Chapter Twelve: The Phoenix Takes Flight

Yue Wanqing smiled at these words. “Xiang Lian won’t make it back in time. I fear she’ll stir up trouble again before long!”

“She’s got a slightly better temperament than Mu Xinqi. I just can’t stand Mu Xinqi’s arrogance. Earlier I made a few pointed remarks at her and she fell for it so easily. I truly don’t understand it—how can two sisters, Mu Xinqi and Mu Xinmi, be so utterly different? Mu Xinmi strikes me as shrewd and deep, but how could she have such a foolish sister?” Feng Xiaoli spoke openly of Mu Xinqi’s faults before Yuwen Che. After all, Mu Xinqi belonged to the Crown Prince, and since Feng Xiaoli disliked the Crown Prince, naturally she disliked Mu Xinqi as well. There was no need to hold her tongue in his presence.

“They’re not even born of the same mother!” Suddenly, Yue Wanqing smacked Feng Xiaoli on the forehead. “If you’re going to gossip about someone, don’t leave me out!”

Feng Xiaoli nearly commented on the sheer number of oddities in the world: first she met one like Yue Wanqing, then the fool Mu Xinqi, and later another eccentric in Xiang Lian. It seemed that Huai Capital was a veritable cradle of unusual women. Luckily, she considered herself the only normal one.

The two fell silent, turning their attention to the stage in the grand hall outside. A woman was descending slowly from another staircase, her face hidden behind a veil, revealing only captivating eyes. She wore a gauzy dress, bare shoulders and chest, long legs accentuated by a red silk ribbon tied from ankle to thigh, and every swaying motion of her skirt aroused longing. She smiled, but it lacked warmth; a glance into her eyes was like gazing at a land laid to ruin.

She began to dance—the red silk hanging from the second floor became her support as she soared. Sometimes she spun, sometimes rolled through the air, a vision of ethereal grace. Her eyes opened and closed, inscrutable, her sleeves fluttering like wings. With a final loose release, she drifted gently into the center of the hall, and for a moment it seemed as if the spectators were caught in a dream.

“I am Hua Pei. Only with Madam Mei’s favor may I present this dance and this song to you all. Thank you for coming to see my performance.” Her words were few, each syllable clear, her voice gentle as jade, never dull, possessing an indescribable beauty.

“Bravo! Bravo!” The common folk stood clapping, gazes burning. Yet after a glance, they quickly lowered their heads, afraid to defile such beauty with their eyes. Hua Pei smiled as if she noticed nothing.

With the flow of the zither, Hua Pei’s dance resumed—her body supple as a serpent, each movement threatening to unveil her face. Those close to her glimpsed a delicate chin. Frenzied whistles erupted from the first floor, where wealthy young men who couldn’t secure seats above watched with fervor. In contrast, the second floor was calm and reserved.

Yuwen Che gripped the window tightly, veins standing out on his hand.

Feng Xiaoli sipped her tea, shaking her head. “Still, I think I’m more beautiful.”

Yue Wanqing imitated her, shaking her own head. “If you were even half as lovely as her, that would be something!”

Hua Pei’s dance continued. Gradually, if one looked closely, her eyes took on a glacial sheen, more chilling than before. Her movements quickened, and a subtle breeze seemed to stir the hall. She bent low, her hands tracing the air, then slowly straightened, knees half-bent, and brought the dance to an abrupt halt.

In the sudden silence, even breath was audible. All were left in awe by Hua Pei’s performance. Only after a moment did they come to their senses and erupt in applause.

Hua Pei stood upright, a faint smile finally breaking her long-held indifference—a gesture of thanks for their appreciation.

A zither was then placed before her.

She stroked the strings lightly, and music flowed naturally from her fingertips. With nimble grace, she composed an exquisite melody, her gaze fixed not on the audience but solely on the instrument. The crowd, too, became absorbed; the music made them forget the world, lose themselves in reverie. Faces were rapt, and in their minds unfolded scenes of tranquil countryside and flowing waters. Their eyes gradually closed, transported by the song.

Suddenly, a voice from the second floor broke the harmony.

“I can’t take the pain, I really can’t take it,
I miss you, miss you, miss you until the world spins black,
I call you but you’re holding some beauty in your arms,
I hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you until my heart drips blood,
I can’t take the pain, I really can’t take it,
I count and count and count and count until I give up,
Have you any conscience, or did the dog run off with it,
I hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you until I forget you completely!”

The discordant singing came unexpectedly from the second-floor balcony. Hua Pei’s hands faltered; two strings snapped with a twang. She knew at once the song came from the private boxes above. She lifted her head and smiled with beguiling charm.

All eyes below followed her gaze to the second floor, where a woman in red lounged lazily, her head tilted. Feng Xiaoli said, “Hearing Miss Hua Pei’s music, I couldn’t help but hum along. Unfortunately, it seems my tune clashed with yours. Miss Hua Pei, I’m sorry for ruining your song.”

“To have Miss Li’s voice accompany my zither is a fortune I would count thrice blessed,” Hua Pei replied, a touch of melancholy in her tone. For a moment, Feng Xiaoli was lost in confusion, feeling as if she truly had done wrong.

Hua Pei rose and bowed to Feng Xiaoli. “The strings are broken, and I have spoiled your pleasure. I shall leave the zither aside and sing for you instead, in hopes you will accept my humble offering.”

“Faded dreams, memories adrift in spring blossoms and autumn moons,
Mist veils the flowers, water holds the moon, drifting, floating away,
You come with sound, you leave in silence, in storms of changing clouds,
Though hearts entwine and feelings match, what comes is lost again,
A poem yet to be answered, a song yet to be met, a heart yet to be bound,
Hoping for longing, hoping for keeping, but only flute and zither remain…”

“With feeling, delight; with heart, devotion; with body, embrace,
May we never part, may we never betray, yet what of hatred and deceit?
Desire unfulfilled, wishes unmet, fate mocks and toys with truth,
Promises fade like blossoms on the wind.
I wait for the bright moon, for the dawn, for spring’s gentle breeze,
Yet the contrary wind brings rain, snow, and breaks the plum’s branch.
The phoenix soars, its feathers shining, then vanishes without trace.
Listen to the rain on parasol trees, the leaves shivering in the wind, memory stirs,
The rain on parasol trees, the leaves shivering in the wind, memory stirs.”

Without the accompaniment of a zither, Hua Pei’s clear and ethereal singing echoed through Phoenix Pavilion. She looked at Feng Xiaoli, a trace of desolation and sorrow in her eyes—feelings she had never shown before, all laid bare for Feng Xiaoli to see. She seemed like a plum blossom, surviving with a heart broken by the world, weeping alone through long silent nights as snow fell thick and fast.

A gentle breeze played with her veil, her robes, and her soul.

Someone whispered in awe, “A voice from heaven!”

“A voice from heaven!” others echoed.

Like the fleeting bloom of the night-flower, blossoming alone in darkness, as brief as life itself—such was Feng Xiaoli’s later impression of her.