Chapter Thirty-Five: The Song of Guangling

Hearing this, Yang Lian scrutinized the young master of the Zhou family and exclaimed in surprise, "A few days ago, a few days ago, you…"

"That morning, I bought a piece of cloth, but lost my money pouch. Had it not been for your help, I would have lost face entirely," replied the young master of the Zhou family, lowering his head. His long eyelashes veiled his eyes, and his face was so flushed it seemed blood might drip from it.

Yang Lian nearly slapped his thigh. When he looked at the Zhou family’s young master earlier, he’d found something odd, sensing instinctively that this was a woman in disguise. He hadn’t expected his guess would prove true, let alone that he had helped her before. While he stood momentarily stunned, a glimmer of disappointment flickered in the young master’s heart.

He doesn’t remember me? It’s only been a few days. Is my appearance not beautiful enough for him to recall? The young master could not help but sigh inwardly, disappointment evident on her face.

"So, it is a young lady after all," Yang Lian said with a faint smile, keeping his voice low. He had no intention of exposing her identity, especially in such a sensitive place.

"Thank you, sir. My name is Zhou Ehuang. Please, do not forget me," she replied softly, lips curling into a smile. Her moist eyes brimmed with charm, as alluring as those of a clever little fox.

Yang Lian swayed slightly, nearly ensnared by her. Though he knew his own purpose, few men could remain unmoved when faced with such a breathtaking little fox.

Zhou Ehuang said nothing more, lowering her head and giggling softly as she walked ahead, clearly enjoying the effect she had on men.

Yang Lian shook his head, silently reminding himself of his purpose in coming to Jinling. Zhou Ehuang, though famed as a peerless beauty in later generations, was insignificant compared to the cause of restoring the nation. He steadied his mind and was about to move forward when suddenly a voice called out.

"Sir, is this your invitation?" It was the young woman from the Xiaoxiang Pavilion who had helped diffuse the earlier situation, her face still concealed behind a white veil.

Yang Lian reached into his breast and, indeed, found his invitation missing. He must have dropped it earlier. He quickly bowed in thanks. "Thank you, miss."

"No need," the woman replied, handing him the invitation. She gazed at him for a long moment, as if about to speak, but ultimately turned and left.

Yang Lian watched her departing figure, narrowing his eyes. That silhouette—where had he seen it before? Before he could puzzle it out, Lin Renzhao’s voice called to him from ahead.

"Coming," Yang Lian gathered himself and headed toward the private box.

Inside, a dozen candles burned brightly. Near the window stood several foreign-style chairs and tables, not much different from those of later times, save for being a bit lower. On the tables were arranged fruits—cucumbers, lychees, longans, and the like.

Li Congjia, Zhou Ehuang, and Lin Renzhao were already seated. Chen Tie, thick-skinned as ever, had found himself a spot as well. Yang Lian chose a seat, too. The location of the box was excellent; from here, one could see the very center of the stage. Glancing down, the main floor was packed to the brim, bustling with anticipation.

Li Congjia grinned, his youthful nature quickly dismissing the earlier events. Pointing ahead, he said, "This box has the best view—I reserved it half a month ago," glancing at Zhou Ehuang as if fishing for praise.

Zhou Ehuang, however, seemed not to notice, wholly absorbed in conquering the lychee in her hand—a formidable foe indeed. Li Congjia’s efforts met with indifference, his enthusiasm deflated, and he turned instead to eating longans.

On stage, several women danced gracefully, but at this moment, none paid them any heed. At the entrance, the man in blue continued to inspect invitations. Only after half an hour did the doors of Xiaoxiang Pavilion close. Dozens of attendants bustled about, settling the guests and reminding everyone not to wander or cause trouble, or else they would be barred from returning in the future.

These reminders were effective; after a few words from the staff, the crowd quieted. Still, Yang Lian could hear the clamor outside, as people continued trying to get in—much like certain scenes in later times.

After waiting the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn, the madam of the house sauntered onto the stage, addressing the crowd in a loud voice. Yet, few cared what she said. Someone started a shout of "Zeng Yiling!" and soon the audience echoed in a thunderous chorus, the name nearly lifting the roof.

Yang Lian shook his head upon seeing the madam. The Five Dynasties inherited the Tang’s style; though the customs were open and this was a place of pleasure, her attire was excessive. Half her snowy shoulder was exposed, her bodice thrust high, sending some men’s blood racing. Yet, at her age—at least in her forties—even powder could not hide her wrinkles.

Faced with the uproar, the madam remained unruffled, but her words were drowned out by the chant of "Zeng Yiling." The power of the crowd was overwhelming. After a few futile words, she hurried backstage and found Zeng Yiling. "Lingling, Mama can’t hold on."

Zeng Yiling appeared in a pale purple dress, a veil hat masking her face, though the outline of her features betrayed a beauty beyond compare.

