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Chapter 7
Just when Nie Qingyue almost mistook everyone for dried radishes, her bowl finally contained vegetables, chicken drumsticks, and fish balls.
Nie Qingyue was happily eating her meal in the pavilion, beaming, when Miss Ruoyun came over with her maid. Ruoyun seemed excited, her eyes bright as she looked at Nie Qingyue with barely suppressed excitement and anticipation: "Miss Nie, this poem..."
Nie Qingyue waved her hand, still holding the cute cabbage in her mouth, and slowly chewed and swallowed before speaking indifferently: "Use it however you like."
"If your mother asks if you have any other requests, she will try her best to fulfill them."
Nie Qingyue tilted her head and thought for a moment, "Then I'll say it, um, how about we replace the moldy blankets in the servants' quarters?"
Ruoyun's eyes flickered, and she hesitated before asking, "Is that all?"
"This is for now." Nie Qingyue clapped her hands and continued eating.
That very day, the servants' quilts were replaced with new ones, and the madam arranged for Nie Qingyue to stay in one of the young maids' rooms. "The future top courtesan truly lives up to her name; this room feels too empty even for three people," Nie Qingyue remarked, shaking her head as she teased the young maid who was clinging to her. During their casual conversation, she learned a truth: the reason she had been eating dried tofu for three days was because Miss Ruoyun couldn't understand her abstract, wildly cursive calligraphy. Artists are indeed lonely.
"Yan Shu is the one who knows my writing style." Nie Qingyue lay comfortably on the high bed and warm pillows, her eyes half-closed, too comfortable to move.
The next day, after dinner, Miss Ruoyun came in carrying her pipa: "I've finished composing the piece. Miss Xiaoyue, would you like to stop and see if you're satisfied?" With that, she began to play it with skillful technique.
The song ended. Nie Qingyue offered no comment: "Miss Ruoyun, would you grant me a request?"
"What?"
"If anyone asks who wrote this poem, Miss Ruoyun will simply say that she wrote it herself."
Ruoyun looked puzzled and disapproving: "Why is Miss Xiaoyue doing this?"
Nie Qingyue absentmindedly plucked the strings of the pipa, her voice broken and incoherent: "If Miss Ruoyun agrees, then so be it."
"If anyone asks, Ruoyun will say it was written by an old acquaintance."
“Okay.” Nie Qingyue looked up at Ruoyun’s insistence and realized she was a woman of principle.
The actual performance was on the evening of five days later.
Using the excuse of wanting to hear the overall effect, Nie Qingyue managed to snag a private room on the second floor. Looking out through the sheer purple curtains at the railing, she saw the room was packed with distinguished guests. After nearly a month, she finally had a legitimate reason to enter a brothel. Nie Qingyue ate dried fruit and candied fruit, observing the numerous dashing young men, celebrities, and wealthy merchants inside. Brothels, known for their fickle and philandering reputation, were despised by countless upright individuals throughout history, yet they were also a favorite haunt of scholars and poets.
The stage, adorned with exquisitely carved railings and layers of gauze, featured Ruoyun, dressed in a red gown, sitting gracefully within its depths. Her cascading black hair flowed down her back, making her face appear like a peach blossom, exuding a carefree yet alluring charm. Nie Qingyue had once suggested she half-up her hair, but he hadn't expected her to be so unrestrained, adding to her straightforward and ethereal beauty.
With a single pluck of the string, most of the lights in the hall were turned off at the same time, leaving only a faint glow on the stage, which made the entire stage appear translucent and white in the darkness, and the woman on the stage looked as radiant as a rosy cloud.
As the guests whispered amongst themselves, the woman in red placed her fair hands on the pipa, turning the pegs and plucking the strings. Before the melody even began, her emotions were already evident. The hall fell silent. Suddenly, a group of women in white appeared on the stage, their graceful figures dancing barefoot to the music, their bodies as light as lotus blossoms. The woman in red lowered her gaze, her hands moving with ease, and her voice rose and fell softly, like pearls falling onto a jade plate, or like gentle flowing water:
As lanterns illuminate the Pavilion of Forgetfulness,
A thousand pieces of gold were spent in the warm and gentle night.
A gentle smile,
The warbling of orioles and the dancing of swallows dispel worries.
Ordinarily, one might think that a good night's drink is just the right time for a dream.
The melody shifted, its tone gradually softening, the singing changing from gentle and soothing to a low, melancholic melody. Suddenly, the graceful dancers on the stage lowered their heads and slowly dispersed, falling onto the stage like butterflies with broken wings. Their white dresses and gauze robes were cleverly arranged on the wooden planks, resembling blooming white lotuses.
