Chapter 122: Strumming a Melody, A Sigh of Clarity

Only after he had gone some distance did I look down at the qin in my hands. I remembered how Chixiao had forced me to learn to play it in the Demon Realm, and realized that, during all the days I had spent in the mortal world, I had not touched its strings even once. Now, gazing at the battered instrument in my arms, I felt as though ants were crawling all over my heart, leaving me unbearably restless.

A touch would surely do it no harm, and a few notes would not snap the strings. Once I had convinced myself of that, I immediately found the thought reasonable. Turning around, I walked back to Clear Water Tower. I stepped inside, swept my sleeve behind me, and shut the door firmly. Then I placed the battered qin on the table and reached out to caress its strings.

Not bad, not bad at all. Feeling them closely, I found the strings truly excellent. Though the body of the instrument looked old and worn, the strings were taut, smooth, and wonderfully supple beneath my fingers. The melodies it produced must likewise be exquisite. No wonder High Immortal Zilian had chosen to keep this battered qin. Its strings were clearly no ordinary ones.

The more I touched them, the more unbearable the itch in my heart became.

How strange. In the past, at the Demon Palace, Chixiao had made me practice every day. Why had I never felt this way then—so restless and eager to try, my fingers itching, longing to swallow the entire battered instrument whole?

I supposed it had simply been too long since I had touched the strings.

Gathering up my robes, I sat down on the stool and placed both hands upon the qin. At once, the ants in my heart diminished considerably. The music drawn from the strings depended upon what lay in the player’s heart. I had only just returned from Luofu Palace, yet that pale, faintly green figure was forever floating before my eyes, impossible to dispel.

Foolishly devoted, without a trace of regret, stubborn to the end—I played a piece called “The Pure Lament,” and sang softly as the qin’s notes lingered through the room.

In dreams I return, yearning for you to come.
When I see you, tears fall as though they would follow.
I ask you why, yet you give no reply.
I hope you will pity me, and never regret it in the end.

I did not dare play more. After only one song, I placed my hand upon the strings and stopped their music, afraid to let them sound again.

A burst of applause came from behind me.

My heart leapt, and the hand resting on the strings went rigid.

I distinctly remembered shutting the tower door tightly behind me when I entered. Why, then, had I not heard even the slightest sound of it opening when Zilian came in? Had I truly been so absorbed in playing that I had failed to notice?

This could not be happening! Why was I always so unlucky?

I cried out inwardly in misery. I had only secretly played for a little while, and Zilian had already caught me red-handed. What was I supposed to say to him now? How could I possibly explain myself?

“What is it?”

Unexpectedly, the voice that came from behind me belonged to Patai, carrying a hint of amusement.

The stone in my heart dropped away. I turned to look at him, though I was still somewhat uneasy. Tilting my head, I peered past him toward the outside of Clear Water Tower. Fortunately, there was no sign of Zilian.

“Why have you come?”

What I had really wanted to ask was, Why have you come again? But the last time he had visited Clear Water Tower, I had said precisely that, and the words had wounded him. So this time, I simply left out the word “again.”

Footsteps sounded as he slowly approached. Then, without waiting for my permission, he sat down beside me. The distance between us was uncomfortably close, as though he were taking liberties. Displeased, I turned my head and glared at him.

He did not become angry. He merely lowered his head and smiled with pursed lips. Then he raised a hand to stroke the body of the qin, his gaze deep and shadowed, and sighed softly.

“Three thousand years later, on this very day, you have still been found and brought back by him.”

The “you” he spoke of did not seem to be me. Three thousand years ago, I had apparently still been nothing more than a fish. Could he be referring to the battered qin lying on the table?

“Patai, do you know the history of this qin?” I asked.

I did not know why, but although the body of the instrument was worn and broken, I could not bring myself to dislike it. Whenever my fingers moved across the strings, I felt a vague familiarity, as if many years ago I had once played melodies upon them, lightly plucking and tracing their notes.

“I don’t know.”

After pondering for a moment, the shadows in his eyes dispersed, and a faint, frivolous smile returned to his face.

Though I knew his answer was only half true, I could not press him further. Afraid that Zilian might push open the door and find the two of us together, I hurriedly fetched a brocade cloth and draped it over the qin. Then I pulled Patai up from the stool and asked him, “Did you come here today because you needed something?”

“Nothing in particular.”

He smiled and shook his head. Drawing a folding fan from his sleeve, he flicked it open with a flourish. Four large, glittering words were written across it:

The Epitome of Dashing Charm.

“Then why have you come here again?” I asked sourly.

I could not help wondering whether he had returned once more because he was concerned about whether Zilian still carried old injuries.

“To see you, of course!”

He smiled, his eyes radiant with shifting light. Waving his fan, he walked away, then circled around me several times, inspecting me from head to toe.

“With injuries that grave, and only a few days having passed, you are already able to walk, play the qin, and sing today. It seems this humble scholar truly did Miss Fishsong a great favor.”

“Not at all.”

I refused to give him the chance to grow conceited. “The reason I can walk today, and even play the qin and sing, is thanks to Zilian. He obtained an immortal plant from High God Gu Mo, one capable of curing every illness and healing all wounds. My injuries recovered so quickly only because I ate it.”

“Is that so?”

At my words, the smile slowly faded from his face. He continued to wave his fan, but the smile he wore had become somewhat strained, as though I had once again left him with no way to save face. After a long while, he sighed.

“You have room in your heart for no one but him. In your eyes, everything about him is good. He gives you one measure, while I give you ten. Yet in the end, you will remember only the one measure of kindness he showed you, and forget my ten measures completely.”

“He gives me one measure, and you give me ten?”

His words struck my ears, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable.