deep in Lychee’s soul was the mark of a spirit beast—a half-awake, jade-faced fox.

He Chang’an suddenly felt a rush of excitement.

He wanted to find an excuse to poke the plump-cheeked girl with his little black staff.

But on second thought, better wait a few more years, until he was…

“Why aren’t you inside?” Li Yishan finally emerged, holding a wine jug, eyes bleary with drink as he grinned foolishly at He Chang’an.

“That’s scholar territory. I’ll pass.” He Chang’an stood, stomping his feet to warm up, laughing. “The rooster hasn’t even crowed; what are you doing out here?”

Li Yishan just chuckled, swaying as he headed for the door.

He Chang’an quickly packed away the grill, spice jars, and bamboo skewers, then bid Lychee goodbye and hurried after him.

“Where to?” he asked.

“To Yellow Mud Alley.” Li Yishan walked with hands clasped behind his back, glancing at the sky and shrinking into his collar.

After the snow, the sky had cleared; a few stars twinkled above. The night in Chang’an was rather beautiful, if bitterly cold.

“By the way, kid, which do you prefer—Lychee or Jinse?” Li Yishan, who had managed to maintain an air of dignity for a moment, instantly lost it as he mentioned the two courtesans. “What I mean is, uh…”

He winked repeatedly—you know what I mean.

He Chang’an replied with an easy smile. “No idea.”

The old man immediately lost interest, muttering, “No sense of romance. Must’ve been drained by that lady ghost recently.”

He Chang’an found it dull, too.

A visit to the music house, and Jinse turned out to be a disappointment. Even the seemingly delightful Lychee had a tampered soul, which made him uneasy.

This Tang Dynasty—what a dark fairy tale.

And as a small, insignificant man, he could only keep his head down and endure. The thought choked him with frustration.

As they were nearly out of the red-light district, He Chang’an suddenly turned back, spitting fiercely at the garish lights behind. “Damn it all. One day, I’ll wipe you all out!”

Li Yishan laughed heartily as if he guessed what was on He Chang’an’s mind, and used a Confucian minor technique to transmit his voice directly:

“Good ambition, boy.”

He Chang’an: “I wonder if the little nun has been rescued?”

Li Yishan: “Don’t worry. With Lord Zheng involved, nothing can go wrong.”

He Chang’an: “That’s good, then.”

Li Yishan: “Kid, how much silver do you have left?”

He Chang’an: “Yu Youwei told me to give you a message…”

Li Yishan’s expression changed dramatically, pounding his chest and shouting, “Look at me, I forgot—I promised to write Lady Jinse a new poem, but all I do is drink…”

“Fifty strings on the brocade zither, each string and fret recalls a glorious year…”

“Sigh, should the next line be ‘Zhuangzi’s morning dream confuses the butterfly’ or ‘Zhuangzi’s morning dream longs for the butterfly’…”

The old man hurried back toward the red-light district, trying to look pensive but moving so fast he accidentally yanked out several white whiskers, wincing in pain.

“Damn, the old lecher really can write poetry?” He Chang’an shook his head with a wry smile, muttering, “I wonder if Ajiu is still in Yellow Mud Alley.”