After the madam withdrew, two massive drapes closed across the stage, sealing it from view.

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes. This Zeng Yiling was no ordinary woman, to think of such a way to present herself.

A short while later, a serene melody began, and the curtains slowly drew open. At the center of the stage sat a young woman before a guqin, her fingers skillfully drawing forth music.

Around her, several women in red gowns danced in harmony with Zeng Yiling’s playing.

The music began softly, then grew by turns angry and sorrowful.

Li Congjia stroked the stubble just appearing on his chin, savoring the performance.

Though Yang Lian in his previous life was more fond of fighting than study, he had always loved music. This piece was reminiscent of "Guangling Melody," but he could not be sure, for that piece was said to be lost. Even if it had been rediscovered and rearranged in later ages, it would differ greatly from what he heard now.

The audience listened in breathless silence. Those who recognized the tune could not help but admire it—this Guangling Melody was indeed a masterpiece, and with Zeng Yiling’s superb skill, the lingering notes seemed to hover in the air.

Beside him, Chen Tie clenched his fists. As the music built, the guqin’s notes became urgent and deep, like the surging anger of the Yangtze River. The heroic and stirring strains collided, expressing the fury of the assassin Nie Zheng. In his mind’s eye, he saw Nie Zheng plunge a dagger into the chest of King Han, blood splattering, staining his own face.

With vengeance achieved, Nie Zheng slashed his own face, disfiguring himself before taking his life. The sounds of battle faded, and the killing tones gradually subsided. One piece of Guangling Melody told the story of Nie Zheng’s unyielding spirit in resisting tyranny.

Chen Tie’s fists remained tight—this was his own story. In his heart, Li Jing was the tyrant, and though Min had fallen, his desire to restore the country remained undimmed. Yet the emperor was imprisoned, leaving him helpless and frustrated.

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes. Though the Guangling Melody seemed ordinary, its meaning ran deep.

In his estimation, Zeng Yiling ought to have performed something gentler, like "High Mountains and Flowing Water" or "Autumn Moon in the Han Palace." He had not expected she would choose the fierce and angry Guangling Melody, recounting the assassin Nie Zheng’s tale.

This Zeng Yiling was indeed an extraordinary woman.

Others, however, did not think so deeply. When the piece ended, the audience was first struck dumb, then erupted in thunderous applause. The lingering notes—once a mere phrase—were now truly experienced by all.

Although Zeng Yiling’s performance had ended, the melody echoed in their minds, stirring sadness in some and excitement in others.

Jinling, prosperous and decadent for many years, was the capital of Southern Tang, home to many officials and wealthy families. Many among them were connoisseurs of music, and now they could not help but praise the performance. Even Ji Kang himself, playing Guangling Melody, could not have surpassed this.

Yang Lian’s heart surged, ignited by the spirit of the music—the passion for vengeance. He felt as though he himself were Nie Zheng, come to Jinling to assassinate the "King of Han." In his mind, however, the "King of Han" was the ruler of the entire realm.

After much cheering, the Xiaoxiang Pavilion gradually quieted again. On stage, Zeng Yiling bowed; the dancers withdrew, leaving her alone.

"Joy shared alone is not as sweet as joy shared together. I would like to invite one guest from among you to join me in a duet," Zeng Yiling announced, her voice as lovely as her music.

The atmosphere in the pavilion ignited once more. Many leapt to their feet, shouting excitedly, "Me, me, me!"

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes. Zeng Yiling was not only skilled in presentation, but also shrewd in reading people’s hearts. Though a woman, she was truly remarkable—a pity that, in the end, she was just a woman.

Zhou Ehuang was tempted but knew that, among so many people, the chance of being chosen was slim.

At that moment, the door to the neighboring box opened. Out strode a man about seven feet tall, well-proportioned, who walked to the stage and bowed to Zeng Yiling. "My name is Li Hongji. I have long admired Miss Zeng. I have some modest skill in music myself. Might I have the honor of performing a duet with you?"

Lin Renzhao started in surprise, glancing at Li Hongji. He exclaimed, "That’s Li Hongji?" For he recognized him at once as the man with whom he had clashed earlier.

Yang Lian smiled to himself, thinking, so you finally realize.

Li Congjia sighed, "Yes, that’s my eldest brother, Li Hongji!"

Lin Renzhao was so astonished he could not speak. That young man was the crown prince, Li Hongji—and this, his brother, was also a prince!

Yang Lian feigned surprise as well. "Greetings, Your Highness."

Li Congjia glanced at Zhou Ehuang, clearly relishing his elevated status. He waved a hand and laughed, "Today we are here to enjoy Miss Zeng’s music. Among friends, there’s no need for such formalities."

Only then did Yang Lian and Lin Renzhao turn their eyes back to the stage, though their thoughts were utterly different.