Chapter 8: Elegy of the Huqin

The shop Li Congwu mentioned was a truly venerable establishment in Lishui, having been in business for forty or fifty years. In these times, for a teahouse to operate for so long without disaster or calamity, Wen Sheng knew without even asking that the owner must be a person of significant background and capability.

When the three of them arrived at the Chen family's old shop, it was still early before the mealtime. Dozens of idle people had already gathered in the main hall to drink tea and chat, occasionally erupting into cheers whenever the storyteller on the stage reached an exciting part.

Qinggui followed her brother downstairs to the second floor with a hesitant, awkward gait. Once she was seated, she breathed a small sigh of relief upon realizing that no one was paying attention to her.

Wen Sheng lagged slightly behind. Compared to the spacious and bright main hall, the upstairs was relatively secluded yet offered a good view; finding a table and sitting down casually allowed her to see the entire shop, including the stage, with perfect clarity.

The only flaw was that several old smokers were currently puffing clouds of smoke. Although the windows both upstairs and downstairs were wide open, the smell was still quite pungent. Qinggui was both nervous and unaccustomed to it, her small face pulled tight.

As soon as the three sat down, a tea waiter ran over to attend to them. Li Congwu recognized him and asked in a very casual tone, "Has your storyteller changed? It's quite lively here. What is he telling?"

The tea waiter gave a "hehe" laugh. "Sir, what you don't know is that he isn't the only new one. Everyone wants to hear something fresh, don't they? 'General Ji's Great Victory at Zhangzhou.' This is my first time hearing this story as well. What can I bring for you three?"

Li Congwu casually ordered a pot of cheap flower tea and a few snacks, then said to his two sisters, "Since he is telling the story of our General Ji, we ought to listen properly. I've been here a few times with the escort agency; no matter the price, the tea here tastes about the same, so let's not waste money. The snacks, however, are quite good; you two should try some when they come up."

Li Congwu clearly looked like a rough man, but the tea waiter did not get angry upon hearing him disparage the shop's tea to his face; instead, he bowed with a grin and withdrew.

Wen Sheng's gaze swept over the tea waiter and quickly scanned everyone seated in the shop.

Wen Sheng was something of an expert when it came to tasting tea, but it was easy to imagine that the fine teas she had drunk in her previous life did not exist in this world. As for the tea-brewing skill, one only had to look at the waiters sprinting around the floor with massive teapots to see there was nothing to speak of. In that sense, one couldn't blame her cousin for not knowing quality; if it were her, she would also just pick the cheapest option.

The shop's workers looked very ordinary, and most of the customers were idle men with a bit of spare change, but today's storytelling was indeed worth listening to.

That famous general of Great Liang, who lived in Lishui and was currently leading troops along the southern coast to fight the Dongyi people, was surnamed Ji and named Nantang. His life was legendary; he was proficient in both literary and military arts. He had gained fame by turning the tide of a battle in his youth, and now, having just passed his thirtieth year, he was already a renowned hero with illustrious military achievements.

From what Wen Sheng could see, at least in his hometown of Lishui, this General Ji enjoyed extremely high popularity among the people.

She only wondered if his fame lived up to the reality.

On the stage, the storyteller was describing how the King of Dongyi had devised a wicked scheme, sending subordinates to persuade various pirate leaders to gather tens of thousands of sea bandits. They sailed a thousand warships straight toward the coast of Great Liang, landing in the provinces of Zhang and Bai like a swarm of locusts, burning, killing, and looting, committing every imaginable evil. The poor, innocent people suffered, truly finding no way out in heaven or on earth.

The storyteller was in his forties, wearing a long robe that had been washed until it was faded. He did not look remarkable, but his voice was loud and vivid when he told his tales; when he reached emotional parts, it was as if he had personally witnessed the tragedies of that time. He described how the pirates had stormed into a wealthy household in Baizhou in broad daylight, disemboweling and tearing out the heart of a grandson less than a year old, smashing him into a pulp on a heated kang bed. Immediately, many people in the hall could not help but curse out loud in anger.

Li Congwu's face flushed red. He slapped the table with a "thwack" and cursed, "Those beasts! They truly bully our Great Liang for having no men!"

Qinggui lowered her head and quietly wiped away her tears.

Once the story concluded, the shop was filled with indignation. The angry curses drowned out the storyteller's voice. The man on stage had reddened eyes and cupped his fists toward the left and right, looking as though he intended to take a break for a while.

Seeing that he had no intention of coming down to collect tips after stepping off the stage, Wen Sheng shifted her gaze to the crowd.

She saw their various expressions—some passionate, some indignant—but for some reason, it always felt as if there were a veil between them.

Their joys and sorrows were like a scroll slowly unfurling before her, yet she could not merge into it or empathize. Even the fate she would inevitably face in this world was met with an unconscious indifference.

She did not like this place at all, where the times were turbulent and people's hearts were restless.

If all of this was an illusion, then what was the meaning of her struggling to survive here?

Wen Sheng picked up her teacup but did not bring it to her lips for a long time, her expression vacant and her gaze misty.

Just then, the sound of a huqin suddenly rang out in the noisy old shop.

When she was Gu Jiu, Wen Sheng's hearing had been excellent, and even with this new body, she remained very sharp. Almost the moment the first note of the huqin sounded, she caught it amidst the chaotic clamor.

No, it wasn't just "catching" it; that thread of music was like wind and flowers suddenly blooming and spreading through an ink wash painting, striking her heart unexpectedly.

The huqin sounded mournful, as if recounting all the bitterness and misfortune of life. After listening to only one short passage, Wen Sheng realized that the player was a master.

By this time, she had noticed an unremarkable old man sitting on the stage, though she hadn't realized when he had arrived.

The old man had hair and a beard as white as snow. His eyes were slightly closed, and a huqin rested on his knees. His body swayed slightly as he played, seemingly oblivious to everyone around him.

Strangely enough, at some unknown point, the clamor in the shop gradually died down. Soon, the shouting stopped, the cursing ceased, and even the sounds of drinking tea and eating snacks became barely audible. Only the sound of the huqin remained, soul-stirring and heart-wrenching.

After a moment, the music began to smooth out like the waves after a storm at sea. The gray-clad old man on the stage opened his eyes. He did not look at anyone in particular; his gaze fell into the void.

Wen Sheng heard him begin to sing

"Dragon battles in the wild, white Zhang rises; crushed flesh and withered bones, blood of black and yellow. The Holy Emperor sits in the imperial court, employing a brilliant young man. In his teens, he was praised as a scholar of the state; in his twenties, his literary and military prowess stabilized the dynasty. Who does not read Nantang's verses? Who does not know General Ji? On the day the General sets out for war, men from all directions follow him like clouds. At the pavilion, wine is brewed for a bitter farewell; a thousand wives and daughters wet their skirts with tears. Broken masts and leaking hulls under the setting sun; beacon fires and wolf smoke drift upon the water. The sun and moon are bright over the eastern coast, yet people grow haggard and hearts grow old. Where is the youth playing the iron flute? The soldiers of the army cannot sleep..."

Wen Sheng slowly drank the somewhat bitter tea. She had been in this strange world for two months, and she was finally moved by a piece of music and a verse of lyrics. It was like a sudden breeze blowing away the veil between her and this world; the feeling was so real.

Listen, the huqin was melodious, so weathered and tragic.