Chapter 101: August Has Passed Like a Fading Fragrance; September Brings Peace to Jian'an

The beauty gazed into the distance, then turned back for a closer look.

Jiang Yiyu felt increasingly awkward and left early.

Three days later, Jiang Yiyu returned to the Rouge Music House. He had learned her name: Mu Wanxi.

“There grows wild creeping grass, dripping with dewdrops. There is a beautiful person, graceful and elegant.”

After three days, Jiang Yiyu brought her back to the academy. In the entire Liangzhou City, only the Rouge Music House, his academy, and Jiangnan remained.

Mu Wanxi held her long zither, still missing a string. This was Liangzhou, not Yangzhou—she simply could not find a suitable string.

“Do you know the tune ‘Xiangfei Lament’?” Jiang Yiyu suddenly asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Mu Wanxi looked up at him, hesitated, then bit her lip and nodded.

A strange gleam flickered in Jiang Yiyu’s eyes as he went inside and retrieved a cloth bag—the very one tied to the camel before.

He carefully opened the bag to reveal a seven-string guqin. Mu Wanxi immediately recognized it as a century-old phoenix wood guqin.

She gently plucked the strings. Indeed, it was far more beautiful than her own.

At last, Mu Wanxi played ‘Xiangfei Lament’ for Jiang Yiyu. Her melody seemed to still the wind and enchant the blossoms into falling.

The song ended; one person shed tears—it was Jiang Yiyu.

He offered no explanation, carefully packing the ancient guqin back into the cloth bag.

When Mu Wanxi entered Jiang Yiyu’s room, she saw a white-headed parrot—or rather, a myna—spot her.

“Thin horse, Yangzhou thin horse!” the myna squawked loudly.

Jiang Yiyu frowned and shooed it into the courtyard. Only then did the myna obediently peck at the flowers.

“Sorry,” Jiang Yiyu tried apologizing on behalf of the bird.

Mu Wanxi simply nodded lightly, seemingly unconcerned.

After a while, Mu Wanxi glanced thoughtfully at Jiang Yiyu and gently loosened her sash.

Jiang Yiyu stepped forward, embraced her softly, and held her hand as she undid her sash. Whispering in her ear, he said, “Yangzhou is not only about the thin horses; at night, there are splendid fireworks.”

Mu Wanxi was stunned at first; then two clear tears slid down her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” she said, looking directly into Jiang Yiyu’s eyes, which now shimmered like a vast starry sky. She held him close, her lips pressing softly against his forehead, his face, and his eyes.

Mu Wanxi left without Jiang Yiyu seeing her off. He sat quietly in the academy until the Northern Iron Cavalry came for him.

“We meet again, Jiang Yiyu. Perhaps I should call you by your other name: Taiping.” The Marquis of Liangzhou, Ji Wuyan, regarded him coldly from above, his expression devoid of pride, only faint confusion. No matter how he tried, he could not comprehend how a frail scholar could lead the Taiping rebels.

“May I ask a favor?” Jiang Yiyu looked at Ji Wuyan with composed dignity.

“Speak, I may consider it,” Ji Wuyan said with interest, wondering if Jiang Yiyu would beg for mercy.

“Could you release the myna? It’s just a bird,” Jiang Yiyu said calmly.

“The myna? That strange white-headed bird?” Ji Wuyan was surprised by the request but agreed nonetheless.

Seven days later, Jiang Yiyu was hung atop the Liangzhou city tower. That night was the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month, and moonlight bathed the entire city.

The Taiping army entered Liangzhou through Changning Gate. Zhao Tianxi could not fathom how these emaciated refugees suddenly wielded such overwhelming power. Perhaps he would never understand.

On the morning of the sixteenth, a lone figure still hung on the city tower—the Marquis Ji Wuyan of Liangzhou.

No one knew who took Jiang Yiyu down. No one knew that on the night the Taiping army entered, a woman quietly entered Jiang Yiyu’s academy. No one knew that a talking myna survived in Liangzhou.

Seven months later, peach blossom snow fell over Yangzhou in March.

The snowy Yangzhou now had a Rouge Music House. The proprietor often played ‘Xiangfei Lament’ on the fourth-floor pavilion, and a hoarse voice occasionally echoed.

Faintly, one could hear him say, “Old friends part westward, fireworks in March, heading down to Yangzhou.”

…

Mu Wanxi stayed in Yangzhou for three years.

Until a few days ago, a letter arrived at the Rouge Music House, sent from an unknown place. The only words on the paper: "Peace in Jian’an Capital, September."

Mu Wanxi read the letter and hurried overnight to Jian’an Capital. Unexpectedly, upon checking into Dark Fragrance Alley, she was attacked by thieves.

A decent courtesan was assaulted by two masked robbers who cut her wrists at night, using the very same broken guqin string.

Though a death occurred in Dark Fragrance Alley, Mu Wanxi had no family and made no official report. She was sent directly to the mortuary, at least granted a dignified resting place.

…

As the lantern spins, the life story is fully recorded in the Soul Summoning Register.

“Return, soul, and be recorded.”

Heaven and earth, profound and vast, four ranks and nine grades.

The Soul Summoning Register appraised the body: Grade Four, Profound.

A pocket-sized crescent-shaped huqin lay across the palm, sounding like a drum, small yet with a neck over a foot long. It had two strings.

At the head sat a crouching yellow dragon, its horn intricately carved, known as Qiuniu. Gentle in nature, it did not delight in killing.

Summoning Technique: Qiuniu.

Song Mo’s face lit up with joy as he lightly plucked the strings with his index and ring fingers. Amid the lingering melody, a five-zhang-long spectral Qiuniu appeared above his head.

A single strike from Qiuniu matched a First Grade Yellow character!

Qiuniu’s defense could not be breached by a Grade Seven Profound character!

Song Mo flipped his hand; the huqin returned to his pocket.

What matters most in chaotic times?

Of course, life itself!

This summoning technique delighted Song Mo immensely. After his last defeat at Master Xiaoshan’s hands, he felt increasingly insecure.

Unfortunately, he had yet to master any cultivation methods; the sword control technique taught by the lame Taoist was elusive. Now, with this summoning art, even if he faced a formidable foe like Master Xiaoshan again, he would have a weapon to defend himself.

The sky was still early; Song Mo carefully stowed the huqin and lay down on the cold bed.

He slept until dawn, when soft morning light filtered in.

Song Mo opened the mortuary door. Outside stood a black-clad servant who specialized in handling courtesan corpses from Dark Fragrance Alley.

No words were needed. The servant took Mu Wanxi’s body away by cart.

The wheels clattered loudly, but Song Mo’s mind was occupied.

“Peace in Jian’an Capital, September…” he murmured, frowning as he read the letter Mu Wanxi had received.

Suddenly, realization dawned on him.

Isn’t today the first day of September?