Forget your worries in a drunken dream.
Who knew that after the clamor subsided,
Time flies and leaves us behind.
Her youthful beauty has faded, her rosy cheeks have dimmed—let this not be told.
We welcome all who come.
Who laments that old love is hard to rekindle?
Green eyebrows furrowed with sorrow, tears washing away the red lead.
Alas, a chance encounter cannot prevent the changing of hearts.
Alas, a night of wind and rain brought ruin to a beautiful woman.
The silence that had filled the hall suddenly dissipated with the sound of the zither. The red-clad woman's plaintive singing, after a skillful transition, gradually became more relaxed and melodious. A few lotus-shaped blue lanterns slowly lit up the hall. The still dancers began to move, their movements magnificent and dazzling.
Luxury cars and BMWs lead to a dreamlike existence.
The distant blue sky is shrouded in a pale glow, like a red silk ribbon.
Raising a glass and laughing,
Singing and dancing, reveling in joy and happiness.
It is commonly said that when drinking with a bosom friend, even a thousand cups are not enough.
Forget your worries in a drunken dream.
Why not dispel all new sorrows?
Since you have no heart for me, I will give up.
No one sings, "If Heaven had feelings, Heaven too would grow old."
The dancer moved swiftly, her white gauze dress billowing in the air as she danced. Now adorned in coral-red brocade, her movements were grand and luxurious. The woman's voice from the stage grew even more distant and clear, her eyes bright and clear.
Those who leave will not be kept.
Long-cherished wishes are hard to fulfill; a passing traveler's beloved is shattered, and marriage is broken.
I only wish to live a carefree life, enjoying the wine and the moment.
Let tomorrow's worries come tomorrow.
Those who leave will not be kept.
Life is short, so don't wait until it's filled with sorrow.
I only wish to live a carefree life, enjoying the wine and the moment.
Let tomorrow's worries come tomorrow.
The music ended, the zither fell silent, the song ceased, and the dance concluded. The zither player put down all four strings with a single note, the sound of tearing silk piercing the air as all the lamps in the hall lit up. Even though Nie Qingyue had already heard the music, she hadn't expected Ruoyun's voice to blend so seamlessly with the lyrics and music, without a single stiff note. In the ensuing silence, she walked to the railing, where applause had already erupted from the adjacent private room. "Well said, 'Drink today, for tomorrow we may die.' I'll drink first, for that's the priority," the man's voice, though not loud, carried clearly throughout the inner hall.
The guests, finally snapping out of their daze, erupted in thunderous cheers and applause, followed by the boisterous clinking of glasses. Nie Qingyue smiled and left the private room, carrying a small pot of wine as she made her way to the pavilion.
Lying on the cool stone bench, gazing at the somewhat exaggerated number of stars against the purple night sky, I realized that the concept of the Milky Way can only be truly understood under an unpolluted blue sky.
Recalling the past month, she had a general understanding of the layout of the Forget-Worry Pavilion, the guards, and the departure times. As a newly recruited maid, obtaining the right to go out was difficult. Besides, the Forget-Worry Pavilion only provided three meals a day without paying (or at least not to her = =), so escaping wouldn't be easy. Nie Qingyue slapped her forehead, "I still have to abduct someone's future top courtesan, ahhh, I don't want to think about it anymore." She shook her head and glanced sideways, only to see another person standing in the pavilion.
The young man in the grey brocade robe, while not exceptionally handsome, was nonetheless good-looking, with wise and calm eyes. He looked vaguely familiar. It was the same young man she'd seen that day while hiding from the madam. Why wasn't he out having a tryst with Miss Ruoyun, standing in the pavilion? Nie Qingyue suddenly had a thought: had she been acting as a third wheel, lingering at their rendezvous spot for ages?
Thinking of this, Nie Qingyue quickly stood up: "Uh, I'll go see why Miss Ruoyun is so slow. Please sit and wait."
"It's alright." The man said calmly, sat down and poured the wine that Nie Qingyue had brought into a cup that was always kept in the pavilion, and placed a cup in front of Nie Qingyue.
Nie Qingyue didn't want to be coy. Since she had brought the wine herself, she sat back down and drank it slowly. The wine from Wangyoulou was known for its ability to drown one's sorrows in a drunken stupor.
"The lyrics were written by a young woman?" The young man's casual tone didn't sound like a question.
Nie Qingyue guessed that he might have been in Ruoyun's room when he sent the maid to deliver the poem, so he directly confessed: "Yes, I stole some ancient books and poems to put it together."
The man chuckled softly, "This introduction, development, climax, and conclusion—the initial suppression followed by a climax—was also stolen? Yun'er likes it very much."
Nie Qingyue's little nose detected the smell of gossip in the air. Everyone was saying that there must be something going on between them, and she was just guessing at the poignant and heart-wrenching love story between them.
A young man's gentle and refined voice came from behind him: "Is that what you think, young lady?"
"ah?"
"I welcome those who come and leave those who go; if you have no heart for me, then I will give up."
Nie Qingyue touched his nose. "All I was thinking was to live for the moment. That kind of talk was forced out of me by the girls."
"How so?"
After a few drinks, Nie Qingyue became less reserved and leaned on the table, touching the rim of his cup as he recalled: "Every morning I would go to the girls' rooms to collect their clothes and take them to wash. Every few days, there would be a few girls secretly hiding in their boudoirs, crying pitifully. Some of them liked to cry even more at night, like ghosts, disturbing my sleep. Writing like this was really annoying to read, and it was mostly a complaint and venting."
The gray-robed youth seemed not to have expected her comical and straightforward explanation. He paused for a few seconds and then smiled helplessly: "If those literati and beautiful ladies knew the reason behind this, they would probably be quite depressed for a while."
Nie Qingyue blinked. The lyrics were amateurish and clumsy in terms of style, rhyme, and structure. However, they were more straightforward and simple than the obscure and ambiguous love songs of this era. The free-spirited and magnanimous attitude of not refusing anyone and not keeping anyone who leaves, when applied to a courtesan who was used to being subservient and obsequious, naturally had a refreshing and novel feel. But this novelty probably wouldn't last long.
She slowly hummed in agreement. "Being able to enlighten one or two girls is an unexpected bonus. After all, what you can't have is always the best."
"For example?"
“For example, I couldn’t get Chunhua’s chicken legs, cabbage, meat and fish balls, so I wrote this poem to exchange for the dishes. Actually…” Nie Qingyue pouted, “After eating it, it didn’t seem to taste that great.” She gave a vivid and simple example and then lay on the cold stone table with her eyes half-closed.
The gray-robed youth looked on with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he watched her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed with drunkenness, muttering to himself, "If Heaven had feelings, it too would grow old."
"Hmm, people with feelings die young." Nie Qingyue muttered to herself, half-closing her eyes, recalling a pure parody she had seen online in her previous life.
The young man was probably speechless at her jarring words, and remained silent for a long time, only drinking his wine in a lukewarm manner.
The cool night was peaceful, and a gentle breeze was just right. Nie Qingyue was so comfortable that he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, naturally not noticing Ruoyun stepping into the inner courtyard after finishing with the guests.
Ruoyun quietly watched the man and woman inside the pavilion. The man, with a focused expression, gently draped his robe over the peacefully sleeping woman, seemingly unaware of her arrival. For as long as Ruoyun watched, the man's gaze lingered on the serene face of the sleeping woman. Finally, his eyes welled up with tears, and he turned and left.
The man seemed to have sensed something beforehand, withdrawing his gaze from Nie Qingyue's face the moment Ruoyun turned to leave. Does love lead to an early death? The man glanced at Ruoyun's slender departing figure, his eyes clear and calm.
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The so-called "seeing through the illusions of the world"
When Nie Qingyue woke up, she felt a splitting headache.
The sky was a hazy gray, like the dim light of four or five in the morning. Nie Qingyue looked around; it was so quiet, not a soul in sight, and sighed. She had fallen asleep in the pavilion. The gray-robed youth beside her was also asleep, his head resting on his arm.
Only one soft lamp was lit in the pavilion. The light fell on the unfamiliar face, and the long eyelashes did not cast shadows under the eyes as described in the novels she had read. Nie Qingyue looked at it and felt a little annoyed. First, her eyelashes were not as long as others (lol), and second, it seemed that she had not only ruined someone's rendezvous, but also been a bright, glaring third wheel all night.
Her arm felt stiff. Nie Qingyue twisted her arm, feeling the tingling sensation of thousands of needles pricking her. Her robe fell to the ground with the movement, and Nie Qingyue quietly picked it up. The robe still retained its warmth and a faint medicinal smell.
"Awake?" The young man's voice was soft and slightly muffled. His sleepy, dark eyes were still misty when he opened them. He seemed to have completely let down his guard and defenses, and for a moment he was dazed and gentle.
"Yes, thank you." Nie Qingyue returned his robe and patted his shoulder. "Miss Ruoyun is probably going to be annoyed."
The young man reached out and rubbed his face, his voice muffled as it drifted through the cool morning air: "Yun'er and I aren't what you think."
Nie Qingyue didn't reply. "Want to have breakfast?" Her stomach felt really uncomfortable from drinking last night.